Two of Us
by Alex L
Summary: Set after the kiss in Homecomings, Bobby embarks on a new relationship with Jubilee. Things get complicated when Sam enters the picture. In progress. UPDATED! Please read and review!
1. Chapter One The Search is Over

Chapter One: The Search Is Over  
  
I forgot the disclaimer for this one---my apologies. All characters belong to Marvel. The story is mine.  
  
Feedback is always appreciated.  
  
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The early summer sun rose over Westchester the next day, drying the dew on the grass. Birds flew over the grounds of the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Their bright chirps could easily be heard by anyone who was awake. The peaceful scene was finished off by the gentle breeze that rustled the many trees on the manicured grounds of the mansion.  
  
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On this morning, in one of the bedrooms of the Summers' home, a young man with a boyish face and sandy hair began to awaken from his slumber. For the first time in several months, Bobby Drake felt completely rested and relaxed. He wasn't even sure the last time he had slept so well, so fitfully. The overwhelming feeling of contentment permeated his entire being. A broad smile lit up his face as he slowly opened his eyes. He could not help but think how great the day was and how it was filled with so many possibilities. It was one of those days where he wanted to shout to the world how happy he was.  
  
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It took a couple of seconds for him to reorient himself. At first, he was surprised to find that he had not slept in his bed. It was either that or he had done some major redecorating in his sleep. The last time he checked, pink was not exactly his favorite color. Not that he minded being where he was.  
  
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The cloud of happiness he was experiencing did not prevent his mind from recalling the events of the night before. Most of it was a like a dream--- convincing himself to leave his room, running out of the mansion, and the agonizing minutes he spent, staring at the house in anticipation. The words that seemed to flood out of his mouth like water from a broken dam echoed in his mind as well as his thoughts. Feelings of fear and anxiety washed over him like a tidal wave, which were new and unpleasant sensations for someone who considered himself a reasonably easy-going person. Worse yet, no amount of wisecracking or prank playing---defense mechanisms he often relied upon in other situations---could abate these feelings.  
  
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The sense of being very much out of control also threw him off. For the last several months, he had forced himself to hide his feelings for her, fearing the ultimate outcome. That night, Bobby laid everything out on the line. He compared the situation as coming in with all his money to Vegas, praying to hit it big. While he had a great deal to lose, there was the possibility of winning a great deal as well. He gambled, kissing her. In spite of the tense moments that followed, he had won.  
  
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His lips began to tingle at the memory of that first kiss. It was nothing he had experienced before. There was no awkwardness, no worries about the other person wanting to pull away.... It simply felt right. He simply felt right for the first time in a long time. From the radiant smiles she had given him between kisses, Jubilee appeared to have felt the same way. The two had settled on her bed, continuing to discuss their revelations.  
  
I Bobby had pulled her into his arms, lying back on some pillows. He had rested his chin against her forehead, stroking her hair. While he was accustomed to a low body temperature, there was undulating warmth that radiated from inside and out to his skin, tingling every part of his body. It was an incredible experience, one that he had not ever recalled before--- even before the appearance of his mutation.  
  
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"This is nice," he had remarked, watching the moonlight stream in from the window and casting a soft glow in the room.  
  
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She had pressed her cheek against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and soothing in her ear. "Yes, it is," she had agreed. After a brief pause, she had said, "I thought about what this would be like."  
  
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His arms had tightened around her in response. "Me, too." He was aware that he held her close like this many nights before, but this was different. This time, there was no need to hold back anything.  
  
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"I still.... I still can't believe this is real."  
  
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"Me, neither."  
  
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"It's like after all this time..."  
  
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"Shh, Jubes. You don't have t o think about that now."  
  
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"But it is real."  
  
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"Yes, it is."  
  
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He had planted a kiss on the top of her head affectionately. "We're off to a positive start. You know, agreeing on the same thing."  
  
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Her fingers had tugged at one of his shirtsleeves. "Why did it take so long?"  
  
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"Well, a couple years ago, it would have been illegal," he had joked. The last time he had seen her, she was about fifteen years old.  
  
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That comment received a playful slap to the shoulder. "I'm serious," she had said softly. "I mean for me, it was.... I didn't think you wanted to be with someone like me."  
  
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He had peered down at her quizzically. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."  
  
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"Well, you wouldn't have been the first," she had told him. "Everyone around here still looks at me like I'm still a kid. I thought you did the same and that's why you wouldn't want me." She had bit her lower lip, and then smiled when she realized that this was not the case after all. "Your turn, Drake."  
  
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"You already know. I didn't want to get hurt again."  
  
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"I know. I get the feeling I have there's something else."  
  
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"It's not that important, is it? Not now."  
  
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"It is to me. Please, Bobby?"  
  
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"I guess I waited.... I mean, I waited because I didn't want to hurt you."  
  
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"Hurt me? How would you hurt me?"  
  
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"By screwing up with you like I did with the others. I mean, all of that was my fault, if you want the truth."  
  
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"I don't believe any of that, Bobby. We've known each other for years and I have never known you to hurt anyone."  
  
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"Jubes, you don't...."  
  
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"Just let me finish, OK?"  
  
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" As for your other relationships, I think it takes two people to tango. Don't put all the blame on yourself."  
  
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He had kissed her forehead gently, hearing the words of reassurance from the one person he found the most credible. His shoulders had been unburdened of the residual weight he had been carrying for so long. "I knew there was a reason why I'm crazy about you."  
  
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There was a long pause in the conversation following his comment. Jubilee then raised her head to peer into his face. "I don't want you to go," she had whispered, feeling his fingers tangle in her silky hair.  
  
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"I'm not going anywhere," he had told her gently, recalling how Logan's absences often took a toll on her. "You don't have to worry about that."  
  
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She had shaken her head. "No, I mean.... I mean I don't want you to leave tonight. Can you stay?"  
  
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"I'd like that," he had admitted, his heart beating wildly. It had been a while since a woman had asked him to stick around. Usually, he was the one who had asked. The imploring look she was giving was enough to make him say yes. Immediately, he knew he was in trouble. There was no way he could ever resist that. P  
  
Bobby peered down at the sleeping form in his arms. Jubilee was lost in peaceful repose, her dark tresses forming a halo about her head. He was amazed as to how beautiful she was at this moment. It was hard for him to take his eyes off of her. Whether it was the flawless, creamy skin or the delicate features, he could not helped but be intrigued. While he had been involved with his share of beautiful women, there was something distinctly different about Jubilee. Her innocence and guileless roused a myriad of wonderful feelings inside.  
  
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His fingers traced the outline of her small, red mouth affectionately. He could feel his heart flutter when the hint of a smile appeared. Bobby shifted in the bed so that he was leaning over her. Brushing a few tendrils from her cheeks, he bowed his head forward and pressed his lips softly against hers. Almost instantly, he felt her stir underneath him. Her slender arms draped themselves around him, tugging him closer. Bobby kissed her again, his embrace more passionate this time. He allowed his hands to brace both sides of her head, his fingers tangling in her long, silky hair.  
  
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Pulling back slightly to catch his breath, Bobby smiled down at her. "Good morning."  
  
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"Morning," Jubilee whispered. Her sapphire eyes crinkled at the corners as she beamed up at him. The gentle way he was looking at her made him even more handsome to her. Seeing his face first thing already made the day brighter for her.  
  
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He kissed her forehead and then the tip of her nose. "I don't think I've slept this well in a long time."  
  
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"Me neither," she breathed, her fingers stroking his ears. Thick, black lashes lowered slightly, adding to the dreamy quality of her expression. "I don't know why we didn't think of this sooner." She giggled when she felt his fingers tickle her sides.  
  
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"Because I was stupid," he whispered, his gray eyes intensely staring into her brilliant sapphire depths. Bobby swore he could lose time simply looking into them. He wasn't sure if anything else could compare to their color and sparkle.  
  
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"No, you weren't. Before, it just wasn't the right time."  
  
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"Well, whatever it was, it's not an issue anymore. I'm here now and I'm not going to let you go."  
  
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"Yeah, Jubes. I promise."  
  
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"Good.... Me, too."  
  
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He kissed her again, smoothing tendrils of hair from her cheeks. "What time is it?" he asked, nuzzling her neck gently. It almost amazing how great she smelled from this close. Bubblegum and cinnamon mixed together, filling his nostrils with their sweet perfume.  
  
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She smiled, and then flicked her sapphire blue eyes flicked to the digital alarm clock on her nightstand. "Eight-thirty."  
  
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Bobby groaned. "I've got to go soon. I'm teaching a class in about half and hour.... Damn summer school class," he murmured against her lips. He was planting tender kisses on her mouth between sentences.  
  
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"Then don't go.... Can't you reschedule the first day of class?" She stuck out her lower lip and widened her eyes to complete the imploring look she had on the night before. Her fingers began to play with the collar of his Hawaiian shirt.  
  
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He grinned, leaning in for another kiss. This time, his rational side took over. "You have no idea how much I want to," he told her, stroking her hair from her lovely face. "If I had my way, I'd spend the rest of the day with you here. But, I promised the Professor to offer this class."  
  
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"I know," she said, slightly disappointed. Then she stared up at him, sapphire eyes thoughtful. "Bobby?"  
  
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"Yeah?" His fingers began to tangle themselves in her long hair.  
  
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She chewed on her lower lip, trying to search for words. "This whole thing.... It's weird, you know."  
  
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"Weird? What do you mean?" Suddenly feeling some apprehension, he almost dreaded what would follow. As happy as he was when he awoke, it all appeared to be coming to an end. Flashbacks of early break-ups, ending with the all-too common and painful line, "I'd like to be friends....", raced through his head. He braced himself for the worst.  
  
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Her gaze fell to her own hands, which were playing with the gold chain he wore around his neck. "I mean, that I don't feel weird," she explained. "I always heard that when friends start dating that there's this weirdness. I guess it's because they're so used to being friends and now things are different. But I don't feel that way. It's like.... I don't want to say this was meant to be because that would be totally cheesy and something Paige would say, but being with you like this feels right. Do you know what I mean? Maybe I'm not making sense."  
  
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Inwardly, Bobby heaved a sigh of relief. He smiled gently down at her, pressing his lips against her forehead. "No, I'm tracking with you, Jubes."  
  
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"So, you think it's weird that it's not weird?"  
  
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"Kind of, but in a good way. Don't you think?"  
  
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Jubilee was about to provide her response when she was interrupted by a knock at the door. Paling, she quickly pulled the covers over Bobby before racing out of her bed and to the door. She smoothed out her hair as she opened the door a slight crack.  
  
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Jean, dressed in a lime-green blouse and a trim, pencil-gray, wool skirt, greeted her with a smile. "Good morning," she drawled guilelessly.  
  
I Oh, I hope I'm in the clear, /I Jubilee prayed silently. "Hiya, Jean," she replied, flashing a bright grin. A growing blush now colored her creamy skin.  
  
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"I just wanted to let you know that Scott left early this morning. He didn't want to wake you, but he told me to tell you good-bye," Jean said, red ponytail bobbing up and down. Then she added, "And I wanted to let you know that breakfast is ready."  
  
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Jubilee nodded nervously, hoping to close the door as soon as possible. "Sounds good," she said rather hurriedly. "Um, I'll meet you downstairs as soon as I brush my teeth. You know how I hate morning breath."  
  
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Jean nodded, appearing quite oblivious to the young girl's jittery behavior. "That sounds fine. We can talk about our trip into town," the redhead told her, beginning to saunter down the hall. As Jubilee began to close the door, Jean suddenly turned around. "Jubilee?"  
  
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"Yes, Jean?" Jubilee tried to hide the impatient tone in her voice. She wanted to get Bobby out of the house quickly.  
  
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"Tell Bobby he's welcome to join us before his class." Jean gave her a knowing wink before disappearing around the corner and down the stairs.  
  
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Jubilee closed the door quietly, her face bright pink. She leaned against it, sliding down to a sitting position on the floor. Covering her face with her small hands, she moaned softly. Never had she been so uncomfortable and mortified, and now it appeared as if the ordeal was not over. Her imagination began to dream up of possible scenarios of breakfast conversation with Jean about Bobby spending the night in her room. She was definitely not looking forward to that.  
  
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"Do you want me to come down with you to talk to Jean?" Bobby was already kneeling in front of her. He draped his arms around her shoulders.  
  
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She shook her head. "No, I'll be fine."  
  
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"You know she's cool, right?" Bobby asked. Jean was like an older sister to him. As the first students of Professor Xavier, the two formed a close bond that lasted over the years. Wise, empathic, and gentle, the telepath was an easy confidant of his.  
  
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Jubilee sighed. "Yeah, I know. But it's Jean. She's like my mom, you know. It's still going to be awkward."  
  
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He grasped her chin with his fingers and tilted her face to look up at him. "But you'll be OK. She's not going to freak or anything."  
  
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Her sapphire-blue eyes stared up at him, filled with warmth and trust. "Thanks," she whispered.  
  
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He leaned over and kissed her tenderly. "No problem." Then he rose to his feet and pulling her up with him. "Listen, I've really got go. Think you can distract her in the kitchen while I make a getaway through the front door?"  
  
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She nodded, silky hair rippling down her shoulders. "Sure."  
  
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Bobby kissed her again. "Great," he murmured against her lips. "How about we meet up later on this afternoon? For lunch?"  
  
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Jubilee shook her head. "I can't. Jean and I are going to be shopping all day. I'm not sure what time we'll be back."  
  
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"What a hard life you lead---shopping," he teased, drawing back. "OK, well, I'll be around. What about you come by the mansion when you get back?"  
  
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"Sounds like plan," the young girl replied, beaming up at him. "I can't wait."  
  
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Jean watched Jubilee breeze into the New England-style kitchen with a slightly amused expression on her attractive face. She was already sitting at the kitchen table, serving herself a helping of fruit salad with her carrot muffin. The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile as she observed a dreamy look on the young girl's face. While Scott would have been perplexed as to the sudden lift in mood, Jean was quite aware as to what prompted the change. It was one of the benefits of being a telepath.  
  
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"Well, it's certainly a good morning, isn't it?" she finally asked, pouring her a glass of orange juice.  
  
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Jubilee accepted the glass gratefully. "Yes, it is." Her eyes surreptitiously gazed beyond Jean's shoulder. Bobby was stealthily making his way towards the front door. To distract Jean, she drawled, "Which shops are we hitting today?"  
  
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The redhead shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she admitted, sipping her coffee. "I was thinking we could just explore the shops and see which ones are having the best sales. We have all day today. I mean, that is, if you have any other plans."  
  
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The young girl's cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. "No," she finally managed, stuffing a spoonful of fruit salad into her mouth. "I'm yours for the day."  
  
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Jean gave her a knowing look. "You know," she began, "I wouldn't be offended if you wanted to spend today with Bobby."  
  
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Jubilee bit her lower lip, staring at Jean's kindly expression. There was no judgment, no anger, and no intention of prying any further. Instead, there was a sense of understanding in the other woman's eyes. Sighing, she realized there was no way she could lie and deny the truth of her new relationship to the telepath. Not that she ever wanted to, either. She had always confided in Jean about many things. This situation was not going to be treated any differently.  
  
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"We'll be seeing each other later on today," she confessed, tucking a lock of black hair behind her delicate ear. Then she sighed. "Listen, Jean, last night.... I mean, Bobby and I.... We didn't do anything. He just slept over, that's all---"  
  
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Jean shook her head, waving her hand. "Jubilee, it's OK," she said reassuringly. "I know Bobby."  
  
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Relieved, the young firecracker exhaled. "So you're OK with.... With us?"  
  
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"Yes, Jubilee," Jean answered, folding her hands together. "I actually think it's great. I mean, the two of you being together."  
  
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"You do?"  
  
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"Sure, I do. Bobby's a great guy."  
  
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"I know, Jean. He's the best. I don't think I've ever been happier." 


	2. Chapter Two Everything Old is New Again

Chapter Two: Everything Old is New Again  
  
I'm back! Thanks for the reviews. It's good to know people wanted to see this storyline continue.  
  
As usual, the characters are Marvel's not mine. If they were mine, I'd be a helluva richer than I am now.  
  
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"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Bobby Drake greeted, balancing his lunch tray as he seated himself with good friends, Hank McCoy and Warren Worthington, at one of the cafeteria tables, reserved for faculty members. He pulled off the plastic cap to his bottled water and took a cheerful swig. "Isn't the first day of summer school classes great?"  
  
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His two friends and fellow instructors exchanged confused looks. Just last week, Bobby had been complaining about being forced to offer his Algebra course in the summer. It had taken the Professor and Jean some time to convince him to do it. Meanwhile, Hank and Warren took turns listening to their friend's constant grumbling about having other things to do. While both had suspected that something else was bothering Bobby, neither one was in the mood to challenge him. Observing the young man's sudden change of heart was somewhat perplexing, to say the least.  
  
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"Um, sure," Warren finally said, dumping a packet of Equal into his iced tea. "I take it the students were thrilled about having three chapters worth of problems due tomorrow?"  
  
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Actually, he had overheard the opposite as he was waiting in line for lunch behind a group of students, led by Tabitha Smith. All of them were bemoaning the existence of their instructor, otherwise known as the "Slave driver". The young woman had even done a rather amusing imitation of Bobby, mimicking his Long Island accent to a tee. Had he not been standing close by, Warren would have let out a chuckle.  
  
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Bobby tore open a packet of ketchup and spread the contents onto his French fries. "It's a part of the learning process," he replied breezily, popping a fry into his mouth. "As an instructor, I feel that I am setting a good example for the children around here by imparting my wisdom."  
  
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"Imparting my wisdom?" Hank echoed, his eyes uncharacteristically blank. Usually, that would have been something that would have left his lips, not Bobby's. Lips twitching nervously as he picked up his hamburger, he drawled, "Bobby, I have to say that while your newfound perspective is refreshing, but I have the feeling that there is something else responsible for your mood."  
  
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Warren nodded, an errant lock of golden hair falling into his blue eyes. He brushed it aside gently. "I have to agree with Hank," he piped up. "I've never seen you this enthused over teaching before and so quickly. Spill it, Bobby."  
  
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Bobby chewed thoughtfully, peering at his two friends. Since leaving the Summers' home that morning, he had felt as if he had been walking on air. The broad smile plastered reflected his euphoria, his thrilling sense of joy. After months filled with angst, he was now a new man---carefree and no longer alone. When he reached the mansion, he considered shouting the news to the residents, but refrained himself from doing so, lest he be considered unstable. Instead, he kept the news to himself, allowing the warmth and glow of his bliss carry him through the rest of that morning and into that afternoon. He was not sure if he necessarily wanted to give that up now.  
  
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There was also the issue of how the two men sitting across from him would react. Sure, they were his closest and oldest friends. They had been through a great deal together as Xavier's first students, from various field missions to deeply personal experiences. Through the years, the three never lost sight as to what their friendship meant.  
  
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Yet, Bobby was reluctant. It was one thing for Jean Grey to know. She was guaranteed to be supportive about the situation. However, he was not sure about his two friends. The two men had their own reasons to be cynical when it came to the romantic domain. Hank, because of his appearance, had learned to be wary of relationships, often delving himself into his work as some kind of defense mechanism. While he had his share of girlfriends, the Beast could never really devote himself to another person for fear of persecution from the outside world. He knew he was in constant danger over what he was and what he looked liked. He did not believe that another person, particularly one that he cared about, should suffer the consequences. Right or wrong that was the way Hank was determined to live his life.  
  
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Meanwhile, Warren had his own share of difficulties. A playboy with a wandering eye for the ladies, commitment was a hard word for Warren to even utter. He was used to wining and dining with the most beautiful women in the world, and then leaving them when he grew bored and tired of them. That soon changed when he met Betsy, who shared a similar, privileged background and experience of someone manipulating her body against her will. The two were involved in a relationship that spanned several years--- a feat for Warren given his fear of being tied down. However, the millionaire's insecurities and fears soon loomed over the couple and he began to distance himself from her. He resorted to his former behaviors--- blowing off previous engagements, spending more time at the office as an excuse, and refusing to confide in her as much. In response, Betsy began to flirt with the possibility of finding happiness with someone else, which prompted Warren to end things immediately. While he projected an image of not being affected by this, it was clear to those close to him that he was hurting. When she died, Warren was left to ponder what could have been.  
  
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"I'm not allowed to be in a good mood?" Bobby asked, gray eyes evasive behind his purple-tinted sunglasses.  
  
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Hank shook his head, polishing off his burger and eyeing the second one on his plate. "Neither of us is saying that," he answered. "It is just that we haven't seen you like this in quite some time."  
  
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"Hank's right," Warren commented, sipping his iced tea. "Not that you've been a bitter old man or anything. I mean, it's like you're in love or something."  
  
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An uneasy silence soon fell over the table.  
  
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Or something, indeed.  
  
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Warren's blond brows furrowed together. While he had his suspicions at Joel's wedding, staring at Bobby's flustered expression, Warren had the confirmation he needed. His blue eyes were pensive as his mind reeled over the events he had accumulated as evidence of his theory. There was the overprotective and somewhat extreme reaction Bobby displayed when he had found out Jubilee was hurt. Then there were the times he had caught Bobby staring at the girl from across the room. On his evening flights around the mansion grounds, Warren would often see trademark ice-slides outside of her window. Finally, there was the trip to Toronto, which Bobby fought tooth and nail to get out of. Looking back, Warren realized that the young man had wanted to be around for Jubilee's birthday instead of being on a mission.  
  
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Meanwhile, Hank nervously finished the rest of his Oreo milkshake. He had his own hunches about Bobby, which had been instigated that night Gambit came to visit him in his lab. Since then, he, too, noticed changes in his friend's behavior. At the wedding reception, he was forced to repeat his reassurances that Jubilee was fine and safe after her attack. Hank had also observed the longing looks from across the room or out a window. Bobby was uncharacteristically distracted, even when planning his famous practical jokes around the mansion. The intricacies were sometimes half- planned, leaving Hank or Kurt, the latest member to be indoctrinated into their prank group, to plot the rest of the scheme. Even in their casual conversations in the lab, Bobby was preoccupied and often appeared as if he were struggling with something inside. However, he would often respond to Hank's offers of help with a light comment, assuring him that all was well.  
  
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The two men exchanged another set of looks, communicating that they had come to the same conclusion. Then they returned to their gaze on Bobby. He was quickly stuffing his remaining his fries into his mouth. The young man seemed determined to not to meet their eyes.  
  
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Warren cleared his throat, taking it upon himself to be the first one to speak. He wanted to broach the subject delicately as opposed to his usual directive approach. Obviously, Bobby was uncomfortable bringing it up. "Well," he began, "if you have found someone, I think I can speak for Hank and I by saying that's great."  
  
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Hank nodded his head emphatically in agreement.  
  
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Bobby's eyes widened as he stared at the two men. This was unexpected. Not that he thought they would be teasing him or being rather cruel, but he was ready for an interrogation from Warren with some support from the Beast. Normally, Worthington would be demanding specifics---who was she, when did this happen, was Bobby really happy, was Bobby ready for all of this? He would then immediately direct Bobby as to what to do. Given his success as a business, such a response was normal and very instinctive for Warren. Yet, this was not the case. The blond millionaire, instead, chose to allow Bobby space to disclose at his own pace. For that, Bobby could not help but to feel some gratitude.  
  
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"Uh, thanks," Bobby finally managed, swallowing. He sighed. "I guess you guys want to know who she is?"  
  
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Hank sprinkled some salt on his French fries. "You do not have to tell us, if you don't feel right doing so," he remarked. Then he commented, "However, I would like to say that I think our young firecracker is a good choice."  
  
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Bobby stared at him, openmouthed.  
  
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Warren wanted to slap himself on the forehead. He groaned inwardly with disdain. As intelligent and erudite as Hank was when it came to science and other aspects of academia, there were times his social intelligence was questionable. That, and Hank was notorious for having loose lips.  
  
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Hank peered over at his two friends, realizing his faux pas. Had he not been covered in cobalt-blue fur, one would have noticed him blushing. "Oh dear."  
  
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"You both know?" Bobby demanded, his stomach doing flips inside. I Great, /I he groused to himself. I I might as well scratch those plans for the full-page announcement in the paper.... P  
  
Warren nodded. "Yes, but it's because we know you, Bobby," he said reassuringly. "It's not that you've been totally obvious to everyone else."  
  
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"I have to agree with Warren," Hank chirped up, dipping a handful of fries into a pool of ketchup.  
  
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Bobby shook his head, finishing his bottled water. He should have known better. The two men were the closest things he had to brothers. Of course, they knew what to look for. Then he sighed, relieved that he could now be candid with Hank and Warren.  
  
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He grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean about everything, including Jubes."  
  
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Warren tried to hide his knowing expression. "Does she feel the same?" he inquired, recalling Bobby's own trials and tribulations with unrequited feelings. He hated seeing his friend disappointed and hurt repeatedly. It was such a shame since Bobby was a good guy, always offering his all to the other person only to be left alone in the end. He prayed that this was not the case.  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, she does," Bobby replied, his gray eyes taking on a more blissful quality. He put down his water bottle. "We talked last night about everything. It was like everything I was feeling she was, too. I've never had that before."  
  
P  
  
"That's wonderful, Bobby," Hank said, sincerity reflected in his wide eyes.  
  
P  
  
Bobby nodded, feeling ecstatic as he continued to talk about that evening. "Yeah, we were both in synch about everything and anything. I mean about what were feeling, how long, and what kept getting in the way. Not once did it feel weird. I've known her since she was a kid and sure, we've been friends since then. But last night, it was like everything old was new again."  
  
P  
  
Hank's brows shot up quizzically. "What do you mean?" he asked.  
  
P  
  
"I mean even though we've known each other for so long, last night made things different. It was like I was getting to know her in a new way---in a better way." Bobby grinned sheepishly again, feeling like he was babbling and possibly appearing foolish. At this point, he did not mind.  
  
P  
  
Then he added, "It's been a while since I've felt like this for someone. Not since Lorna...." He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts of any residual longing for the woman he considered his first love. There was none. "This thing with Jubes.... It's a big deal to me, you know? I just don't want to screw it up."  
  
P  
  
Warren slid a forkful of salad into his mouth. When he finished chewing and swallowing, he said, "It sounds like things are going good, though. I don't think you're going to allow anything to happen."  
  
P  
  
"I wish I had your confidence," Bobby laughed, still uncertain. "I just can't imagine going out on another blind date you set up for me."  
  
P  
  
Warren narrowed his blue eyes defensively. "What the hell does that mean?" he demanded.  
  
P  
  
Bobby smirked. "Do you remember Cathy?"  
  
P  
  
Cathy was an administrative assistant at Warren's company. She was a cute, perky brunette with twinkling brown eyes and a pert nose. Outgoing, Warren had thought she was a good match for Bobby's prankster ways. She was new to the city and was looking for some companionship---at least that was what Warren had overheard at the water cooler. With her, Drake would have been guaranteed constant laughs for any of his cracks or practical jokes. As for Bobby, he and Opal had just broken up and Bobby was looking to be on the rebound. In Warren's eyes, this was a win-win situation.  
  
P  
  
Bobby had begrudgingly agreed. He was notorious for loathing being set up, but since Warren had made this kind of effort, it was hard for him to say no. Reluctantly, Bobby called up Cathy. She sounded nice and most importantly, very interested in getting to know him. The two quickly arranged to meet at her apartment for a quiet dinner and watching some romantic comedy with Meg Ryan. Bobby solicited fashion advice from both Warren and Jean before venturing into the city. He first stopped off a street vendor to pick up a bouquet of pink roses. Then he made his way to Cathy's brownstone on the Upper East Side.  
  
P  
  
When he arrived, Bobby could have not been more pleased. Cathy was attractive, smart, and funny. Her bubbly personality was infectious, making Bobby feel quite at ease. After a dinner of take-out sushi and hot rice wine, the couple moved into her living room. She flipped on the television as she and Bobby settled on the couch.  
  
I Turning to Bobby, Cathy smiled. "Um, Bobby?"  
  
P  
  
"Yeah?" Bobby had contemplating making his next move. He decided to hold back and wait to see where the evening was headed.  
  
P  
  
"I'm having a great time. I'm glad we did this."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, me, too."  
  
P  
  
"I was thinking.... Do you want to do something crazy?"  
  
P  
  
"Depends on your definition of crazy, babe."  
  
P  
  
"I mean really crazy. Totally off the wall."  
  
P  
  
Bobby was confused, not sure where she was going with this. From the way she was giggling, whatever it was, it had to be good. Shrugging nonchalantly, he replied, "Sure. I'm into whatever."  
  
P  
  
"Great!" Cathy leapt off the couch and onto her feet. Then she turned to him, "I want you to close your eyes, Mr. Silly. I'll be right back."  
  
P  
  
"You got it," Bobby said, closing his eyes in anticipation. He racked his brain of the possibilities. Most of them involved not-so innocent surprises. His lips curled in a smile as he waited. He had made a mental note to thank Warren in the morning.  
  
P  
  
Seconds later, he could hear her footfalls on the hardwood floor. He could sense her standing over him. "Now hold out your hand," she instructed him, still giggling.  
  
P  
  
"OK." Bobby complied, still wondering what was going on. His palm sensed something small and plastic lying on it.  
  
P  
  
"Now open your eyes."  
  
P  
  
Bobby felt his smile disappear as he peered down at the palm of his hand. "It's a kazoo," he said, his voice filled with uncertainty. To his ears, it sounded more like a question than a statement. He stared at the blue plastic toy with confusion. Then he looked up at Cathy's expectant and joyful features. "It's a kazoo.... Um, do you want me to stick it...?" He did not even want to finish his sentence, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.  
  
P  
  
Cathy laughed, oblivious to his puzzlement. "No, silly. I've got MTV on and we can play along with the videos. Watch me!" She immediately tooted along with a Madonna video that was currently playing.  
  
P  
  
Bobby stared at the young woman, realizing that she was not joking with him. Somewhat frightened, he gathered his jacket. Then he scurried out of the apartment as fast as his legs could carry him. He was making a mental note to murder Warren when he returned. P  
  
Back in the cafeteria, Hank snorted with uncontrollable laughter. "Oh, I almost forgot about that!"  
  
P  
  
Warren shook his head. "How was I supposed to know she liked kazoos? It's not something we ask about in interviews."  
  
P  
  
"Well, now you know to ask," Bobby huffed. "At least I don't have to worry about that with Jubes."  
  
P  
  
Warren speared a piece of tomato with his fork. "No, you have other things to think about when it comes to her."  
  
P  
  
Bobby stared at him. "What are you saying?" he asked, suddenly feeling apprehension wash over him. He knew Jubilee as well as anyone around the mansion. What else could there be?  
  
P  
  
"Have you thought about Logan?" Warren stirred his iced tea with his straw. "And for that matter, Scott?"  
  
P  
  
"What about them?" Bobby frowned, not following his friend.  
  
P  
  
"I mean they're like her father," Warren pointed out sagely. "You're going to be dealing with Overprotective Dad times two. You've got Logan who operates under the assumption that she is still his little girl. Look at the way he treats her. During Christmas, he wouldn't let any males go near her when she was standing under the mistletoe."  
  
P  
  
Hank nodded in agreement, having observed Logan's 'fatherly' behavior towards the young girl. "He flashed his claws at poor Sam for hugging her," he said, recalling how the young man's face quickly drained of color. "I don't think he's recovered since."  
  
P  
  
"Not that Scott is any better," Warren cut in, breaking a piece of bread from his roll and dipping it into his dressing. "Granted, he doesn't have the claws and he doesn't threaten people with bodily harm, but he still thinks of her as his daughter. He'll just make this face that tells you he doesn't approve and then keep his eye on you for the rest of your existence. You might get a zap or two from the old visor."  
  
P  
  
Bobby's mouth formed a grim line. He knew perfectly the expression Warren was referring to. It was a version of a grimace; only with Scott he looked rather constipated. "So you think they're going to kill me?"  
  
P  
  
Hank waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, no. Not kill you." Then he paused thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps attempt to maim you in a minor way. How attached are you to your pinky finger, Bobby?"  
  
P  
  
Warren tried not to laugh, especially when he saw Bobby's panicked expression. "No, it's just that you'll have to do some convincing---more so than you would if you were dating someone else around here," he explained cautiously. "And after a while, Scott and Logan will get tired of chasing you."  
  
P  
  
Bobby pursed his lips, realizing that his two friends were half-serious, half-joking with him. He did see their point. Both Scott and Logan were notorious for their overprotective tendencies. It was one of the rare commonalities the two men shared. While he felt frightened of the possible scenarios that awaited him once the two found out, Bobby resolved himself not to allow those thoughts to take him hostage. There was something--- someone more important to consider.  
  
P  
  
"What should I do, wiseasses?" he asked, annoyed with the chortles of laughter from Archangel and Beast. "Seeing as the two of you have pointed out this predicament, I'd like to get some help as to how to deal with it. I want to date Jubilee as a complete person rather than as someone missing vital body parts."  
  
P  
  
Warren smiled. "Don't know if there's much you can do now."  
  
P  
  
"Why's that?" Bobby asked, irritated with his friend's cryptic response.  
  
P  
  
"One, Scott is in Asia with Emma, tracking down some mutant activity. No one knows when they're coming back," Warren replied, eyeing his fruit salad with some concern. He was on a low-calorie diet Paige had talked him into going on. According to his calculations, he was nearing his limit for the day. "They just have instructions to bring back the mutant with them. Who knows how long that's going to take?"  
  
P  
  
"And Logan is in Asia as well, but with another team," Hank added, finishing his fries. "It's a pretty ambitious endeavor since Storm has just called the mansion, requesting that Rogue and Gambit join them. Similarly, no one knows when this team will return."  
  
P  
  
"So what you're saying is that I'm in the clear until those come back?" Bobby pressed his lips together. What an uncertain existence. It was like waiting for the boogeyman to jump out of the closet at night. However, on the bright side, he could put off confronting the two men---something he was not looking forward to.  
  
P  
  
Hank nodded. "In a roundabout way, yes."  
  
P  
  
Bobby sighed, shaking his head. "I seem to find someone and she's got something to her. Like with Opal, her family was involved with the Yakuza. For Lorna, she had her memory problems. Now with Jubes, I've got to deal with two guys who might want to tear me a new one for getting involved with her."  
  
P  
  
As he was about to continue lamenting, he felt a pair of his eyes on him. Instinctively, he peered around the cafeteria, which was now beginning to empty of students and instructors who were heading to study hall. Standing on the other side, near the entrance of the dining hall was Jubilee. She looked radiant as she smiled at him shyly, wearing a powder-blue camisole and a pair of faded jeans with sneakers. Her dark hair framed her delicate features gently.  
  
P  
  
Rising to his feet, Bobby said to his friends, "But in the end, she's worth it." 


	3. Chapter Three I'll Be

Chapter Three: I'll Be  
  
Here's the next chapter.  
  
Thanks for the reviews. Please keep them coming.  
  
These characters belong to Marvel. I'm merely playing around with them.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
P  
  
For their part, Bobby and Jubilee were rather subtle about their newfound courtship. There were no overt public displays of affection one often associated with young relationships. In fact, it was quite easy to miss the cues that signaled the two were an item in the first place. The two chose to spend their time together in quiet seclusion, away from the prying eyes of many of the residents. It was not until several days later that others around the mansion began to notice.  
  
P  
  
Given how close the two had been before, some simply assumed that they were only friends and nothing more. However, upon closer observation, there were behaviors that distinctly implied more than friendship was at play. There was the clasping of the hands. An arm wrapped around shoulders or around a waist. Every once in a while, there was the brush of the lips against the back of a hand or against a cheek or forehead. There was the brushing back of tendrils of hair with gentle fingers. Finally, there were the small, knowing smiles the two would often exchange while together.  
  
P  
  
As for the reaction regarding the realization that the two were now an item, many were not especially struck by the news. Those who knew either Bobby or Jubilee well were not all that surprised the two were together. There were even some, like Tabitha, who had even gone so far as to comment, "It's about damn time".  
  
P  
  
Sure, it did take some getting used to seeing the young couple hold hands. Neither one had been involved in a relationship for some time (this applied more to Bobby than to Jubilee, who had never been in any kind of romantic relationship ever). But watching them together, the picture seemed to make sense. Adding to this was the happiness that appeared to exude from them. While they were not the syrupy sweet picture of love (no cutesy talk or constant kissing in the hallways), it was quite evident that the two thoroughly enjoyed one another's company---whether it was the perpetual twinkle in Jubilee's eyes or the broad grin Bobby wore. It was as if they were often relaying a silent "You get me" to each other.  
  
P  
  
A late summer afternoon found the two sitting on the weathered dock by the lake. Bobby, having administered a two-hour test to his students that morning, was looking for some time away from the mansion and the students. He was tired of being perceived as the bad-guy, the instructor bent on destroying the freedom associated with summer. It did not help that he heard Tabitha's rather unflattering impression of him.  
  
P  
  
As he was leaving the classroom with his pile of completed tests, he had found Jubilee standing outside the doorway. She stared at him, instantly reading his fatigued expression. It was then that she asked him to accompany her to the lake for a walk. At first, he was reluctant, stating he had to grade his tests so that he could pass them out the following day. However, he managed to be convinced that the tests could wait.  
  
P  
  
In the end, Bobby was relieved that he had caved in to Jubilee. It was a picturesque day---the sun shining brightly against the pale blue sky. Gentle breezes sent ripples into the water. The soft chirps of crickets mingled with the rustling of the trees that surrounded the mansion's property. The idyllic scenery seemed to recall days he thought had long passed, filled with carefree and feelings of endless happiness. No anxieties about being different, being alone, or about harm coming to those he cared about. Instead, a soothing calm enveloped him, filling him with a tranquil sense of being.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee removed her flip-flops, allowing her coltish legs to dangle over the edge of the dock. She smiled up at Bobby. It still surprised her that he was now with her. She was afraid at times this was all a part of a dream and that she would soon wake up, finding that nothing ever happened. To her relief, it was no dream. This was what happiness was like. This was what she had observed and longed for over the years, watching her friends and others around the mansion find people to make them whole and complete. The flutter in one's stomach and the accompanying heart palpitations whenever the other person was near; the constant smile and feeling that one was walking on air---that was all a part of it. What was even more thrilling was the need to make the other person just as content, to make them feel just as special.  
  
P  
  
For Jubilee, talking Bobby into spending some time away from the school seemed to fit that bill perfectly that day. She could see the wariness in his face, which was uncharacteristic for Bobby who liked to think of himself as the type of person who would not allow stress weigh him down. He left that kind of thing to Scott or Warren. During their walk down the stone path that led to the lake, he had joked around about being the nasty math instructor, but sighed that he wanted to shake that reputation. All the while, she listened attentively, providing him with empathic feedback and assuring him that the students were only joking around. Having known most of them as friends, she told him that it was simply customary for students to have a somewhat antagonistic relationship with instructors.  
  
P  
  
Eventually, the two lapsed into silence as they neared the lake. Unlike before, this silence was a comforting one, devoid of any tension. Not needing any additional words or conversation, the couple used body language to communicate---smiles or squeezes of hands as they were being clasped. This continued until they settled on the dock.  
  
P  
  
She rested her head against Bobby's shoulder. "Better now?" she asked softly, feeling the material of his Hawaiian shirt against her cheek.  
  
P  
  
"Much," he told her, planting a kiss against her forehead. "Thank you."  
  
P  
  
"No problem," she replied, feeling his arms wrap around her. She liked how strong and tight his embrace was. It seemed to tell her that all was right in the world and that nothing could ever harm her while he was around. Very reminiscent of Logan, but somehow the experience was different with Bobby. With Bobby, there was not only the feeling of comfort and safety, but also the certainty that he would not pick and leave suddenly.  
  
P  
  
He inhaled her sweet scent of bubblegum and cinnamon, which seemed to permeate from her hair and skin. "I'm glad you brought me here," he said. "It's a nice spot to get away from the mansion---not too far, but not too close."  
  
P  
  
She nodded. "It's a good place to clear your head. I used to sit here a lot by myself, especially when I first got back...."  
  
P  
  
Unconsciously, his arms squeezed her slightly. Bobby's jaw clenched as his mind was flooded of memories from that time. Seeing his friend battered and bruised as a result of being held captive by Bastion. The excruciating physical recovery that was entailed over the course of many months. Logan's rage regarding his own sense of helplessness and his subsequent departure. Looking back at all, there was a part of Bobby that could relate to what the brooding loner had been experiencing. It was going to be a cold day in hell before anyone was going to hurt her again.  
  
P  
  
"You don't have to think about that anymore," he told her determinedly.  
  
P  
  
Her sapphire-blue eyes stared up at him, wonder filling their depths. She could feel her heart skip a beat when she saw his protective expression. It was something she had never observed of Bobby in all the years she had known him. "No," she whispered, "I don't suppose I do." Then she cleared her throat, feeling his embrace relax slightly. "I didn't spend all my time here, thinking about that."  
  
P  
  
"Oh yeah? What else?" His fingers absentmindedly brushed tendrils of raven hair from her satiny cheeks. He was relieved that she wanted to move past those traumatized days.  
  
P  
  
She shrugged her slim shoulders. "Stuff."  
  
P  
  
He grinned down at her playfully. "Now that's descriptive," he commented.  
  
P  
  
Nudging his chest with her shoulder gently, she gave him a wry smile. "I don't know.... Things that teenagers angst over."  
  
P  
  
"What /I teenagers angst over?" Bobby teased, gray eyes twinkling. He felt her settle against him again, stirring feelings of warmth inside of him. "Seriously, Jubes...."  
  
P  
  
She sighed. "Like being left behind a lot," she finally said.  
  
P  
  
He frowned slightly at her, quizzical. "What do you mean?"  
  
P  
  
"It wasn't just being away in Massachusetts while the rest of you were here, or everyone having to leave on missions," Jubilee began. "There were other things. Everyone kept treating me like this kid. Granted, I gave them a lot of reasons, but pretty soon it got annoying. Do you know what I mean?"  
  
P  
  
He nodded. Once the youngest member of the original team, he could easily relate. Underneath the jokes and the teasing, he experienced a yearning to be looked upon as an equal to Scott or Warren. Instead, he was viewed as the one who needed constant admonishing and discipline. He was the one who was left out of important decisions because he was just Bobby, the X-Man no one took seriously. Needless to say, he was frustrated, thinking that if he wanted to be treated like some kind of pesky kid, he could have stayed at home with his parents.  
  
P  
  
"But you weren't like that," she said, her voice breaking into his thoughts. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled up at him. "I could always depend on you to be cool. It's like you knew."  
  
P  
  
He did not answer her right away, reflecting on what she had just said. Bobby had always supposed that it was their shared wit and sense of humor that initially brought them together as friends. But he had that with Hank and lately, with Kurt. Yet, there had been something else that made him empathize and understand her whenever he was around. Sure, he had been aware that they were closer in age. However, it was not until Jubilee had verbalized it at that moment was he made aware of what that something else was.  
  
P  
  
His lips brushed against her forehead like the gentle breeze that swirled around the mansion's grounds. "I'm glad I could be that for you," he said, his eyes earnest behind his purple-tinted sunglasses.  
  
P  
  
"Thanks," she replied, taking a small hand and placing it over one of his. The skin underneath her palm was cool to the touch, as one would expect. Yet, the impact sent tingles and rushes of warmth throughout her body. She smiled, bemused. "So this is what it's like to be with Bobby Drake."  
  
P  
  
He stroked her silky hair tenderly. "I take it you're not disappointed?" he asked, observing the dreamy quality in her smile. His heart felt as if it was expanding in his chest, sending ripples of excitement throughout his own body.  
  
P  
  
"Hardly," Jubilee breathed, her skin glowing from the reflection of the sun on the waters of the lake. She turned around to face him. Her fingers traced the outline of his mouth affectionately as she smiled. "Never disappointed."  
  
P  
  
Bobby grinned at her broadly, cupping her beautiful face with his hands. He then leaned towards her for a kiss. Suddenly, he paused. A strange, almost unreadable expression fell over his boyish features.  
  
P  
  
Concerned, she placed her hands over his. "What's wrong, Bobby?"  
  
P  
  
He shook his head, his face relaxing. He pressed his lips against her forehead in an effort to assuage her anxieties. "No, nothing's wrong," he told her, giving her rueful smile. He hated to see her upset and felt quite guilty for eliciting those feelings. "I just realized something, that's all."  
  
P  
  
A frown creased her delicate brow. She wasn't ready to be placated so easily. "What's that?" she inquired, blue eyes wide as they looked up at him.  
  
P  
  
Cool fingers gently brushed away wisps of black hair with midnight-blue streaks from her face. "We've been together for about a week, right?"  
  
P  
  
She nodded, unsure where he was going with this. "Yes." A note of wariness crept into her voice.  
  
P  
  
He planted another kiss against her forehead, continuing to stroke her hair. "I just realized," he said, looking rather sheepish, "that we haven't been on our first date yet."  
  
P  
  
Her exquisite features soon arranged themselves into a perplexed expression. "Getting together at the dining hall for lunches and dinners don't constitute as dates?" she asked, confused. Up until that moment, she had simply assumed that they had been on several dates. Then again, what did she really know? This was unchartered territory for the young girl.  
  
P  
  
"Those were kind of dates, but...."  
  
P  
  
"But they don't count? I thought they did."  
  
P  
  
"Again, Jubes, kind of. What I'm talking about is an official first date."  
  
P  
  
"I don't understand. What's an official first date to you?"  
  
P  
  
"You know.... A real date, where I can wine and dine you."  
  
P  
  
"Wine and dine me? Who are you---Dean Martin? Does that make Mr. Worthington and Dr. McCoy your Rat Pack?"  
  
P  
  
"Very funny, smart ass."  
  
P  
  
"Sorry. Go on."  
  
P  
  
"A real date meaning being away from the mansion, Jubes."  
  
P  
  
"Oh. Um, what do you have in mind?"  
  
P  
  
He gave her a strange look, about to ask her teasingly whether or not she had ever been on a date before. He stopped himself when he saw the wide- eyed innocence in her eyes, which relayed her guilelessness. Bobby then remembered that before him, she had never been involved with anyone. Being with him was an entirely new experience for her. Affection mixed with some pressure flowed through his veins. Being the first, he wanted to make this good for her. Anything less would not be acceptable, in his eyes.  
  
P  
  
"Well," he began, threading his fingers through her long tresses. "I'd ask you out.... Something like, 'Do you want to go out---let's say, tomorrow night?' And of course, you would say, 'I would love to, Bobby.'" He used a slight falsetto when he played her part.  
  
P  
  
She giggled, her sapphire eyes sparkling with amusement. "Then what?"  
  
P  
  
"Then, I'd tell you what time I'd be picking you up," he informed her, grinning. "Let's say about quarter-to-six." In the back of his mind, he was taking notes so that he could back to the mansion later on to plan the actual date. Already, his mind was racing with possible ideas for their first night out together.  
  
P  
  
"Sounds good," she said, nodding. Then she peered down at the pink T-shirt and cargo shorts she was currently in. "What should I wear?"  
  
P  
  
He pulled her close to him. "Now, Jubes, you look beautiful in anything. There's no need to be self-conscious. In fact, I wouldn't mind if you came to the door in a burlap sack." He tried to picture her in such an outfit, an amused expression crossing his face.  
  
P  
  
That comment earned a playful swat on his chest from her. "I wouldn't want to be inappropriately dressed or anything," she told him. Then she added, "Unless you're taking me to the potato chip factory."  
  
P  
  
Bobby looked crestfallen. "How did you know?" he asked, feigning hurt and disappointment in his voice. After the laughter subsided, he looked at her thoughtfully. "OK. How about something nice and comfortable? Does that work?"  
  
P  
  
Jubilee pretended to appear frustrated. "Oh, that's really helpful, Bobby," she said, adding the effect of rolling her eyes. Then she smiled at him cheerfully. "I'll figure something out."  
  
P  
  
"Then what?"  
  
P  
  
"Then we'd get into my car and drive into town. There, we'll have a dinner at one of those restaurants on the main strip."  
  
P  
  
"Not McDonald's?"  
  
P  
  
"Not McDonald's, Jubes. A real restaurant. You know, where bibs are optional and you don't have to color on the placemats while you're waiting for your food. I'm sure it'll be kind of overwhelming you. But don't worry, I'll be there to help you to get over the shock."  
  
P  
  
"Ha ha. Keep talking, funny man."  
  
P  
  
"OK, OK. I was thinking after dinner, we'd catch a flick at the local theatre."  
  
P  
  
"That sounds good. What are we going to see?"  
  
P  
  
"How does that latest Vin Diesel movie sound? I think he's playing an undercover cop, running a hot dog stand in New York City so he can avenge the death of his baby's momma."  
  
P  
  
"Wow, Bobby. It's like you're reading my mind. I was thinking about the same movie."  
  
P  
  
"Great minds think alike, Jubes."  
  
P  
  
"OK, Romeo. What's next?"  
  
P  
  
"Well, by then, it would be kind of late. I don't want to freak Jean out or anything by keeping you. Telepath or not, the woman would not be a happy camper if I didn't have you home on time."  
  
P  
  
"So, the night would end with you taking me home."  
  
P  
  
"Oh, that doesn't mean that the date's over then."  
  
P  
  
"It's not?"  
  
P  
  
"No, not at all."  
  
P  
  
"There's more?"  
  
P  
  
"OK.... What comes after that then?"  
  
P  
  
"After getting back to the mansion, I'd walk you to the house. I'd ask you if you had a good time. And again, of course you would say, 'Yes, I did, Bobby. This is the best first date I've ever had.'"  
  
P  
  
"That sounds nothing like me. You make me sound like an effeminate Jiminy Cricket. But, do go on."  
  
P  
  
"So, we'd be on the front step of the house and I'd say goodnight. After that, I'd give you a kiss."  
  
P  
  
"A kiss?"  
  
P  
  
"Sure, Jubes. First dates always end with a kiss."  
  
P  
  
"Oh, I see. Is there anything different about this kiss as opposed to other ones?"  
  
P  
  
"I don't know. Could be. How about I show you?"  
  
P  
  
"I don't know, Bobby. I mean we've kissed before. I 'm not sure how this is going to be different."  
  
P  
  
"We won't know until we try, will we?"  
  
P  
  
"I guess not. But wouldn't this ruin it? I mean, it wouldn't be as special."  
  
P  
  
"Think of it as a sneak preview."  
  
P  
  
With that, he snaked his fingers through her silky, dark hair and gently pulled her toward him. Jubilee followed him willingly, her lips curled in a smile of anticipation. Cupping the back of her head with his hand, he brushed his lips over hers. His usually cool breath was warm, which mingled with hers. Bobby's mouth then explored the curve of her lips. When her mouth opened beneath his, he pulled her even closer to him and his hand tenderly held her face. He could feel her lithe form melt against him. Her fingers stroked his jaw as his mouth nipped at hers. Then he delved deeper into her mouth, tasting how sweet and pure she was. Bubblegum and cinnamon just like the rest of her.  
  
P  
  
It was like that first night he had kissed her, but different. There was no fear, no anticipation of possible rejection. Instead, he was filled the reassurance and contentment that the object of his affections wanted to return his kiss and enjoyed the same feelings he did. There were so many things racing through his mind at that moment. Topping the list was the hope that this---all of it would never end.  
  
P  
  
As much Bobby relished the kiss, he realized that both of them needed some oxygen. Drawing back slightly, he ran his finger over her lips affectionately. His heart raced with excitement as he rested his forehead against hers. She was breathing heavily, her shoulders and chest trembling. Her sapphire eyes were wide and glassy as they stared up at him. A blush stained her creamy skin, accentuating the color of her eyes.  
  
P  
  
"Jubes?" He watched the sunlight dance across the back of her head, creating an angelic halo around her. She was very beautiful at that moment, which made his heart swell in his chest again. Looking at her now, he still could not believe she was with him.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee pressed her lips against his finger and then clasped his hand in hers. "That might be the best part of the date," she whispered, gazing up at him. Having never kissed anyone but Bobby, she wasn't sure if someone else could follow that performance. It was incredible, tingling sensations coursing throughout her skin, not to mention inside her body. "I don't know if I can wait until tomorrow night for that."  
  
P  
  
He grinned, leaning towards her. His gray eyes were warm with happiness as they swept over her lovely face. "You might not have to," he murmured against her mouth before kissing her again. 


	4. Chapter Four Wonderful Tonight

Chapter Four: Wonderful Tonight  
  
Thought I'd post this before I leave town for a long weekend. It's kind of long, but as I was writing it, things kept expanding....  
  
If you're a Bobby/Iceman fan, you'll recognize some of the surprise guests that appear. Thanks to Jesse's Iceman site, BUCKSHOT, and the Icekateers for the info.  
  
Thanks for the awesome reviews. Please keep them coming. Heck, tell your friends.  
  
As usual, the characters are Marvel's, but the story is all mine.  
  
P  
  
Having never gone out on a date before, Jubilee was somewhat nervous. She kept telling herself that this was Bobby, someone she knew quite well. There was nothing to be nervous about. He made it clear that he wanted to be with her. She should not have to feel that she had to continue to impress him or anything.  
  
P  
  
Fat lot of good that did.  
  
P  
  
Bobby had gone out with some very attractive women before her. It was hard not to feel somewhat intimidated. Some she had met, others she had only heard of through Bobby or in passing conversation through his friends. All of them appeared to be a hard act to follow, much to her dismay.  
  
P  
  
Her stomach began to sink as she went through her mental list. There was Lorna. Beautiful, powerful, and razor-sharp smart, she had been Bobby's first love. She broke his heart when she decided to leave him for Alex. It had taken Bobby years to get over the pain and finally let her go. Even at her recent wedding-that-was-not-to-be, he still expressed that he had some feelings for her.  
  
P  
  
Emma Frost, her former headmistress. A striking, icy-blonde, Emma had developed a slight soft spot in her heart for Bobby while he was substituting at the academy. The two had even gone out on a date during that time. In addition to being gorgeous, she had a penchant for wearing very skimpy clothing that showed off how well-endowed she was. It was no mystery why Bobby had been attracted to her, or any other male around the mansion for that matter.  
  
P  
  
Some of his more fleeting relationships often involved cosmic beings with strange powers. There was Darkstar, a Russian champion, who did not reciprocate his feelings because she thought of him as simply a friend. Then there was Marge Smith, who was otherwise known as Mirage. From what Jubilee had heard from Dr. McCoy, the young woman had been an attractive redhead who lived next door to the Drakes. She and Bobby had gone out until it was discovered she was not as human as he had initially thought. Another cosmic being, she ultimately decided to leave Bobby to be with her father. Next came Lev, a fiery creature, who did harbor some feelings for Bobby, but was in no position to touch him because of her powers. Another individual was someone by the name of Cloud. Jubilee did not know much about her, but had heard that Bobby was very weirded out by her towards the end of the relationship. After that, there was someone named Jo or Josephine, but no one said much about her except that she did something very bad to Dr. McCoy.  
  
P  
  
Then there was someone named Opal. Having never met this person or seen any pictures of her, Jubilee had heard bits and pieces about this woman--- most of it not very good. Almost every other week, they had broken up and then gotten back together. Jubilee remembered overhearing Bobby pleading with her on the phone about one thing or another while she was visiting Logan. She had surmised that Opal must have been something special for Bobby to go through hell and back for her on a regular basis.  
  
P  
  
Finally, there was the new nurse, Annie. A young single mother, she was quite attractive in an exotic way. She and Bobby had attended the wedding together. It was unclear as to what exactly had gone on between them, but in the end, she chose to be Alex, leaving Bobby.  
  
I How can I compete with that? /I Jubilee shook her head, sighing wearily. I Those women probably know what to do on a date, how to dress, what to talk about. I just hope I don't do something stupid or childish, like accidentally call him dude or something. P  
  
She had spent most of the afternoon, trying to figure out what to wear. She would have asked Jean or Paige for some guidance. Both women had had their share of dates and probably had good tips for her. Unfortunately, Jean was tied up at the school, dealing with administrative issues while the Professor was traveling to Washington, DC with Hank. As for her good friend and ex-roommate, the younger Guthrie appeared preoccupied with something and was only half-listening with Jubilee confided in her about the date the night before.  
  
P  
  
With the latest Strokes CD playing from her stereo, she was forced to deal with getting ready on her own. Pursing her lips from frustration and indecisiveness, she stared at the final choices, which were hanging from the back of her closet door. Not one to dress up often in skirts or dresses, Jubilee usually attempted them like the plague. The only reason why she had these dresses in her closet was because Jean had goaded her into purchasing them during their recent shopping trip.  
  
P  
  
It was not that she did not have the body to wear such clothes---quite the contrary. She was slender and graceful with well-toned limbs thanks to regular Danger Room sessions. Rogue had even used her as a pseudo-dress maker's dummy when she was taking design classes at the local college. Rather, it was the fact that she considered herself as a slight tomboy.  
  
P  
  
Dress number one: a green, sleeveless cotton dress with an A-line skirt and princess seams. The skirt fell just below the knee. After trying it on, Jubilee voted it down. The material was itchy against her skin. Knowing her luck, she predicted an outbreak of hives should she wear it.  
  
P  
  
Dress number two: a pink-flowered print dress with spaghetti straps and a bias-cut bodice. A pale pink ribbon accented the empire waist of the dress, where the skirt was slightly above the knee. She stared at herself critically in her floor-length mirror, smoothing the dress over her slim form. It was comfortable, complimenting her creamy skin tone. Possible.  
  
P  
  
Dress number three: a sky-blue, strapless seersucker dress. Falling just below the knee, the dress had an A-line skirt and a fitted bodice. The dress accentuated the soft curves of her body and the color accentuated the sapphire blue of her eyes. It was a little dressy, and Bobby seemed to hint at something nice, but not too nice.  
  
P  
  
In the end, Jubilee went with the pink floral dress. She managed to find a pair of sling backs in the same color, which were reasonably comfortable considering the fact that she often wore sandals or sneakers most of the time. After some additional rummaging through her closet, she discovered a small pink clutch Kitty had passed onto her several years ago. The essentials immediately went into the purse---gum, house keys, wallet, cell phone and lip-gloss.  
  
P  
  
Standing in front of her dresser mirror, she began to fiddle with her hair. At first, she attempted to pile her long tresses in a bun on the top of her head. Shaking her head, Jubilee brushed out her locks, wishing she had some of Jean or Storm's flair for style. After trying other arrangements, she decided to leave her hair loose. It rippled down her shoulders in soft waves, which made her neck appear longer. As for make-up, she usually did not wear much, but for tonight she decided on a deeper shade of lip-gloss, mascara, and some blush to make her features stand out a little more.  
  
P  
  
Studying herself in front of the floor-length mirror, she gave herself a critical once-over. Usually, she would have made a crack about how she cleaned up good. However, the butterflies in her stomach and the creeping blush across her skin would not allow it.  
  
P  
  
"Are you sure you don't need my help?" Warren asked, as he and Bobby made their way up the spiral staircase to the second floor. "I know a lot of places in the city where I could get you guys reservations at the last minute."  
  
P  
  
Bobby pretended to be insulted, but felt grateful for his friend's concern. "You don't think I can plan a date by myself?" he huffed, gray eyes twinkling behind his purple-tinted sunglasses.  
  
P  
  
"I'm not saying that at all," Warren scoffed, following Bobby to his room. He closed the door behind them firmly. "All I'm doing is offering my help. I know that this is your first date and usually, you get really nervous about wanting to make a good impression. And, that's OK, Bobby. But I want you to know that I can help if you want."  
  
P  
  
Bobby grinned. As bossy as Warren sometimes came off, he had good intentions. Usually, most people had a hard time getting past the exterior that was used to telling people what to do and how to do it. It was quite easy to interpret the behavior as arrogant and domineering. However, those close to him knew better. Bobby felt lucky to be one of the few.  
  
P  
  
"Rest assured, there's nothing to worry about," he told him, motioning for the taller man to have a seat in one of the black beanbag chairs near his desk. He had recently purchased them while acting as a chauffeur to Kitty, whose used car had broken down once again. "I've got it covered."  
  
P  
  
Warren eyed the floppy pieces with some mild disdain. "Uh, no thanks," he replied, choosing to stand instead. "So, can I ask what you've got planned?"  
  
P  
  
Bobby was in his private bath, checking his reflection to see if he needed to shave again. "Well, I don't know if it compares to your standard outings," he said wryly, rubbing his cheek and jaw. A little stubble, but not enough to warrant another go with the razor. He wondered how Logan or Hank could stand having all that hair on their bodies. "Not all of us are into doing dinner at restaurants where the appetizers are as much as our salaries."  
  
P  
  
Warren smirked, watching his friend stroll out of the bathroom and towards his closet. "You make it sound like a bad thing, Bobby."  
  
P  
  
"To each his own, Moneybags," Bobby quipped, examining the contents of his wardrobe. He found a nice pair of pressed chinos and held them out for Warren's inspection. Besides being a wealthy playboy with a way with the ladies, Worthington was a notorious clotheshorse with impeccable taste.  
  
P  
  
His friend gave him a thumbs-up sign. "If the next thing you pull out of there is a Hawaiian shirt, I'm going to burn it," he warned mockingly.  
  
P  
  
Bobby peered down at the one he was wearing over his khaki shorts, a black cotton shirt with palm leaves printed all over. "You've never complained about them in general before," he pointed out.  
  
P  
  
"That's OK for everyday," Warren replied, waving a tanned hand at him. "But if you're going out on a date, then I wouldn't suggest it. Especially, if you're planning to go somewhere nice, Bobby."  
  
P  
  
Bobby snorted. "Please.... Give me some credit. I wouldn't wear a Hawaiian shirt on the first date." Then he added, "Maybe on the second one."  
  
P  
  
Warren picked up the latest issue of Men's Health from Bobby's desk and began flipping through it. "You never told me what you have planned for tonight," he said casually. Despite Bobby's joking demeanor, he could tell his friend was anxious about tonight. He had seen it before. Given how calm Bobby was attempting to act, Warren immediately concluded that his younger friend was more nervous than he usually would be about other dates.  
  
P  
  
Bobby cleared his throat, finding a sudden lump in it. "I have reservations at Avalon," he informed his friend, returning his gaze to his closet. "And, um, we're going to see a movie after that."  
  
P  
  
Suddenly, it began to hit him that this date was really happening. He had been so involved in planning the event last night and into today. None of the anxieties or excitement he usually experienced flooded him until that moment. The usually gregarious Bobby became very still and quiet, allowing it to all sink in. I Relax. She knows you and wants to be with you. This is like getting together like you've been doing for the past week. Except you guys will be outside of the mansion. That's the only difference. P  
  
"Oh right. I've heard good things about that place, too." Warren nodded approvingly, flipping through the letters to the editor section. His ears prickled at the lack of conversation from the other end of the room. "Bobby?"  
  
P  
  
"What?" Bobby was startled out of his thoughts. He quickly selected a pressed blue cotton shirt and a pair of brown loafers to complete the outfit. Standing behind the open closet door, he began change. As he was doing so, he could not help but notice that his hands were uncharacteristically shaky. Like the kiss that first night had been something new and special, so was this date. He wanted so desperately for this night to be perfect, just as the other days and nights leading up to it had been.  
  
P  
  
"You OK?" Warren put the magazine down.  
  
P  
  
"Yeah. Why are you asking?" Bobby forced a light tone to his voice as he tucked his shirt into his slacks and cinched a brown belt around his waist. He tried to convince himself that if he kept himself busy preparing for the evening, his anxiety would be reduced.  
  
P  
  
Warren watched him saunter to his dresser, opening a bottle of cologne. "I don't know," he admitted, studying Bobby and wishing that he would calm down. He was tempted to tell him not to be jittery, but held his tongue. Instead, he decided upon a different approach. "It sounds like you've done a great job planning the whole thing. Jubilee's going to have a great time."  
  
P  
  
Bobby turned around, raking a hand through his sandy hair. "Yeah?"  
  
P  
  
"Sure. She's a lucky girl. She's going out with Bobby Drake."  
  
P  
  
"Thanks, Warren. Listen, if you need some pointers, I'm here for ya."  
  
P  
  
"Don't flatter yourself."  
  
P  
  
The house felt strangely quiet as Jubilee stood in the living room, waiting for Bobby. She had always pictured either Scott and Jean or even Logan--- the closest thing she had to parents---seeing her off for her first date, like in the movies. She understood their reasons for being away, but could not help wondering what their reactions would be to this. Jean being Jean was supportive, and continued to express this in the days that followed that morning. Reflecting upon their recent shopping excursion, the statuesque redhead had cajoled her into buying those dresses, as if she knew about the date.  
  
P  
  
As for Scott and Logan, she was not sure. While Logan was still adjusting to the fact that she had grown up without him, she was not sure how the realization that she was dating would impact him. Granted, he wanted to protect her and keep her safe from those who might harm her. Unfortunately, he tended to group monsters like Creed with young, unsuspecting males who happened to be friendly towards her. She shuddered, recalling Sam's expression of fear when Logan had caught them hugging each other in welcome. With claws fully extended, he growled something in the young man's ear, which instantly drained the color from his face.  
  
P  
  
At the same time, the Wolverine wanted her to be happy. He had done so much over the years (albeit some of his methods a little unorthodox and counterintuitive) to prove that. On more than one occasion, he had left her side under the guise that she would be better off with more stable influences than with someone who continued to struggle with his own inner demons. Despite her anguish over these decisions, she had come to understand his rationale and ultimately, saw his point. It would be interesting to see how he would find a resolution between the two extremes. In the end, she hoped that his desire to see her happy would outweigh any inclination he might have to inflict terror and psychological trauma.  
  
P  
  
Then there was Scott. Not as violently protective as Logan, Jubilee could sense that he was capable of some of the same feelings. However, unlike Logan, Scott was a little more trusting of her decisions. While he often played the authoritative (or authoritarian---depending on who was espousing) leader, he was often a guiding force. He allowed her to feedback ideas to him and then provided his own arguments, rarely outright telling her what to do and what to think. During a visit to one of the colleges she had gotten into, he helped her deliberate as to what were the things she was looking for in a school.  
  
P  
  
But Scott overtly shielding her? Jubilee was not sure about that. Having known Bobby since the early days of the school, Scott could either have a good reaction or one that was less-than-thrilled. He could certainly express himself, using the looks conveyed from behind his sunglasses or visors. The looks that said, "I don't think that's a good idea". She had never seen him get into anyone face as she did Logan, telling the other person to back off. Even during the most antagonistic arguments with Logan or with Alex, Scott managed to keep his cool and often preferred to take their conflicts behind closed doors. The worst that could be expected was one of those trademark Summers looks, followed by something along the lines of "Are you sure?"  
  
P  
  
While she hoped for the two men to show some approval and not to physically harm Bobby, she knew that, in the end, it did not matter. Her mind was already made up. She wanted to be with Bobby Drake and that was the end of it.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee jumped when she heard a rapping at the front door. Her eyes went to the Fossil watch around her slender wrist. I He's on time. /I Hands shaking and sweating profusely, she darted to the mirror in the hall to check her reflection quickly. Then she took a deep breath and opened the door.  
  
P  
  
Bobby's gray eyes widened as he stood on the doorstep. He was quiet, taking in the striking vision in front of him. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. He didn't think it was possible for her to look any more lovely than she did. It was almost too perfect. There were so many things he wanted to say to her at that moment, but his tongue was paralyzed. Instead, he continued to stare.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee was equally intrigued with her boyishly handsome date. If she were less jittery, she would have given him a wolf-whistle. Then a blush stained her cheeks when she noticed him intensely staring at her. "What?" she asked, as she nervously tucked a lock of hair behind an ear. "Is something wrong? Should I change?"  
  
P  
  
He shook his head, smiling sheepishly. "No... I'm sorry. It's just that you look.... You look gorgeous."  
  
P  
  
She continued to flush pink, not from the discomfort she experienced earlier but from Bobby's sentiment. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Coming from Bobby, it seemed all the more special. "Thanks," she replied softly, stepping out onto the doorstep with him and closing the door behind her. "You do, too."  
  
P  
  
"This is for you," Bobby said, handing her a cream-colored rose. The thorns had been stripped from the stem.  
  
P  
  
She grinned up at him, placing the fragrant flower under her delicate nose. "Thank you. This must have been hard to find. I thought roses were out of season."  
  
P  
  
"Not if you raid Storm's greenhouse," he told her, draping an arm around her slim shoulders. The weather goddess, with some help from Hank, had recently cultivated a new breed of roses that could thrive all-year-round. His gray eyes twinkled with mischief.  
  
P  
  
She began to walk with him across the lawn, towards the garage where his car was parked. "She's going to kill you when she gets back and finds out," she warned him. "You might have a little rain cloud that'll follow you for weeks and weeks."  
  
P  
  
He pressed his lips against her forehead. "I can deal," he remarked, watching the early evening sun begin to disappear behind a group of maple trees.  
  
P  
  
"So," she drawled, playing the beads to her necklace. "Are you ready to 'wine and dine me'?" Her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled as she finished her sentence, recalling the phrase he had used the day before.  
  
P  
  
Initially, he did not answer her, but merely smiled. As they neared the garage, he could feel his heart race once again. It had been quite some time since the last time he had gone out with someone he really cared about. That aspect seemed to add more pressure to his already tense shoulders. He inwardly told himself that this was going to be a good night for both of them. Peering over at the radiant Jubilee who was still grinning up at him, he was convinced how right everything was in the world at that moment.  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, Jubes. Yeah, I am."  
  
P  
  
They drove into town with the windows rolled down to his Jetta, the warm summer breeze rumpling their hair. Bobby popped in one of his Nick Drake (no relation) discs into the car CD player. The soft, haunting voice of the late pop singer made the drive a little more intimate. During one of his favorite tracks, 'Northern Sky', Jubilee placed one of her small hands over his on the steering wheel. As he pulled in front of the restaurant, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips gently against the back of it, grinning.  
  
P  
  
The exterior of Avalon consisted of a mammoth brownstone, where the architectural detailing traced its original building date to sometime in the early 1900s. Inside, the walls were lined with gold, linen paper. Along these walls were sepia-colored photographs of landscapes around town. Customers were seated at broad, maple tables, placed in various spots of the main dining area. Most of them appeared quite comfortable as they laughed and talked over their dishes. While not a chain restaurant, the atmosphere was casual enough to imply that one should not put on airs while dining. Vintage jazz music played softly from the many speakers in the restaurant.  
  
P  
  
"Good evening," a blond hostess greeted them, brown eyes like liquid chocolate behind her wire-framed glasses. She was dressed in a sleeveless, gray cotton dress with an A-line skirt with matching sandals. Her glossy lips curled into a broad smile. "Welcome to Avalon. Will you be dining with us tonight?"  
  
P  
  
Bobby nodded, flashing a grin of his own. "Yes, we will. There should be a reservation under the name Drake."  
  
P  
  
She flipped through the book on the wooden stand in front of her. "Ah, yes... Drake party of two for six-ten?"  
  
P  
  
"That's it," he replied, sliding an arm around Jubilee's slender waist.  
  
P  
  
The hostess gathered two menus and stepped aside from the stand. "Great. Follow me, please."  
  
P  
  
She led them a table several yards from the bar. As soon as they were seated, she handed each a menu. "Here you go. Your waitress should be with you shortly to take your drink orders. Have a good night." She soon walked back to her perch by the front door.  
  
P  
  
"Thanks." Bobby turned to Jubilee who had already opened her menu. "What do you think?"  
  
P  
  
She gave him a cheerful smile, tossing her thick hair over her shoulder. "I'm glad I don't have to wear a bib," she quipped.  
  
P  
  
He gave her a wry look, flipping to the appetizers section. "Hilarious, Jubes. Maybe I'll have our waitress bring one out, just in case."  
  
P  
  
Her mouth formed a slight smirk. "Good one," she commented dryly, feeling very relaxed for the first time. Bobby always had that effect for her, much to her relief. "So, what do you suggest?"  
  
P  
  
"I'm not sure," he answered, still studying the menu. "I haven't been here before. From what I've heard, everything is good, so I don't think you can go wrong with anything you get."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee pressed her lips together in concentration. She was about to wonder aloud about the mozzarella strips marinated in olive oil, basil, and sun dried tomatoes when she heard a familiar voice drawl, "Jubes?"  
  
P  
  
Her head snapped up, following the source of the voice. Standing in front of her was a rueful-looking Paige Guthrie. The blonde did not appear as if she was there for a sit-down dinner, wearing a faded green, long-sleeved shirt untucked over a cargo skirt with sandals. She looked very pale, wearing no make-up at all, which was somewhat strange since the younger Guthrie made it a point to be a presentable figure during all times.  
  
P  
  
Concerned, Jubilee asked, "Guthrie, are you OK?"  
  
P  
  
Her friend nodded stiffly, chewing on her lower lip. "Yeah, I'm just here to pick up dinner," she responded, nodding at Bobby in greeting. "I'm waiting for them to bring it out to me."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee frowned, sensing something was definitely amiss. She recognized that tone---depressed and on the verge of tears and confusion. It was the one Paige often used while she was dating Jono. She then inferred her friend was in angst over her current boyfriend otherwise known as Warren Worthington. The usually calm and reserved Paige was shaky and obviously distressed as she stood by their table. Not wanting her friend to be any more uncomfortable, Jubilee peered over at Bobby, who instantly read her intentions and nodded his approval.  
  
P  
  
"Do you want to sit with us while you wait?" Jubilee asked, not catching Bobby's wary expression from behind his menu.  
  
P  
  
Paige shook her head. "Oh no, I couldn't. You guys are on your date."  
  
P  
  
"No, it's OK," the younger girl replied, motioning for her to pull a chair from the adjacent table. "We haven't ordered yet."  
  
P  
  
Paige gripped the back of the chair. "Are you sure? I'm not imposing?" she inquired.  
  
P  
  
"No, Paige, it's cool." Jubilee turned to Bobby. "Isn't it?"  
  
P  
  
Bobby struggled to hide his disappointment, lowering the menu from his face. It was not that he did not like Paige. In fact, he barely knew her in spite of the fact she was dating one of his good friends (Warren liked to keep his personal life private). He had originally thought he was going to spend a night out with Jubilee alone. "Not a problem," he managed, reassuring himself that the night was still young and dinner had yet to start.  
  
P  
  
"Thank you," Paige said gratefully, drawing a chair next to Jubilee and sitting down. She forced a smile, which was a sharp contrast to her doleful eyes. "So.... This is your first time here?"  
  
P  
  
The couple nodded in unison. "What about you?" Bobby asked politely.  
  
P  
  
She folded her hands together, studying the votive candle burning in the center of the table. "No," she answered, sighing. "When I miss dinner at the mansion, I usually do take-out here. The prices are pretty reasonable. I've been trying to get Warren to come out with me here...."  
  
P  
  
Her voice cracked at the end of that sentence. Bobby exchanged a curious glance with Jubilee. She leaned towards her friend, frowning with concern.  
  
P  
  
"Um, what's going on with you guys?" Jubilee asked quietly.  
  
P  
  
The other girl shook her head glumly. "It's nothing really," she began, and then she rolled her eyes. "Well, that's not completely true. Warren's been kind of distant lately. He's been spending an awful lot of time either at the office or in his private quarters at the mansion."  
  
P  
  
Bobby nodded. "How is this different than any other time?" he asked lightly, noting what she had just described was typical Worthington behavior. Similar to Logan, Warren often played the role of the brooding figure. To him and other friends, Warren was simply being Warren.  
  
P  
  
"It's different when he's with me," Paige protested, fiddling with a piece of silverware.  
  
P  
  
Bobby wasn't sure if he wanted to hear in what way Warren was different with her, seeing that he was about to eat. He cleared his throat. "Uh, well, maybe he's dealing with some stuff that---"  
  
P  
  
"That he doesn't want me to know about?" Paige smirked, shaking her head. "I thought we had moved beyond that. Idiot."  
  
I No, this isn't incredibly awkward or anything, /I he commented to himself inwardly. I I'm listening to one of my friends' girlfriends complain about him while I'm on a date. So far, the night's going really well. /I He peered over at Jubilee, who was wearing an expression of concern mixed with some discomfort and uncertainty.  
  
P  
  
Paige continued, oblivious to the couple's reaction. "I mean it's like he wants me when it's convenient for him. Then he keeps me away when he needs 'space'. Space. What the hell is that? Isn't the point of being together mean that you handle whatever comes at you as a team? Ever since we started dating, it's been one weird roller coaster ride. I don't even know where I stand with him sometimes."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee looked at her friend sympathetically as a guilty expression crept into her eyes. She did not want to look at Bobby at that moment. She felt responsible for throwing a wrench into his romantic dinner. Obviously, this was something he definitely could have done without.  
  
P  
  
Paige turned to Bobby, smoothing out the linen napkin by Jubilee's glass. "What do you think? Is he always like this or is it just me?"  
  
P  
  
He paled, trying not to keep his jaw from dropping. This was definitely territory he did not want to venture into. Loyalties to Warren aside, Bobby was not prepared for this kind of conversation tonight. He had counted on talking to Jubilee and Jubilee alone, not speculating about his friend's intentions towards his current relationship. "Um, Paige, you see...."  
  
P  
  
"Bobby? Bobby Drake?"  
  
P  
  
He looked up upon hearing his name being called out. A young woman, presumably their waitress from the black tuxedo shirt and black miniskirt she was wearing, stood behind Paige, smiling at him. She was rather attractive with a sunny face surrounded by light brown waves, styled in a shaggy bob. As he stared at her twinkling brown eyes, he immediately recognized who she was.  
  
P  
  
"Zelda?" he asked incredulously.  
  
P  
  
She nodded, laughing cheerily. "Yeah. Wow, it's been ages, huh?"  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, it seems that way. You look great."  
  
P  
  
"Thanks. So do you. And, who are you here with?"  
  
P  
  
He turned to Jubilee and Paige, both appearing expectant and confused. "Um, guys, this is Zelda. Zelda, this is Jubilee and Paige."  
  
P  
  
"We used to go out," Zelda added. "You know, double date with my friend, Vera, and Hank McCoy."  
  
P  
  
"Oh." Jubilee forced a smile, instantly intimidated once again. All the feelings of comfort and relaxation disappeared completely as she was reminded of early competition. Like the others, Zelda was very pretty and seemed quite right for Bobby. In the short time span, it was clear they had gotten along well.  
  
P  
  
"So, how's Hank doing?" Zelda quizzed, pouring iced water in the glasses. "Vera was asking about him at the wedding."  
  
P  
  
Bobby's gray eyes widened at the mention of Hank's ex-girlfriend from years ago. "She got married?"  
  
P  
  
Zelda nodded. "Yeah, about six months ago to this really nice guy from Toronto. They moved up there when he got this teaching job at one of the universities. The last thing I heard, she was pregnant and expecting twins. Twins. Can you imagine?"  
  
P  
  
"Wow, I'll have to tell Hank about that one. He's actually doing good." He took a sip of his water. "So what are you up to? I see that you've moved beyond the coffeehouse?"  
  
P  
  
"Oh, yeah," she replied, nodding. "This place is much better in terms of money. You know, rent around the downtown area is so expensive.... Plus, the hours are pretty flexible while I'm school."  
  
P  
  
Bobby raised his brows. This was new. While they had been going out, Zelda had always eschewed the notions of having a traditional career. She was simply happy being a waitress, not being weighed down by the burdens and responsibilities that came with other types of work. "What are you in school for?"  
  
P  
  
She grinned proudly. "I'm getting my masters in counseling at the state college. I'll be finishing up this year."  
  
P  
  
"That sounds great," he said warmly, sincerely meaning his words. Out of all the women he had dated, he had to admit that Zelda was one of the nicer ones. While he was not in love with her per se, he had felt quite comfortable around her when they were dating. She was bright and enthusiastic, not caring about the fact that he did not have a great deal of money to spend on her. During times when he was called away on missions, she often reacted with complete understanding and sometimes, with mock annoyance. Even things ended quite amicably, though they had lost contact over the years.  
  
P  
  
She nodded again. "But if you're going to ask me if I'm going to get a real job and what I'll be doing exactly, I'm not sure. Ah, no worries, right? There's no one lighting a fire behind me, forcing me to get out there. If something happens, it happens. Otherwise, I'm pretty content here." Her last sentence was punctuated by a merry laugh.  
  
P  
  
As much as Bobby was interested in catching up with Zelda, he could not help but feel very uncomfortable. Running into an ex-girlfriend during his first date with his current one was not exactly on the docket, either. He glanced over at Jubilee, whose face was rather unreadable. She simply sat back in her chair, observing the reunion playing out in front of her. While she did not seem upset or angry, it was clear that she was not having the time of her life.  
  
P  
  
"Enough about me," Zelda said, her voice breaking into his guilty thoughts. "What's going on with you?"  
  
P  
  
Bobby blushed, wishing that he could turn back time and start the evening all over again. "Nothing much, really.... I'm just have dinner out with Jubes here."  
  
P  
  
Paige peered over at the bar, noticing the bartender waving at her and holding a paper bag, containing her dinner. "Oh, that's me," she said, hopping out of her chair and to her feet. She smiled over at them before making her way to the bar. "Thanks for letting me hang out and vent. It was nice meeting you, Zelda. Have a great night and I'll see you when you get back. " With that, she left the table and sauntered towards the other side of the room, where the bar was located.  
  
P  
  
Zelda placed the pitcher of water down and pulled out her pen and pad. "I'm so sorry about babbling on and on," she apologized. "You guys must be starved. So, what can I get you?"  
  
P  
  
Bobby glanced over at Jubilee, who was shaking her head that she was not ready. "Um, actually, could you give us several more minutes? We haven't had that much time to look at what's on the menu."  
  
P  
  
"Sure thing," Zelda answered cheerily, picking up the pitcher. "I'll sweep on by in a few. Let me know if you have any questions or need any recommendations." Turning to Jubilee, she said, "It was nice meeting you. Bobby's a nice guy. You be good to him."  
  
P  
  
"Uh, sure." Jubilee's smile wavered slightly. She was willing herself not to turn pink at that moment. Things were too awkward already.  
  
P  
  
When Zelda disappeared into a crowd of customers, Bobby sighed. He peered over at his date across the table from him. "Listen, I'm sorry."  
  
P  
  
"For what? She didn't do anything. She seems really nice." Her eyes were glued to the appetizer section of the menu in front of her.  
  
P  
  
"You know, if you wanted to go somewhere else, I wouldn't blame you. We haven't ordered or anything, so we could slip out quietly. No big deal."  
  
P  
  
"Why would I want to go somewhere else? We're here for dinner and that's it."  
  
P  
  
"This isn't the only place in town."  
  
P  
  
"I know. But it wouldn't make sense to go somewhere else when we're already here."  
  
P  
  
"I didn't know she worked here---"  
  
P  
  
"Bobby, it's OK."  
  
P  
  
"Seriously, if I knew, then I wouldn't have made reservations here."  
  
P  
  
"Bobby, it's fine, really."  
  
P  
  
"So, you're not weirded out?"  
  
P  
  
"Well, the odds of running into your ex-girlfriend during dinner was something I never really thought about."  
  
P  
  
"I know."  
  
P  
  
"That's not going to define what happens for the rest of the night. Now, I was thinking about the chicken satay to start. What about you?"  
  
P  
  
Dinner was rather uneventful after the interlude with Paige and Zelda. Bobby and Jubilee shared an order of braised chicken with preserved chicken with rice pilaf and steamed vegetables. For dessert, the two ordered pieces of molten chocolate cake, which was the restaurant's specialty. Each bite combined velvety chocolate cake with a molten fudge center.  
  
P  
  
Bobby finished off his coffee as he went over the bill Zelda had left. He had noticed that Jubilee was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal. It was almost as if she were mulling what happened before, deciding what to think of it all. However, she gave no indication of being upset with him or with the situation at all. He was not sure if this was a good sign or not.  
  
P  
  
"How was your meal?" he finally asked, picked up a mint from the tray in front of him and popped it into his mouth.  
  
P  
  
She wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "It was good. Thanks." She reached over and took one of the mints from the same tray. "What did you think?"  
  
P  
  
He threw a couple of bills over the tab on the table. "The same," he replied, gray eyes watching her carefully. He feigned peering down his watch and said, "Well, let's head out. The movie's supposed to start in about fifteen minutes. I was thinking we could walk to the theatre."  
  
P  
  
"Sounds like a plan." She followed his lead and rose from her chair. As they made their way out of the restaurant, she caught up with his brisk strides. Walking alongside him, her fingers threaded his, clasping his hand tightly.  
  
P  
  
They took their time walking to the movie theatre, which was not too far from Avalon. While the air was cooler than it was when they first left the mansion, it was still comfortable. The two observed other couples and families walk down the street, enjoying the seasonal summer weather that evening. Other than the fact that they were mutants, Bobby and Jubilee seemed to fit into this idyllic and peaceful scene among their human counterparts.  
  
P  
  
Bobby was lost in reflection. Not quite how things were supposed to go, but hopefully the rest of the night could be saved with the movie. Contrary to his statements yesterday, he was not going to take her to see an action flick. 'The Sting' was playing at the Uptown, the oldest movie theatre in town. Not too sappy and not too terribly violent, Bobby thought this selection was a nice compromise. Most importantly, it was something that was somewhat unexpected. Tonight was about showing Jubilee that he was capable of being someone other than Bobby the clown, the comic relief.  
  
P  
  
In this day of generic multiplexes, the Uptown theater carried one back to the era of the movie palaces. Adjacent to more modern buildings, the theatre retained its art deco style architecture. With only one screen installed in 1966, it was curved, 40-feet high and about 70-feet long. The second great attraction was a balcony with stadium seating. It almost felt like being at a drive-in without having to look over a dashboard. High- back velour seats with drink holders along with new wallpaper, flooring, carpet, drapes and a second concession stand were parts of a recent renovation.  
  
P  
  
Staring up at the elegant building, Jubilee turned to him. "What's 'The Sting'? Is that like a wrestling movie?"  
  
P  
  
"No, Jubes," he pretended to feign exasperation, but his grin gave away his true feelings. "It's a classic movie with Robert Redford and Paul Newman. Trust me. You'll like it."  
  
P  
  
"Oh." Then she asked, "So, is it in black-and-white?"  
  
P  
  
"It's in color. So you assume just because something's old, it has to be in black-and-white?" Bobby wagged his brows at her teasingly.  
  
P  
  
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "Wolvie's old and he's in complete color."  
  
P  
  
He led her to the line that was outside of the ticket counter, grinning. "Do you get away with telling him that?" he asked, watching a soft breeze lift her dark hair from her slim shoulders.  
  
P  
  
Her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled as she turned to look at him. "What do you think?"  
  
P  
  
The wait for purchasing tickets was not all that long. While they waited, they speculated on the situation concerning Warren and Paige. Bobby knew his friend's standoffish behavior could be viewed as cold and unfeeling, but Warren had his reasons. At the same time, Jubilee was aware that Paige could not help but feel hypervigilant about being pushed away. Given her history, who could really blame her? Neither one took a particular side, but attributed the problems to some miscommunication on both ends.  
  
P  
  
After Bobby purchased their tickets, they walked into the theatre. He briefly paused in front of one of the concession stands. "Want something to nibble on?"  
  
P  
  
Jubilee shook her head, holding a small hand over her stomach. "No, I'm stuffed. But don't let me stop you."  
  
P  
  
"I'm OK, too," he told her, eyeing the doors that led up to the balcony seats. "Let's find a place to sit before the movie starts."  
  
P  
  
They managed to find seats next to one another in the front row of the balcony. Within minutes, the other seats around them began to fill up as well. Bobby noticed with relief how relaxed he was feeling again. The uneasiness that permeated between them while at the restaurant was gone. They were joking again, not forcing conversation or smiles. It was how it had been before they had gone out. Things were definitely looking up once again.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee played with the rose he had given her, watching the lights overhead dim. She studied his boyish features, the tingling in her stomach and extremities replacing the awkwardness she experienced at dinner. Her insecurities about not measuring up to his previous girlfriends had disappeared. The way he held her hand and the open and honest grins Bobby gave her erased all of that.  
  
P  
  
The credits began to roll on the screen. Members of the audience began to clap. The young couple joined them, smiling at each other. As soon as the opening scene played out, the clapping ceased. Jubilee then found her head resting on Bobby's broad shoulder, her eyes darting straight ahead at Robert Redford. In response, he slipped his hand from hers and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the sweet perfume from her hair. Inside, he swore to himself that this was what heaven was like.  
  
P  
  
About an hour into the film, the edges of the screen became quite blurry and discolored. As the movie progressed, the scenes became faded and the voices of the actors became squeaky and high-pitched. The speed of the conversations increased as well. Murmurs among the audience members echoed curiosity as to what was wrong. Finally, the screen was blank and the theatre was pitch black.  
  
P  
  
Bobby peered around, staring up at where the projector was positioned. Pressing his lips together, he was praying that there was nothing wrong and that the film would resume in a couple of minutes. However, the cynic in him argued otherwise. That was all he needed. Just as the night had begun to look up, there was a wrench always thrown in to make sure he was not becoming complacent. When the manager made the announcement over the loud speakers that the film had tangled in the projector, he was not surprised. This was soon met with a collective groan from the other people sitting around them. To Bobby, it was simply another strike added to the growing disappointments over this date.  
  
P  
  
The overhead lights flickered on. He and Jubilee watched the other patrons rise from their seats and began to flood the exits in order to line up for refunds. Both came to the silent agreement that they would stay in their seats rather than immediately joining the fray. Jubilee had since straightened her position in her seat, pulling her head away from Bobby's chest. Her small hands were folded in her lap, where she held the rose he had presented her earlier that evening. Bobby was drumming his fingers on the back of her chair to drown out the growing silence between them.  
  
P  
  
When the theatre was close to empty, he turned to her and asked, "You ready to leave?"  
  
P  
  
She nodded, taking his offered hand to pull her up. Wordlessly, she followed him towards the exit. Jubilee could tell he was disappointed with how things were going, but wasn't sure what to say exactly. She wanted to be reassuring, telling him that everything was fine, and none of this really mattered to her. Yet, every time she opened her mouth to comment, there was something that held her back. The young man by her side was uncharacteristically quiet, almost Stoic. She could not help but feel anxious, speculating as to what he was thinking. Did he have more successful first dates before her? Was he now regretting his decision? Would he think this night be a harbinger of things to come?  
  
P  
  
The wait for refunds at the counter was a short one since they had gone after the initial rush. The conversation between Bobby and Jubilee was rather sparse, mostly consisting of how strange the theatre did not have another copy of the film ready. Awkward silences filled with tension that had plagued them before quickly returned. Tender displays of affection exchanged earlier had stopped. A large space now separated their bodies, which was a sharp contrast to earlier that evening. Neither one attempted to look at the other, the sense of discomfort all-too-apparent.  
  
P  
  
Bobby kept his gray eyes staring ahead. Silently, he gave his ticket stubs to the teenaged employee behind the counter. His ears failed to pick up on the stuttered apology on behalf of the theatre. Instead, he concentrated on his thoughts. Everything had been so planned, aiming for perfection. The inauspicious evening only reflected the type of luck he often had with his dates. He wanted to kick himself for believing that this would change.  
  
P  
  
After they left the theatre several minutes later, he checked his watch. If they were anywhere other than Westchester, he would have suggested trying doing something else. However, the small town did not lend itself to entertaining a late-night crowd. The best they could hope for was attempting to catch last-call cocktails at one of the bars---if Jubilee was of age.  
  
P  
  
Bobby turned to her, watching her nervously tuck a lock behind her ear. The guilt he was experiencing was almost too much. He had wanted this to be good for her. Her memory of her first date should have been a great experience, filled with things she would want to remember. What had transpired was exactly the opposite.  
  
P  
  
As he was about to sigh about returning to the mansion, a familiar voice called out, "Robert! Robert! Robert, get back here!"  
  
P  
  
At that moment, a little boy, no more than three, scampered past them, finally stopping in front of Jubilee. He wore a pair of denim coveralls over a colorful, striped T-shirt and white Keds. His cherubic face indicated he was of both Asian and Caucasian descent, which was reflected in his almond-shaped, dark eyes. Light-brown hair---almost sandy---framed his chubby face. He chuckled softly, holding his small hands over his tiny belly. Holding his arms up towards Jubilee, he jumped up and down, indicating he wanted to be picked up. The young girl obliged, staring at him curiously as she cradled him in her arms.  
  
P  
  
"That's it, Bobby. Stay right there."  
  
P  
  
Instinctively, Bobby's head turned, following the direction of the voice. He could feel the color begin to drain from his face. He groaned inwardly. I And God stared down and said, 'I curse you, Bobby Drake.' P  
  
The mother of the child jogged over, a mixture of anger and concern washing over her Asian features. Given that Bobby knew the woman, this expression was one she often wore, reflecting her constant unhappiness in the world. After all the years of not being a couple, he observed her lack of fashion savvy was still a source of consistency. Her waist-length, black hair was pulled back in a bright blue banana clip, which matched the cotton T-shirt dress she wore. A white, rope belt was cinched around her small waist, coordinating with her canvas shoes. While there were some women who managed to pull of the look, the way this woman put together the outfit left much to be desired. There was only one person who could manage to accomplish such a feat.  
  
P  
  
Her narrow, onyx eyes widened with surprise as she stared at her ex- boyfriend. "Bobby Drake?"  
  
P  
  
His mouth suddenly became dry, the wide-eyed gaze from Jubilee searing a hole into him. "Hey, Opal."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee peered over at the woman, oblivious to the little boy playing with the beads to her necklace. I So, this is the famous Opal... Interesting. P  
  
The other woman's magenta lips lifted into a tight smile, extending her arms out towards Jubilee, who was still holding the child. Reluctantly, the little boy jumped to her. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"  
  
P  
  
Bobby nodded stiffly. "Yeah."  
  
P  
  
Opal held the child closely in her arms, her eyes sweeping over Jubilee. There was a sparkle of amusement that glittered in her eyes. I Bobby was certainly hanging with a younger crowd these days.... /I "I'm Opal," she finally said. "Bobby and I used to date. And you are?"  
  
I Feeling very insignificant about now, /I Jubilee was about to respond. Instead, she nodded and replied, "I'm Jubilee."  
  
P  
  
The other woman raised her brows. "That's an interesting name. Doesn't sound Asian at all."  
  
P  
  
"Neither does Opal," Jubilee countered sweetly. Already, she could tell why Jean and Rogue used to bemoan this woman's existence and constantly encouraged Bobby to break things off. I She's a real pip. P  
  
Bobby stared at the two women incredulously. If this were happening to anyone else other than him, he would have been amused. Hell, he would have thrown a couple cracks here and there. Unfortunately, this was his nightmare come to life. I As if running into Zelda wasn't enough.... P  
  
He cleared his throat. "So, Opal," he drawled, trying to mask the strain in his voice. "What are you doing back in the States? Last time I saw you, you were working in Europe."  
  
P  
  
She shrugged. "We're just here for a little while, visiting friends in the area. I wanted Bobby here to get to know some of them. You do remember Bobby, don't you?"  
  
P  
  
Jubilee's sapphire-blue eyes traveled to the child in Opal's arms. The blended features of both Asian and Caucasian heritage, the similar shading of hair color to Bobby's, and the mischievous, impish manner about him---it was all reminiscent of.... Then she stared up Bobby Drake, noticing the softening in his expression. Her stomach flipped inside.  
  
P  
  
Oh God.  
  
P  
  
Bobby Drake---a father? Suddenly, her knees began to buckle slightly from the shock. She grabbed onto a parking meter for support, relieved that no one noticed her---at least no one was saying anything. Things would probably be even more awkward than they already were.  
  
P  
  
"Sure, I do." Unaware of Jubilee's reaction, Bobby leaned over and gave the child a small smile. He held out his hand to him. "Although, I doubt he knows who I am. Hi-five?"  
  
P  
  
Shyly, the boy slapped his small palm against Bobby's.  
  
P  
  
"Nonsense," Opal scoffed, watching the younger woman shift uncomfortably. "I talk to him about you all the time. After all, he should know the man he's named after. Don't you think?"  
  
P  
  
"You do?" Bobby couldn't help but be somewhat skeptical given the way things had ended the last time he had seen his former girlfriend and her son. "Sorry, Opal, that's kind of hard to believe."  
  
P  
  
She sniffed indignantly. "It's true."  
  
P  
  
He watched Robert rest his head against his mother's shoulder. "Have you talked to his father?" he asked quietly, stirrings of warmth and affection tugging at his heart. While he was not in love with Opal and was aware that the child was not his, he had been willing to stay with her for the baby. A part of him wanted to be a father at the time. He was intrigued with the new role and the responsibilities that came with it. There was also the desire to demonstrate he could be a different father than his own, a more loving and accepting one. In the end, this was not to be.  
  
P  
  
Her face twitched slightly at the mention of the man who abandoned her upon finding out she was pregnant. "No. I have no interest in doing so." Then she sighed. "I think we're better off. I have a good job and my family overseas has been very supportive."  
  
P  
  
"That sounds great."  
  
P  
  
"I'm not saying it's been easy. Being a parent is harder than I thought, not to mention a single one."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, but he seems like a good kid."  
  
P  
  
"When he wants to be. He's in this stage where he likes physical comedy. That, and practical jokes."  
  
P  
  
"That's not necessarily bad thing."  
  
P  
  
"It is when you're sleeping and Robert has found pots and pans to bang on in the kitchen."  
  
P  
  
"He's just expressing himself."  
  
P  
  
"Call it what you want, but it's still annoying. Reminds me of you."  
  
P  
  
"Oh come on. That's one thing I never did."  
  
P  
  
"Other than that, he's OK? I mean when I saw him last, he was pretty sick...."  
  
P  
  
"He's fine. Thanks to you."  
  
P  
  
"I did only what I could."  
  
P  
  
"Which was more than anyone else at the time.... I never did thank you. I mean, properly."  
  
P  
  
"Opal, you don't have to... I already know."  
  
P  
  
"But it makes me feel better that I tell you now, Bobby. Thanks."  
  
P  
  
"It was no problem, really."  
  
P  
  
"It was a big deal to me. You saved my baby."  
  
P  
  
There was a long pause in the conversation as the two eyed each other ruefully. Little Robert had already fallen blissfully asleep in his mother's arms. Suddenly, Opal began to shiver in spite of the seasonal summer air. Concerned, Bobby wondered if it was him, losing control of his abilities. Once in while, he would find himself slipping, particularly when he was overly nervous.  
  
P  
  
Opal instantly read the expression. "It's not you," she told him flatly. "I was just thinking.... Never mind."  
  
P  
  
He frowned at her. "What?"  
  
P  
  
She scowled. "Nothing. It's stupid and a moot point."  
  
P  
  
"What is it, Opal?" Now, Bobby was really curious. It had to be something good if she was getting defensive. At least, that was he had learned when they were dating.  
  
P  
  
Her dark eyes lowered to the pavement below her feet. "It's just that I.... I wish sometimes I hadn't.... I think about us as a family."  
  
P  
  
His gray eyes widened. This was something unexpected. The last time he had seen her; she was very determined not to have involved her life again unless she absolutely had to. She had said she only did so to save her child's life. Now here she was, admitting that she had wanted something else all along.  
  
P  
  
While Bobby had wanted that as well, he knew that was all in the past. Too much time and too many things had transpired for him to consider otherwise. He sighed wearily. "That can't happen. You know that, Opal. Not after--- "  
  
P  
  
"I know," she muttered, eyes narrowing. "If he was yours, would you have worked harder to look for us?"  
  
P  
  
He stared at her blankly. Then he replied, "I would, but.... If you had given me the chance at the time, I would have stuck around. Now things are different. I'm with someone else and..." He turned to face Jubilee, whom he assumed felt left out during this strange reunion. Again, guilt crept into him, realizing he was not making the night any better. He made a mental note to apologize once again.  
  
P  
  
Correction: she would have felt left out provided she was there.  
  
P  
  
"Well," Opal drawled, cradling Robert against her. "Is she a mutant, too? Let me guess, her powers involve disappearing into thin air."  
  
P  
  
Bobby turned to her, clenching his jaw. If the little boy weren't around, he would have uttered some choice words for that unneeded comment. "Did you see which way she went?" he demanded.  
  
P  
  
Opal shrugged her shoulders, disinterested in her former boyfriend's worried reaction. "Last time I checked, I wasn't in charge of keeping an eye on your dates." Then she smirked slightly. "You know, Bobby, this is primarily why things didn't work between us. You got so distracted with other things.... Looks like history's repeating itself."  
  
P  
  
She then leaned over and patted his cheek before sauntering away. "Take care of yourself, Bobby," she called over her shoulder, disappearing into the shadows of the summer evening.  
  
P  
  
Bobby racked his brain, trying to figure out where Jubilee could have gone. He thought about calling her on her cell phone, but realized he had not programmed the number into his phone yet. He strode quickly, calling out her name. By this time, many people were drifting to their cars to make their way back home. Given that Westchester was a small town, the public transit services had already stopped for the night. As for the possibility of catching a cab to get back to the mansion, which would have been unlikely as well; she would have had to call for one.  
  
P  
  
He decided to return to his car, which was parked close by. He needed to regroup, collect his thoughts, and figure out where his date gone. None of this had gone how he had planned it. But then again, why should he have been surprised? He simply hoped to have an enjoyable evening with some normalcy. Was that too much to ask? Shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he surmised for some reason, it was.  
  
I Who the hell runs into two ex-girlfriends in the same night? /I he groused to himself, kicking a pebble in his path. I The movie glitch certainly didn't help things. And I don't even want to think about those minutes Paige joined up before we ate... Maybe we were better off not doing this in first place. It would have been safer, more controlled, and the chances of us running into Zelda or Opal would have been zilch. P  
  
When he returned to his parked Jetta, he was relieved and shocked to find Jubilee sitting on the hood of the car. She was playing with the rose he had given her earlier that night. Looking deep in thought, it was almost as if she did not notice that he was standing in front of her. Bobby hurriedly darted towards her.  
  
P  
  
She peered up at him, sapphire-blue eyes solemn. "Hey."  
  
P  
  
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, raking a hand through his sandy hair. "I'm so sorry. I don't know---"  
  
P  
  
A breeze rumpled her long, silky tresses. "I think you've said that enough tonight. At least, thinking it."  
  
P  
  
Stunned, he was not sure to make of her ambiguous response. Then his mind began to race with possibilities as to what else could have possibly elicited this. His lips were pressed together in a grim line before he said anything. "Listen," he began, trying to sound as calm and even as he could. "Robert.... The little boy.... He isn't---"  
  
P  
  
"He isn't yours, I know." Jubilee sighed. "I heard that part of the conversation." She paused, then went on, "I wasn't mad, Bobby. I just felt kind of out of place. When you guys were talking, it was like I was intruding on something."  
  
P  
  
"You weren't---"  
  
P  
  
"Yes, I was. After all these years of being the annoying kid around the mansion, I know when I need to make an exit."  
  
P  
  
"You also know that I don't feel anything for her."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah... Yeah, I gathered that, too."  
  
P  
  
"And you also know that the only person I want to be with is you. I could see how you might come to another conclusion given what's happened tonight. Believe me, I'm not crazy about having my exes come back from oblivion tonight."  
  
P  
  
"I never thought that."  
  
P  
  
"Really. I just got the sense you were disappointed..."  
  
P  
  
"With how the night ended up. Never with you. Never with us. I just wanted to make you happy."  
  
P  
  
There was a brief pause in the conversation. Jubilee could feel a sense of relief wash over her. She wanted to smile up at him and throw her arms around his neck. However, again, there was something holding her back. Staring up at the boyish face of Bobby Drake and the glum expression that fell over it, she realized that would not be the answer. Instead, Jubilee decided to take a different approach.  
  
P  
  
She grasped his hand, climbing off the car. "Come on," she said, tugging slightly. "I want to show you something."  
  
P  
  
"What?" he inquired, perplexed. His feet were already moving as she began to lead him away from the car. "Jubes, where are we going?"  
  
P  
  
"Somewhere," was her mysterious response. Then she added, "You'll see."  
  
I Well, at least she's speaking to me, /I he thought, allowing her to take the lead. As for her surprise, he honestly had no idea what she had in mind. If he weren't feeling quite so tense, he would have made a wisecrack about the malls not being open at this hour.  
  
P  
  
They walked several blocks, past the dark windows of various business on the main strip. Their way was alit by the street lamps that decked both sides of the street. By this time, many people had vacated the area, returning to their homes for the night. During the walk, Bobby kept asking where they were going only to receive equally cryptic and vague replies from Jubilee.  
  
P  
  
Finally, they stopped in front of Orchard Park. A public park with chess tables, bike paths, and a full playground; it was a popular spot during the warm months, particularly on Friday afternoons. Bobby remembered overhearing Annie talking about taking Carter and some of the other children for a mini-field trip here.  
  
P  
  
Before he could ask what exactly they were doing here, Jubilee said, "I used to come here a lot with Ilyana when she was alive. Here, we could be kids and be free to be happy and not think about other stuff that was going in the world."  
  
P  
  
He nodded somberly, noticing the reference to the late sister of Piotr Rasputin. He remembered the two girls being quite close since they were remotely close in age, compared to the adults who inhabited the mansion. When the little girl died some time later, Jubilee seemed to take it as another loss to deal with, not letting on how she had lost a close companion. As they ventured towards the swing set nearby, he could tell she was still affected.  
  
P  
  
She sat on one of the swings. "Every time I walk by here, I still think about those times," she confessed, her voice wistful. "It was like it was OK not to have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Just being here was enough to make you happy."  
  
P  
  
He followed her, taking a seat on the swing next to hers. Instead, he chose to face the opposite direction so that he could have a view of her face. "Sounds like you have good memories here," he observed quietly.  
  
P  
  
"Yeah," she said, nodding. She began to push herself on the swing, rocking to and fro slowly. "When we were here, it was like our own paradise. No one knew or cared what we were. We could be ourselves---you know, just regular kids. There was no planning, no worries about what was going to happen next. It was like being around was enough."  
  
P  
  
Bobby watched her swing back and forth, moving ever so slightly himself. He often found himself thinking about such days, wondering if he could ever have something like that. As he watched the young girl next to him swing, he came to realize why she had brought him here. Immediately, he wanted to kick himself for not knowing why initially.  
  
P  
  
"Jubes..." he began, his voice suddenly husky.  
  
P  
  
She continued to move back and forth, peering at him over her shoulder. "It doesn't matter what happened tonight," she said. "There were ups and downs, yeah. But, they don't really change anything else."  
  
P  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her skeptically. "You're saying this whole night was fun for you?"  
  
P  
  
"I said there were ups and downs," she reminded him gently, kicking her slim legs in the air. "But that's what life is like, isn't it? Besides, would it have been a little boring if everything went as planned? Come on, it's us, we're talking about."  
  
P  
  
Bobby shook his head, unable to be assuaged by her words. "No, I don't believe that," he insisted, watching her gain some momentum. "I wanted tonight to be right. I wanted your first date with me to be romantic. And now, look. We meet up with your best friend who has a nervous breakdown while we were out, then with my two exes, and the movie idea was a bust. Let's just call it a night, Jubes."  
  
P  
  
"It's not over yet," Jubilee told him quietly, bringing her swing to a complete halt.  
  
P  
  
He looked at her perplexed, shoulders sinking. It was very late and time for him to take her home, lest he incur the wrath of a worried Jean Grey. Given how small Westchester was, it was quite doubtful that there was anywhere else for them to go in order to salvage their date. "What do you mean?"  
  
P  
  
"I mean, the date's not over yet, Bobby."  
  
P  
  
"I don't get it. I---"  
  
P  
  
She cut him off by covering his mouth with hers, taking advantage of his open lips. Sliding her tongue against his, she could taste the coffee and mint he had after their dinner. His breath was cool in her mouth as she held on tightly to the chains that connected the swing to its metal frame. Bobby began to respond by leaning further towards her. Jubilee then moved her lips tenderly along his jaw line. The unshaven stubble was ticklish against her mouth, which elicited several soft sighs from her between kisses.  
  
P  
  
Her sapphire-blue eyes were wide as she drew back. "You said so yourself," she whispered, smiling up at him. "First dates always end with a kiss goodnight." 


	5. Chapter Five Into Temptation

Chapter Five: Into Temptation  
  
Thanks for the reviews. Please keep them coming.  
  
Here's the latest installment.  
  
As usual, the characters are Marvel's. The story is mine.  
  
P  
  
Some time had passed since that disastrous first date. While the negative aspects were slowly fading from his memory, Bobby could not help but continue to feel that he owed Jubilee a better experience. Sure, the date had ended well (an understatement, but he was unable to think of another adjective). True to her word, she was not upset or overtly disappointed. She had been the one to kiss him goodnight, after all. In fact, when they were together following that night, she acted as if the date had no adverse effect on their relationship. She continued to enjoy being with him, conveying this through her smiles, clasps of hands, and most importantly, through those wonderful kisses.  
  
P  
  
Yet, he still wanted to do something special for her---something to erase that night. Bobby felt as if he owed her a better memory of a first date than what he initially offered her that night. Despite her assurances that he did not need to do anything else, his own anxiety pressed the issue.  
  
P  
  
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of chino shorts as he walked up the spiral staircase. He had been searching for Cecilia Reyes to pick her brain for suggestions for a follow-up date. Bobby soon learned that the doctor was en route to a medical conference in Washington, DC. Usually, he would have asked Jean, but the redhead was occupied with her headmistress duties while the Professor was visiting Genosha with Warren, Kurt, and Alex. His second choice, Rogue, was still in Asia with Storm and the rest of her team, and it was uncertain as to when the Southern Belle would return. Sighing resignedly, he told himself he would have to wait to get the female perspective on this proposed date.  
  
P  
  
Bobby reached his room, dreading the homework assignments sitting on his desk that still needed to be marked. He had put them off in order to spend the last two afternoons with Jubilee. They had gone to the new putt-putt golf course that recently opened in town. Watching the young girl struggle with her patience as she furiously whacked at the helpless golf balls was entertaining to say the least. After some good-natured ribbing, he finally broke down and gave her pointers. By the second time they went, her handicap had greatly improved, while Bobby's had declined. The car ride back to the mansion was filled with teasing---this time, from her.  
  
P  
  
He wasn't sure what it was about her that made him feel this constant rush, so ecstatic, so alive. The thought of being near her was always on his mind. These thoughts often brighten his mood---no matter how irritated he was sometimes while teaching his summer course. It was nothing like he had experienced before with the other women he had been with. Bobby had cared for them deeply, yes. However, there was the fact that Jubilee sincerely returned his affections. There was nothing duplicitous about her intentions (she wasn't using him to seize control of a ship or using him to wait for someone else), no complicating factors that held her back from him (definitely no no-touching rule to be concerned with or worrying about his mind being manipulated into a muddy mess). She wanted him and only him. And for that, Bobby felt gratification that went beyond anything he could express in words.  
  
P  
  
There was also the fact that he did not have to be "on" when he was with her. He could relax and be himself. Bobby did not have to constantly supply the quick and funny lines, nor did he need to impress her with stories with his past exploits as one of the first students. Jubilee knew about all that, and saw past it during the years she had known him. For her, Bobby being Bobby was quite fine with her. Needless to say, this was a refreshing change for the man who constantly felt pressured to please others, particularly the women he dated.  
  
P  
  
With red marker in hand, Bobby seated himself at his desk, grimacing at the stack of papers. Mentally, he coached himself to focus on the task at hand. His gray eyes flicked to his alarm clock by his bedside. It was evening---too early to visit Jubilee since she was probably out at the mall with Paige. The two were in search of some bracelets they had seen some actress sporting on their favorite soap opera. Bobby wasn't too clear on the details since fashion and other aspects of couture weren't his forte. As for procrastinating with his friends, Warren was spending a late night at the office in the city and Hank had immersed himself in some research in the lab downstairs. In other words, he had no excuses for putting off grading any longer.  
  
P  
  
Bobby was pleased with the first couple of papers he had graded. Apparently, the constant drills on quadratic formulas had paid off. Not a failing assignment yet. Contrary to the belief of his students, he hated giving out poor marks. Like any good teacher, he wanted them to learn and succeed at mastering the material he presented. That, and he did not want to have to offer extra tutoring sessions.  
  
P  
  
He was halfway through the assignments when he heard an insistent rapping at his door. Quizzically, he frowned. He asked himself who it could be, having ruled out the usual suspects already. While he was hoping it was Jubilee having come back from the mall early, he knew this was highly unlikely.  
  
P  
  
His mouth suddenly became dry after he opened the door, revealing the identity of the visitor. "Um, hi," he managed, willing his voice not to crack.  
  
P  
  
The self-proclaimed mistress of magnetism stood before him, expressionless. In spite of the imposing presence she radiated lately, Lorna managed to instill a sense of femininity through her use of make-up and distinct curves. These curves were often accentuated by her selection of wardrobe. Bobby's former girlfriend wore a salmon-colored, camisole sweater and white, cotton skirt with rose-colored, open-toed sling backs. Her wavy, light-green hair was loosely piled on the top of her head with loose tendrils framing her arresting features.  
  
P  
  
"Can I come in?" she inquired, her voice calm and even. It was the antithesis of how she was the last time they had seen each other. Furious and crazed, she had been reeling from being abandoned at the altar by Alex. She consequently taken this aggression on everyone present, including Bobby.  
  
P  
  
Bobby would have been thrilled to have Lorna Dane approach him like this. She was asking him to let her, not him running after her, seeking any miniscule of attention she might give him. He lost count the number of times he had pined for her. It was probably equal to the number of schemes he had concocted to steal her back from Alex Summers. His eyes narrowed as he recalled the last one he had attempted to carry out.  
  
I It was before Alex's accident. He had been in the guest bedroom the two often stayed in while visiting the mansion. His envy and jealousy had raged inside him as the memories of seeing the two of them leave the mansion for an impromptu picnic flashed in his mind. Irrational and in pain, Bobby had rummaged through the closet the two shared until he found one of Alex's dress shirts. Then he had stormed to the vanity, where Lorna kept most of her make-up. Suddenly inspired, he spritzed a mixture of the various bottles of perfume on the shirt.  
  
P  
  
"With one whiff of this, I doubt Lorna would want to be making kissy faces at you, Summers," he had muttered bitterly. He had replaced the tops to all of the bottles. However, he was not satisfied. There was something missing.  
  
P  
  
Glancing over at the metal basket where his ex-girlfriend kept her lipsticks, Bobby had come up with another idea. He had snatched one of the tubes and pulled off the cover. He then applied the crimson gloss over his own mouth and proceeded to press his lips against the collar of the shirt. "Just in case..." he had smirked to himself.  
  
P  
  
"Wow," a voice had observed with amusement. "The evidence keeps piling up."  
  
P  
  
Bobby had whipped around, surprised. Standing behind him was a grinning Hank McCoy, who was shaking his large head. Despite the lightness in his voice and expression, Bobby could tell his old friend did not approve. Glaring at him, Bobby had grabbed a tissue and wiped his mouth clean. Then he threw the shirt at Hank, storming out of the room.  
  
P  
  
"Make any comment you want," he had huffed, "you know I look good." P  
  
Shaking his head from his reverie, Bobby opened the door to allow her to enter. He watched her seat herself on his bed, still nonchalant. Still confused, he closed the door quietly and sauntered over to her. Not that he was a judgmental person or anything, but he had assumed that she would have been somewhat uncomfortable to face him ---especially after trying to hurt him at the wedding. Like many around the mansion, he realized there was a great deal to learn about Lorna since her return from Genosha.  
  
P  
  
"You really need to hire an interior decorator," Lorna mused, taking in the familiar surroundings. While she was dating Bobby, she recalled spending quite some time here. She was not all that surprised that Drake, the eternal frat boy, would still cling to the memories of his younger days. It seemed to be a recurring theme to his personality.  
  
P  
  
He pulled out his swivel chair and sank into it. "You offering?" he asked casually.  
  
P  
  
She smirked. "Please. I'd leave that kind of thing to the little nymphets around here." Then she shrugged her bronze shoulders, rolling her eyes.  
  
P  
  
He was waiting for her to make some kind of sarcastic comment about dating Jubilee. When she did not, he was surprised. Either she did not want to acknowledge it or did not know at all. Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was not in the mood to get into a confrontation with Lorna about his new relationship.  
  
P  
  
Before he could ask her why she dropped by, she sniffed. "I suppose this is what's it like to be you."  
  
P  
  
He gave her a quizzical look. "What are you talking about?"  
  
P  
  
Her dark-green eyes flashed briefly, irritated that she had to explain herself. "I mean, being alone."  
  
P  
  
Apparently, she did not know.  
  
P  
  
She continued, her mouth twisting slightly. "I came to see you because I figured you would be the only one to understand. Maybe you can offer some advice, huh?" Punctuating the last statement was a bitter, raw laugh emanating from her.  
  
P  
  
"You're not alone," Bobby commented reassuringly.  
  
P  
  
"So I suppose Alex didn't leave me at the altar and humiliated me by going off with that insipid nurse? That's all in my head?" Lorna raised her brows sardonically, shaking her head. "Please, Bobby. Even I'm not that delusional."  
  
P  
  
He tried not to appear wounded as he said, "I was referring to your friends around here."  
  
P  
  
She snickered. "Yes, my friends. Oh, the people around here who avoid me like the plague? Are you talking about those friends? Other than Charles and Kurt, no one has been talking to me, or haven't you noticed?"  
  
P  
  
He pressed his lips together firmly. It was hard not to agree with her. Even Jean Grey, one of Lorna's closest friends, was somewhat wary of her now, choosing to keep her distance. This was quite unusual since Jean was one of those people who liked giving people a fair shake. As for himself, he was not sure why he had not spoken to Lorna. He supposed part of it stemmed from his apprehension regarding her new personality. She was unpredictable, mixed with her heightened awareness of her powers, made her not the most pleasant person to be around. He recalled the pain he experienced when she took out her frustrations and rage out on him for siding with Alex. He never thought that kind of physical pain was possible, least of all, having it inflicted by someone he once considered close to him.  
  
P  
  
There was also the fact that he had seen very little of her since that day. The Professor immediately sequestered the young woman into his office for private sessions, presumably to deal with the aftermath and issues that might have brought on her reaction. There were the occasional missions she went on, but she was never assigned to a team he was on. Bobby could honestly say the most he saw of her lately came to only brief episodes around the mansion, lasting a minute at most.  
  
P  
  
He sighed. "I'm sorry, Lorna."  
  
P  
  
"I wasn't looking for your pity. I was simply pointing some facts out." She narrowed her dark-green eyes.  
  
P  
  
"It will get better."  
  
P  
  
"Will it?"  
  
P  
  
"Sure. People are forgiving around here, you know. I mean, look at Gambit."  
  
P  
  
"You're comparing me to a murderer and a thief?"  
  
P  
  
"Fine. Bad example. Look, all I'm telling you is that you're not as alone as you think. People around here still care about you. It's just going to take some time to get comfortable with you again as a friend."  
  
P  
  
"If they really cared about me and were my friends, they would have showed it. I wouldn't be reduced to this pariah status."  
  
P  
  
"It's not as black and white as you're making it. Things are a little more complicated than that."  
  
P  
  
"How do you figure? The way I see it, if these people were really my friends, then they should have sided with me, understood what I was going through. No, they decide to go along with that Summers brother and his dipstick flavor of the month. It's like watching those idiots play house with her bratty son is more important than being concerned about a long- time team member and friend."  
  
P  
  
"You tried to hurt them---all of them, including the people who love and care about you. Besides, it's not Annie's fault."  
  
P  
  
"And whose fault do you think it is?"  
  
P  
  
"I... I don't know. Does it matter?"  
  
P  
  
"It does to me. Don't you think that it was cruel of Alex to leave me like that---in front of all our friends and family? Of all days to show his ambivalence, he had to pick that one. Doesn't that seem wrong to you? It was my wedding day, Bobby. That day is supposed to special and wonderful and he ruined it for me by abandoning me. Can you imagine how humiliated I was?"  
  
P  
  
"Well, if you're looking for an opinion, I don't think I can offer one. I haven't really spent a lot of time, contemplating the whole thing."  
  
P  
  
"So you're with Alex on this one? I can't believe you, Bobby. After all this time, you decide---"  
  
P  
  
"I didn't say that. I'm just neutral, Lorna. Take it how you want to, but I'm not taking sides on this."  
  
P  
  
"As long as you're not saying that I should play the good-girl and pretend that I like what's going on, I would think that's a fair compromise." She pursed her lips, remembering the initial advice Kurt had given her several days after the wedding fiasco. Had he not been the first to approach her, she would have given him a taste of what she really wanted to do the new couple. I Be the bigger person, indeed. P  
  
He shrugged his shoulders. "If that's going to help you, then fine."  
  
P  
  
Silence lingered in the room following Bobby's last remark. Lorna shifted on the bed slightly, crossing her legs and eyeing the man sitting across from her. It had been some time since they had talked for a long period of time. While she was dating Alex and staying at the mansion, she had made it a point to avoid Bobby. Given all the tension surrounding their break- up and his continued insistence that they were still a couple, she had felt it was easier that way. She did not want to hurt him any more than she did by being close to him as a friend. Somehow, she suspected he would have mistaken that as a sign of hope that their relationship could be rekindled. As she reflected on their conversation, she realized how much she had missed how earnest and caring Bobby could be. During the weeks that followed the wedding, she needed to hear someone else's reassurances besides the Professor, who was more of a mentor than a friend or peer, or Kurt, who was sometimes too altruistic, it bordered on sickening. Hearing Bobby's perspective forced her to consider the shades of gray to the situation.  
  
P  
  
She folded her hands together. "Can I call you a friend?" she asked, a hint of hesitancy in her voice.  
  
P  
  
He nodded, somewhat taken aback. "You know you can. I know that I haven't been---"  
  
P  
  
"Don't think about it," she cut him off, waving her hand dismissively. Then she took one of his hands in hers. "All I needed was to hear you say that. It's like you understand what I'm going through. You can see where I'm coming from."  
  
P  
  
Part of him agreed with her. All those years of watching her at Alex's side was source of angst for him. The jealousy and pain he experienced on a regular basis whenever they were around was almost too much for him. Then there was his assumption that he had done something to drive her away made things even more unbearable. Of all people, Bobby knew what she was talking about. However, he was aware that the circumstances were vastly different.  
  
P  
  
He nodded stiffly, feeling her hands squeeze his. A slight smile tugged at her lips, evoking memories of happiness experienced years ago. For a moment, it was as if things were how they used to be---before Alex, before so many things. His eyes stared into those emerald eyes that had first ensnared him under her spell long ago in California.  
  
P  
  
Suddenly, Bobby could feel a slight heat on his skin, which was quite strange given his constant cool body temperature. It was then that he realized that her face was close to his. Her breath was warm as she leaned further towards him, eyes heavy-lidded. Before he could react, Lorna's lips covered his own. She held him still as she explored his mouth with deepening strokes, her own hard and demanding for his response. Surprised, Bobby was unable to recall a time when she ever kissed him like that. Perhaps her time under Magneto's tutelage also ingrained other aggressive aspects into her personality.  
  
P  
  
Not too long ago, Bobby Drake would have been delighted over this sudden embrace from the object of his unrequited affections. Many nights, he longed to have Lorna Dane in his arms like this, kissing him passionately, letting him know that she wanted him after all. The fantasies that raced through his head on a semi-regular basis were almost countless. He had forgotten how she felt against him. She was beautiful and warm and everything he wanted.  
  
P  
  
But not now.  
  
P  
  
He pulled back, gasping for air. "I can't do this," he told her quietly. "I'm sorry, Lorna. I just can't do this."  
  
P  
  
Her eyes widened incredulously. "What? What's wrong?" She thought he would want this; he would want her like this. She wasn't sure if she could handle another rejection, especially from the person she thought would never be capable. For a second, she began to doubt her own feminine wiles. If Bobby, good, old dependable Bobby didn't want her, then who would. Had she not spent so much time working on her hardened façade, she would have broken down and cried.  
  
P  
  
"I mean, a while ago, I would have been thrilled." He sighed, gray eyes sheepish as he rubbed his fingers over his lips. They were still tingling from the forcefulness of her kiss. From the wounded expression that flashed in her eyes, he could sense something else at play. "Don't get me wrong. In a minute, I would have.... But I can't now."  
  
P  
  
The beginnings of a frown creased her brow. "Then why?" she demanded.  
  
P  
  
"It's just that I... I'm seeing someone else," he confessed, picking his words carefully. He did not want to hurt Lorna. She had already experienced enough for one year.  
  
P  
  
"Who?" Usually, she would not be interested in Bobby Drake's love life, but she had to know the identity of the person who kept him from returning her intentions.  
  
P  
  
For a moment, he was apprehensive. He knew of Lorna's pursuit of Alex, Annie, and Carter following the wedding. He soon convinced himself that she would never repeat such a performance. The young woman had invested too much time in her private sessions with the Professor to revert back to such violent behavior. Plus, much of her rage stemmed from the public humiliation of being left at the altar. This situation, whatever it was, was miles away from the severity of that.  
  
P  
  
"Jubilee," he finally replied, pangs of guilt racking his chest. While he did not reciprocate the kiss fully, he still felt regret over what he perceived as some kind of break down in his self-control. He prayed that she never found out about what had just happened. He didn't think he could bear the thought of her finding out and being hurt. The last thing in the world he wanted was to hurt her. It was that fear that held him back all those months.  
  
P  
  
"Oh." Lorna's face was initially expressionless. Looking back on everything now, she did remember hearing whispers around the mansion about the two being an item. From the little she knew about the younger woman, Lorna decided she wasn't all that irritating. Then she said flatly, "She's one of the few around here that doesn't look at me like I'm some kind of psycho."  
  
P  
  
"I suppose that means you approve." He tried to sound light to alleviate the tension.  
  
P  
  
She rolled her eyes, straightening her position. "You're a big boy, Bobby. You don't need anyone's approval for anything, least of all mine." She sighed heavily. "I don't know why I did that. God, I'm embarrassed."  
  
P  
  
He attempted to place a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Don't be, Lorna."  
  
P  
  
"That's easy for you to say, isn't it?" she asked, jerking out of his reach. "I made a fool of myself. I'm just glad other people weren't around to witness it. You must think I'm crazy."  
  
P  
  
Bobby shook his head candidly. "No," he said, "I don't. I would never think that."  
  
P  
  
"Well, then you're an idiot," she huffed, picking at an imaginary thread on her skirt. "You saw me at the wedding. You saw how I was."  
  
P  
  
"I saw you were hurt," he told her softly. "Never in my mind did I think you were crazy, and I certainly don't think that now. You're my friend, Lorna. I said it before and I still mean it."  
  
P  
  
She looked at him suspiciously. There was no pity or mockery in his voice. Bobby, sweet Bobby, was incapable of being duplicitous. He was simply presenting his friendship for the taking and nothing else. Lorna contemplated returning his offer with a smirk and snappish remark. After all, her pride still stung from being pushed away from him. Who the hell did he think he was talking to her like that? Maybe Kurt got to him and filled his head of ridiculous notions about being nicey-nicey to one another.  
  
P  
  
As she continued to gaze up at him, she realized that would be the expected move. She would be adding to the perception of being Lorna the antisocial psychopath, who was cold and unfeeling. She would continue to experience the shunning of her fellow residents. She would continue to feel her rage and angst of not being understood. The Professor's words of changing and taking charge of her own destiny echoed through her mind just as those voices from the dead inhabitants of Genosha did. She was tired of being held hostage by those terrifying memories. She was tired of this cycle of acting. Something definitely needed to change, indeed.  
  
P  
  
She bit her lip and then said, "I would like to be your friend, Bobby Drake." 


	6. Chapter Six You Can Never Tell

Chapter Six: You Can Never Tell  
  
I'm back! The story is slowly working towards involving Logan and Scott.  
  
Thanks for the reviews. Some of them are interesting... Please keep them coming.  
  
As usual, the characters belong to Marvel. I'm only borrowing them.  
  
P  
  
"Jean!" Jubilee called out, racing down the stairs and fumbling to put on her watch. Her fingers worked furiously to snap the clasp tight. "Jean, have you seen my campus map? I can't find it anywhere and I've, like, looked all over the place! Do you know where it is? I don't want to look like a dork and not know where I'm going!"  
  
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Usually, Jubilee was not this excited or alert this early in the morning. The fact that she was showered, dressed, and cogent before 9 AM was spectacular feat. The running joke in the Summers' household was that the young girl's biological clock had probably gone under some kind of mutation. Scott often commented how Jubilee operated four hours later than most people.  
  
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However, today represented an anomaly, which forced her to be ready earlier than usual. The beginning of the school year was approaching and the university Jubilee was to attend was holding its freshman orientation. All students and their parents/and or guardians were to report to the campus for an all-day introduction to the institution, campus, student services, academic departments, groups, and yes, advising for classes. The promise of free food and free university paraphernalia (bumper stickers, T-shirts, Frisbees, planners, key chains) was enough to motivate Jubilee to make the effort to go. That, and she thought it would be nice to at least know what classes she was supposed to be taking and where they were. The visit to the campus with Scott months ago was already starting to fade from her memory. There were so many building names to remember.  
  
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Jean was to accompany her, sans Scott. He was still on mission with Emma and as of last night (via speaker phone), he had no idea when they would be back. Apparently, their efforts to find whatever the Professor had picked up on turned up nothing. It was obvious how disappointed Jean was at learning this news, but decided that visiting Jubilee's campus would be a welcomed distraction. She commented how it would bring back memories of her own carefree college days. The rest of that evening was spent on talking about possible classes they had looked up in Jubilee's bulletin and whether or not the young girl should join a sorority.  
  
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Smoothing out the wrinkles from her navy-and-white, rugby T-shirt over blue- gray chinos, Jubilee became alarmed when she did not get a response from Jean. She expected either a playful comment or an answer that revealed the whereabouts of the missing map. "Jean?" she inquired, wandering into the bright kitchen. "Is everything OK?"  
  
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"Good morning, Jubilee." Alex was standing at the counter, pouring himself a cup of hazelnut coffee from Jean's beloved coffee maker. As usual, he looked relaxed, wearing a white, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of khakis. Scott's younger brother began to open the cupboard by his head, searching for cream and sugar. "Everything's going to be OK as soon as I get my first cup of java."  
  
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She stared at him quizzically. While he was finishing up his dissertation, Alex had been staying with his brother. However, after he graduated, he officially moved back to the mansion, visiting frequently and eating whatever food he could find (according to Scott). It was quite strange to see him here this early since he often spent his mornings with his new girlfriend, Annie, and her son.  
  
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"Um, OK," Jubilee managed, gathering her long tresses into a ponytail. It was quite humid that day even though it was ten degrees cooler than yesterday. She hated having her hair cling to her neck.  
  
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"Do you want some?" he asked, stirring in some sugar. Having not found the cream, he resorted to the skim milk from the fridge. "Just bought a bag of this really good stuff from Starbucks. There are some cheese Danishes on the counter. Help yourself." He motioned to a white cardboard box in front of him.  
  
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She shook her head, but took him up on the offer of the Danishes. The fact that Jean had not appeared was somewhat alarming. "No, thanks to the coffee. Have you seen Jean? We're supposed to be leaving soon for my orientation." She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.  
  
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He took sip of the hot liquid. "About that," he began, blue-green eyes rueful. "She's not going to be able to go with you. The Professor asked her to go to Washington, DC for some mutant hearings this morning. She left really early this morning with Hank, but wanted me to tell you how sorry she is about missing it. She really wanted to go."  
  
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"Oh." Jubilee desperately wanted to hide how crestfallen she felt inside. She had been looking forward to having Jean with her all day. The redhead seemed like the perfect choice, next to Scott, as far as company was concerned for the orientation. Jean had promised to elaborate more about her college days, refusing to give up any details the night before. From the twinkle in her eyes, Jubilee inferred the stories to be told were probably pretty good. Needless to say, she had no idea who else to recruit at the last minute.  
  
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Alex took another sip of his coffee. "She also wanted me to tell you that I'll be going with you."  
  
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The young girl's eyes widened at him, slightly shocked. "You?"  
  
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"What? You don't think I'm good enough to go?" he teased.  
  
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"Sure, that's it." A playful smirk crossed her lips. Then she shook her head and said, "It's just that when we registered, Scott and Jean are listed as my guardians. How am I going to explain you?"  
  
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He shrugged, putting down his coffee mug. "I could pass for Scott."  
  
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"Do you really want that?" It was her turn to tease him. She had heard stories from Jean about how jealous Alex used to be of his older brother. It was only recently the two had reached some kind of common ground. Still, the temptation to jerk his chain was hard to resist.  
  
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He snorted. "Fine. Then I can be your cool Uncle Alex." He offered her a napkin when he noticed the young girl licking her sugary-coated fingers. Gratefully and sheepishly, she took it from him.  
  
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"Are you sure? I mean about going with me. It's going to be an all-day thing and possibly boring." Jubilee chewed thoughtfully. It was nice that Alex was offering to go, but she did not want to see him bored out of his skull during the orientation. There were probably other things he would want to do.  
  
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"That's why I cleared my schedule for the day," he informed her, finishing his coffee. "Face it, Jubilee. I'm all yours. Plus, I heard there's free food at this thing...." His aqua eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned at her.  
  
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She shook her head at him. "You're pathetic." Her tone was light.  
  
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"Hey, it wasn't that long ago I was in school," he pointed out, turning to the sink and rinsing out his mug. He quickly placed it in the dishwasher. "I know what it's like to appreciate free stuff."  
  
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"Yeah, I know," she said, popping the last of the Danish into her mouth. "Scott says so all the time when we go grocery shopping."  
  
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Alex rolled his eyes, only slightly irritated with his brother's comments. "Well, let's say I'm getting him back for that one by taking his convertible. You just can't say anything." He fished the keys from his pocket and jingled them loudly.  
  
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"Oh, and what if I do?" Jubilee raised a brow at him. She knew for a fact that Scott would go into a series of conniptions if he knew someone was touching his precious car while he was away.  
  
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"I'll show Annie those pictures of you and Paige trying on her nurse's uniform."  
  
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"You said there was no film in that camera!"  
  
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The two spent the day mingling with other freshman and their parents during the orientation and collecting informational guides about the school and the offered programs. Jubilee managed to meet some fellow Californians, striking up quick conversations about their home state before being whisked away to other events. In the first four hours, she learned about the history of the school, what kinds of opportunities there were for leadership, and the types of student services available. She had to admit that it was quite a lot to take in, but was glad to observe from the confused faces of her fellow classmates, she was not the only to experience such feelings. It was still hard for her to believe that she was actually here. The girl who used study hall at the Academy to devise fiendish pranks with her friends was now going to be college student.  
  
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Throughout the day, Alex played the part of the attentive parental figure, offering to carry things for her, asking pertinent questions of the presenters about healthcare and financial aid, and providing input when Jubilee was drafting up a proposed class schedule. He was quite helpful like Scott, but there was a more laid-back quality to his personality. It was not that the older Summers brother was overly strict or authoritarian (Logan sometimes thought he was), but with Alex, things were more relaxed. He seemed more concerned over her not experiencing burnout immediately than over choosing a major already. Scott had already devised some sort of demented list of possible selections.  
  
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What really surprised Jubilee was how very little she knew of him up until today. She had heard stories here and there from Scott and Jean, or read through his history while archiving files into the new Cerebro. However, she realized that she hardly spent any time with him. Sure, he had lived with them for several months before moving back to the mansion, but she hardly saw him since he was always at the library or in private sessions with the Professor for rehabilitation. The extent of her knowledge surrounding the enigmatic Alex was that he was Scott's younger brother who had been with a team called X-Factor. That, and he apparently had stolen Lorna Dane from Bobby. While she was aware of Bobby's undercurrent of dislike for Alex (he rarely talked about the younger Summers brother when they were together), she found that she actually liked him. He was smart, affable, and kind of funny (however, he did lack some of Bobby's trademark timing). There was also the fact that he promised to let her drive Scott's car home from the orientation.  
  
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During the picnic-style lunch, Alex managed to secure a table under a generous maple tree for shading from the sun. He seated himself in one of the plastic chairs, waiting for Jubilee to return from the line for grilled food. He decided to hold off on devouring the contents of his own plate until she joined him. As he flipped back the tab to his soda can, he watched his younger companion talk cheerily with a short, pudgy redhead over the buffet table. He could hear them immediately burst into peals of girlish laughter, the sounds tinkling in the late summer air.  
  
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Like his older brother, Alex had had his share of hardships in life. While the circumstances were different, they were hardships nonetheless. The younger Summers brother tended to handle them in a different manner, choosing to be somewhat less constricted in behavior and demeanor. After all, that approach helped him to cope while living with the Blandings. In spite of their differences over the years, possibly stemming from their somewhat polar opposite personalities, Alex admired Scott. He admired this sense of normalcy his older brother had managed to carve out for himself while being an X-Man. It was something he wanted, but thought he could never have, thought he was never entitled to. In his mind, Scott had achieved the perfect life---married to the woman he loved and shepherding a surprisingly well-adjusted Jubilee into young adulthood.  
  
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When he was initially asked to accompany Jubilee to the orientation session, Alex was not sure as to how to react. First of all, he did not know her all that well. From what he remembered, she was rather loud, loved wearing her roller blades all the time, and had some weird fondness of sugar. However, he had to admit most of this accumulated knowledge was from her younger days with the group. While he was staying with Scott and Jean, he rarely saw her as he was immersed in completing his dissertation. He knew that the couple had grown quite fond of her recently, almost treating her as the child they did not have. Observing his brother dote on someone else other than Jean, especially in a manner Alex never thought he was capable of, was a curious picture. Yet, as the hours passed during this day, Alex came to realize why and how easy Jubilee made it.  
  
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There was also his own internal confusion regarding his new role as Carter's father figure. True, he cared about the young boy and his mother. But Alex was not sure if he was ready to take on that kind of role. He had talked about wanting children, wanting a family to call his own. However, there was something making him ambivalent, questioning his yearnings. Was he parent-material? That is, was he dependable, someone who could guide? He attempted to demonstrate such qualities during his time in X-Factor, and what happened? One of his teammates and dearest friends faced death, while the others became disillusioned and eventually left.  
  
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And here he was, guiding Jubilee, as Scott had done when he was here. He acted as her sounding board for ideas and provided his honest feedback when she sought it. He took a gulp of his soda. Perhaps he was more ready than thought.  
  
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"Here's your corn on the cob," Jubilee said in greeting, placing it on Alex's plate. She plopped herself down onto the plastic chair and draped a napkin in her lap. "I just talked to this girl and she thinks we're going to advising next."  
  
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Alex nodded, spreading some butter on his corn. "Sounds good," he said. "Maybe we can swing by the geology-physics department before then?"  
  
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She made a face. While she had no idea what her major was going to be, she was definitely sure it was not going to involve the hard sciences. She had barely squeaked by in Dr. McCoy's physics class last year. "Why?" she asked before biting into her cheeseburger.  
  
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"Just to check them out," he told her. "Now that I have my Ph.D., I could probably teach as an adjunct or something." After graduating, his dissertation chair had suggested that Alex look into given his success and popularity as a teaching assistant.  
  
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She frowned at him, perplexed. "If you want to teach, then why not do it at the Institute? I'm sure the Professor would be willing to work out something."  
  
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"Yeah," he agreed, popping a potato chip into his mouth. "But there's a difference between students at the Institute and college students."  
  
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She teased, "You're saying you're too good for the kids back home?"  
  
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He shook his head. "No, it's just different expectations, I guess. Plus, it would be kind of weird since Carter's a student and I'm dating his mom."  
  
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"But you wouldn't be teaching any of his classes," the young girl pointed out. Then she added, "Unless you're thinking about holding 'Finger- painting 101'."  
  
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"I know that," Alex acknowledged, blue-green eyes patient. "It's just that it would still be kind of strange. Hey, what if you were a student and Bobby was your teacher? Wouldn't that weird you out?"  
  
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Jubilee swallowed hard. Her sapphire-blue eyes widened as she stared at him. It wasn't that the question threw her off. Rather, it was the fact that Alex had even noticed. Sure, she and Bobby had not made an effort to keep their relationship a secret, but she never thought that someone like Alex would notice. She operated under the assumption that he was too involved with his own life given that he only said, 'Hello' and 'See ya' to her in passing.  
  
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Alarmed, Alex leaned over towards her. "Hey, are you OK? Listen, I didn't mean to offend you or anything...."  
  
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She nodded emphatically. "Yeah, yeah," she said quickly. "It's just that I didn't know you knew. I wasn't ready for that."  
  
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"Course I know. It's hard not to know. This is the happiest I've seen either one of you." He smiled at her warmly, the corners of his aqua eyes crinkling.  
  
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"Yeah... Well, I know." Her eyes immediately soaked the contents of her plate as she sank into contemplation. Now that Alex knew, surely Scott must know. She had convinced Jean not to say anything during their nightly calls. She felt that she should be the one to tell him, and in person. That way, she could gauge for any trepidation on his part and immediately counter it with a list of arguments she prepared in that case. As she continued to still and mull the implications of the situation, that list was slowly disappearing from her memory.  
  
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Alex sensed something was a miss from the suddenly solemn expression on her face. "What's wrong?"  
  
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"I.... I just.... I wanted to be the one to tell Scott."  
  
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"What do you mean?"  
  
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"I know he consults with you regularly about this mission he's on. I'm assuming you told him."  
  
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"No.... No, I haven't told him about you guys."  
  
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"Really. That's your cross to bear, not mine."  
  
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"Hilarious. So, you think he'd be upset?"  
  
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"Honestly? I don't know, kiddo. I mean, I don't think he'd be furious and forbid you two from seeing one another. Or worse yet, tear him into a million pieces with that beam of his. At the same time, I don't think he'd be offering to walk you down the aisle."  
  
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"I should hope not. I'm not ready for that."  
  
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"So, this thing between you two... It's not serious?"  
  
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"I never said that. I just meant I wasn't ready to get married. This is the 21st century, not the Middle Ages."  
  
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"Then what is it?"  
  
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"I don't know how to describe it. He's... He's..."  
  
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"He's good to you?"  
  
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"Of course. Bobby's a great guy and...." Her voice trailed off as she observed a grave look that clouded his once playful expression. She was aware that Bobby was not the president of the Alex Summers fan club. There were rumors that he continued to blame Alex for "stealing" Lorna and then Annie away from him. She never knew the younger Summers brother returned the tense feelings.  
  
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"You sound surprised," she finally said, picking up her cheeseburger and eating it.  
  
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He gave her a puzzled look. "No, no. I would never think Bobby had less than honorable intentions." His jaw clenched involuntarily.  
  
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Since his return to the mansion, Alex picked up on Bobby's cool reception (no pun intended). The brief conversations between the two of them were sparse at best. At first, Alex attempted to befriend his former romantic rival, to reconcile and possibly start anew. He liked Bobby, especially the sharp one-liners he gave out during team meetings. Hell, he would even go as far as to say that he envied Bobby. Drake had managed to lead a normal life, on his own term, away from the Professor. He also seemed closer to Scott than Alex was, at times blatantly playing the role of the younger brother to Scott. It should not have been so much of a surprise, really. The two men had been the Professor's first students, knowing each other for quite some time. It was only recently that Alex and Scott became acquainted as brothers after having been separated all those years.  
  
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Unfortunately, Bobby was not going to have anything to do with him unless he absolutely had to. Granted, he was not overtly hostile, as one would suspect him to be. At the same time, he made no attempts to hide how bitter he still was. Eventually, Alex decided to give up, rationalizing that if Bobby wanted to write a new chapter in their history of strained relationships, then the ball was in his court. As it stood, Bobby seemed pleased to have things continue---awkward, unpleasant, and uncomfortable.  
  
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"I know he's one of the good guys," Alex sighed wearily, watching Jubilee study him closely with concern crossing her youthful features. "Just... Just be careful, OK?" 


	7. Chapter Seven To Be With You

Chapter Seven: To Be With You  
  
I've been really sick lately so I've been pretty much stuck at home, doing stuff for school and adding chapters to this.  
  
Thanks for the reviews. Please do keep them coming. It's great to hear how other people think this pairing would work.  
  
The characters belong to Marvel, but the story is all mine.  
  
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One of the little known things about Bobby Drake was his determination. Some of his closer friends, like Hank or Warren, would even go as far as to say that he was a little stubborn. The young man's persistence carried into almost everything he did, whether it was pushing himself during Danger Room sessions or field missions, or arguing with Kurt as to which Three Stooges film was the greatest of all time. Almost anyone would agree that anything Bobby set his mind to, he never gave lost sight of the objective until it was achieved.  
  
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Although some time had passed since that first date, Bobby could not help but to continue to dwell upon it. The cognitions and emotions sparked from that night continued to haunt him. He constantly thought about how hard he worked to make that night so special because he had wanted to show her that was what she was to him. This was despite other dates they had gone on, which were thankfully less eventful. However, these outings did not assuage his anxieties since they were either with Warren and Paige, or involved more casual activities like traveling to the local coffee shop or grabbing video rentals to watch back at the mansion. First of all, he had no hand in planning them. Second, they failed to reflect that special quality of a first date.  
  
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He confided his problems to his two closest friends, Hank and Warren. The two men, while sympathetic, did not grasp why Bobby was obsessed about wanting to make up things with Jubilee. Warren rationalized that Bobby should relax given that the two would have a funny story to remember about that night, although he felt somewhat culpable about Paige interrupting their dinner plans. It took Bobby a great deal of restraint not to agree with him.  
  
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Given that his female friends continued to be occupied or not around the mansion, Bobby was forced to brainstorm possible ideas on his own. As he racked his brain, he was only certain of one thing. He definitely had to make sure they would be alone, ensuring that they would not run into distressed friends or exes.  
  
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He stared outside his bedroom window. Anywhere in town would ultimately invite an unfortunate run-in with someone---at least that was what he concluded given his luck. Bobby then remembered a conversation he had overheard Jean and Ororo were having several weeks ago before Scott left. Jean had been gushing over a nice getaway he had planned for the two of them. They had spent the weekend at a resort, deep in the Adirondack woods of upstate New York. Far away from their responsibilities to the school and the team, she raved about the excursion, telling her friend that it was a wonderful opportunity to connect again.  
  
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Bobby shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. For a moment, he contemplated a similar strategy. The Adirondack woods were a good two hours from Westchester. It was late afternoon and there was no way he was going to consider an impulsive day trip. His final exam for his summer class was the following day and he had to be the one to proctor it. No, if he were going to whisk Jubilee away, then it would have to be some other time.  
  
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His eyes then traveled across the lawn where the Summers' farm-style, white clapboard house stood. There was another motivation for wanting to treat Jubilee. Classes had started and with her full course load, she was constantly occupied with readings or writing papers. Granted, he did get to see her, but only in the evenings and even then, she would always be engrossed in some assigned reading for a class. Some nights, he would have to physically tear whatever reading from her hands or pull her away from her laptop, so that he could have a conversation with her that did not involve school or to hold her close to him.  
  
I "I came here to be with you," he had pretended to grouse one night in her bedroom, while firmly grasping her wrist and leading her away from her desk to sit on her bed. "Not to talk about Marx's influence over the Cuban economy, or how Sigmund Freud was a coke fiend."  
  
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She had given him a rueful smile, sapphire eyes reflecting her guilt. "I'm sorry," she had apologized, resting her head against his shoulder. "I guess I haven't been the best girlfriend to you, have I? I'm sorry..."  
  
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He had cut her off. "Don't say that. You never have to be sorry about anything.." P  
  
Staring at her window, he surmised she was probably home from class already. Her schedule was etched into his memory, as he looked forward to afternoons when she would be back from campus. Bobby could not even think of the last time the two of them had spent time outside of the house or mansion. Summer was slowly fading as the weeks passed. Temperatures cooled, crickets receded, and the fragrant aromas of the blooms associated with the season were dying.  
  
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Yet, that afternoon, the sun shone brightly overhead against the crisp, blue sky. Mild breezes that drifted from his open window rustled the trees and rose and azalea bushes that populated the grounds of the mansion. The manicured lawn remained that brilliant shade of green he had always come to associate with the summer months. Surveying this scene, one would almost infer that the season was attempting to exert her influence for one more day.  
  
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It was then that Bobby suddenly became inspired.  
  
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Jubilee was lying on the couch in the Summers' living room, highlighting a copy of 'Heart of Darkness'. It was almost beyond her as to how the professor expected the class to have the entire work read for a class discussion the following week. The assignment would not have been so burdensome had the work been an easy read. Unfortunately, the subject area was outside her scope of interest. In addition, the author's dry and dense writing style left much to be desired.  
  
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She slipped off her wire-rimmed glasses, which she only wore for reading, and sighed wearily. Her mouth formed a tiny frown as she stared out the window. The radiance of the summer afternoon surroundings was beckoning her to feel the warmth of the air against her skin, soak up the shining sun. She was aware that it would be quite some time when the weather would this mild and temperate again. Soon, it would be fall and then winter. Unfortunately for the California native, Westchester winters were notoriously long and cold.  
  
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The young girl placed the book over her belly, replacing the cap on her yellow highlighter. While she would not admit it publicly, she did not mind school all that much. There were times when she would go as far as to she liked it. Jubilee had managed to make a few friends in each of her classes. Given that none of them knew what she was, things were easier for her. She blended into the masses of wide-eyed youth at the university. The classes, although work-intensive, were interesting as well. Many of the professors she had often engaged in a rather Socratic manner of dealing with their classes rather than just straight lecturing---something Hank McCoy often did while teaching. Her courses were primarily composed of humanities and social sciences classes, areas she had been interested in while at the Institute. When she was scheduling her courses with her advisor, she made sure to stay far away from the hard sciences for this semester. Let the Kitty Prydes of the world tackle subjects like that freshman year.  
  
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The one drawback to the college experience, and the most disturbing as Jubilee saw it was the fact that she was not able to spend all that much time with Bobby. School often acted as an obstacle to the couple going out together. Yes, his nightly visits to her bedroom window allowed them some regularity. But this was not quality time. She was often going over notes or catching up on reading for her classes. And while he was not visibly upset by the situation (sometimes, he would joke around about how her books saw more of her face than he did), she could tell he was not thrilled. During the times he would hold her in his arms, she was so exhausted, she would fall asleep quickly, not being able to relish the embrace like she used to.  
  
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Jubilee felt incredibly guilty over this new development. She hated being preoccupied when he was around. She hated being the reason why they could not go out. She hated the fact that he was not angry, but only offered kind, supportive words, which fed even more into the guilt.  
  
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She was also beginning to find that while her new relationship with Bobby was something that brought great joy into her life, it also brought along fear. There was a part of her that was quite unaccustomed to being this happy by having someone in her life. At times, she was afraid she would wake-up and find him gone, realizing that this was all some sort of dream. While he gave no indication of being unhappy, Jubilee still felt compelled to show him that he had not made the wrong decision in wanting to be with her. After all, he was everything she had always dreamed of---this gentle, funny, intelligent man who cared about her as much as she cared about him.  
  
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And now, she was letting him down.  
  
I Maybe I am taking this school stuff a little seriously, /I she mused, placing her book next to her glasses on the coffee table. Even Paige, who had been driven and ambitious in all aspects of her training, especially academics, commented about how Jubilee immersed herself in her studies. I I can afford one day off. It won't hurt me or anything. Besides, I have all weekend to read this stupid novel... P  
  
Swinging her slim legs over the side of the couch, she rose to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. She peered at the clock on the VCR. It was almost dinnertime at the mansion. Surely Bobby had to be done with his classes for the day. A smile tugged at her small mouth as she decided to visit him, surprising him by asking him out for dinner. It wouldn't matter where since the most important thing was that they would be together---just the two of them, no schoolwork to think about, no exes to consider.  
  
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Jubilee was about to hunt for her wallet when there was a knock at the front door. Curious, she walked over to answer it. Jean was still in Washington, DC, while Scott continued to work in Asia with Emma. Her face brightened with a wide, warm smile in response to her visitor.  
  
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Bobby's boyishly handsome face greeted her with an equally pleased smile. "Hey, Jubes," he drawled in that easygoing manner that came so naturally to him. He was wearing one of his trademark Hawaiian shirts over a pair of khaki cargo shorts and sandals. Unlike his previous girlfriends, Jubilee found his shirts, as loud as some of them were, endearing and part of that Drake charm that made her weak in the knees.  
  
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"Hi," she greeted, tucking a raven hair behind her ear. Her sapphire eyes sparkled as she stared up at him. "I was... I was just thinking about you."  
  
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"About how devastatingly handsome I am?" he teased, grinning.  
  
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She leaned towards him, planting a soft kiss against his mouth. "Something like that."  
  
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His fingers stroked her cheek tenderly. "I was wondering if I could steal you away from your homework?"  
  
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She laughed, pulling up the strap to her pink tank top. "I was actually going to see you," she admitted, "I'm blowing work off for the night."  
  
P  
  
"Well, great minds think alike. Let's blow this Popsicle stand." He raised his brows at her slyly. "I'm taking you out on a redo of our first date."  
  
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Grabbing her house keys from the pub mirror by the front door, she asked, "A redo?" She stepped out of the house and closed the door behind her.  
  
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He gave her a wry smile, wrapping an arm around her slender form. "I'm going to erase your memory of that night by making tonight better."  
  
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She rested her head against shoulder, eyeing the large, sturdy, clean picnic basket he carried in his other hand. "You don't have to," she chided him gently. "But the promise of food peaks my interest, Drake. Where are we going?"  
  
P  
  
His reply was, "Somewhere where we won't be bothered."  
  
P  
  
As Bobby had anticipated, the area behind the mansion and near the lake was devoid of any of the residents. It was surprising thought, given the picturesque conditions. He would have assumed that some of them would have wanted to take advantage of this day to take the boats out on the water or hike along the trail around the lake. Yet, here he and Jubilee were, enjoying the beauty and privacy of their surroundings. It was as if this idyllic scenery was just for them.  
  
P  
  
Also in planning this picnic-dinner on the lake, Bobby considered himself fortunate enough to charm Cook into helping him with the preparation of the actual meal. The Englishwoman miraculously put together a supper composed of chilled tarragon shrimp, cold carrot ginger soup, baby crab cakes, a field green salad with heirloom tomatoes and Wimbledon-worthy strawberries and cream from the gourmet shop in town. Bobby then raided the pantry, adding a bottle of sparkling cider and a few pieces of dark chocolate to the basket.  
  
P  
  
As the sky darkened above them, Jubilee stretched out on the faded, tartan blanket Bobby had spread over the grass beneath them. She watched Bobby pop a piece of chocolate into his mouth. The casual ease that exuded from him as he sat back was a soothing reassurance that all was right, erasing the worries and guilt that had weighed her down. Her eyes glittered with unadulterated bliss as her mind reeled from the wonderful hours she had spent with Bobby. The tranquil calm of the lakeside scenery replaced the calculated events from the previous date, with intimacy winning over variety.  
  
P  
  
They had gotten their opportunity to catch and reconnect with one another. Granted, they were not estranged, but the lack of depth present during their recent time together was evidently weighing on their minds. Bobby, ever supportive, did confess to feeling left out, which was met by Jubilee's own guilty admissions of focusing too much on her studies. Several minutes were spent on exchanging apologies, which were dismissed by the other person. Then the two processed possible solutions to prevent any further tension, finally agreeing to reserve two nights out of the week devoted just for them.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee placed her head in Bobby's lap. This had to be one of the best nights she had since the first time he kissed her. She had almost forgotten what a source of comfort and safety being in his arms was. After a brief silence, she said, "Thank you."  
  
P  
  
He tilted his head to the side, his fingers tangling in her silky tresses. "For what?"  
  
P  
  
"For everything," she replied, tone deliberately vague and dreamy. She placed her hand over her stomach. "I don't think I've eaten that well in awhile. Cook outdid last night's pizza burgers."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, she did," he mused, smiling down at the lovely creature below. He continued to be surprised as to how comfortable he was when he was with her.  
  
P  
  
"I don't think I've had this much fun with someone on a picnic," Jubilee added. "Maybe the right company changes everything, huh?"  
  
P  
  
From the content expression on her face and the pure satisfaction that radiated from within him, it appeared as if he had accomplished his goal. Bobby wanted to crow, but thought better against it. Instead, he pressed his fingers to his lips, and then brushed against her small mouth. I This is what it's like when things work out... P  
  
He was about to propose walking back to the house to watch a movie when he felt a splatter of water fall against the back of his neck. Frowning, he stared up at the sky and noticed the blackening clouds that loomed overhead. I I could have sworn the Weather Channel said there was no chance of rain tonight, /I he thought. However, the condition of the sky and the water that slowly dripped from it told another story.  
  
P  
  
Bobby raised his hand, ready to form a crude, ice roof over their heads. He cursed himself for not having the foresight to bring an umbrella. However, in the end, he had to admit to himself that wasn't really typical Drake.  
  
P  
  
But he was stopped by Jubilee. "Don't." Her small hand grasped his wrist lightly. Then she dropped it at her side, peering up at the weeping sky above. With an impish smile, she began to slip off her sandals and tossed them on the blanket.  
  
P  
  
He watched her, gray eyes filled with curiosity. His thoughts of how his second attempt of planning the perfect date was ruined were being pushed out of his head. "What are you doing?" he asked as she took several steps away from him.  
  
P  
  
"I haven't done this in a long time!" she called over her shoulder, running towards the middle of the lawn. Rain beaded down as she performed a flawless cartwheel. Landing on her feet, she beamed with pride before bursting into peals of delighted laughter. "I haven't lost it after all!"  
  
P  
  
Bobby grinned at her. He had almost forgotten she once was a gifted gymnast in her younger days. Cupping his hands over his mouth, he yelled, "You get a 10 from me!"  
  
P  
  
Still laughing, she gave him the thumbs-up sign and then performed a series of cartwheels. She soon stopped, her long, dark hair clinging to her face and now wet clothes. She pushed the strands from her eyes and cheeks, smiling at Bobby who was still by the blanket.  
  
P  
  
"Come out here and try it! It's fun! Really!" Her voice carried through the driving rain.  
  
P  
  
Bobby raised a brow at her, feeling his own clothes begin to dampen. The shelter the large, oak tree provided helped to slow that down. "I'm going to leave that to you!" he called out to her, noting that they should pack everything together and head inside. Even though there were no signs of lightning, late summer storms like this one were quite unpredictable and there was no telling when and where it might strike. He knelt down and proceeded to gather the utensils, plates, glasses, and napkins, tossing them into the woven basket.  
  
P  
  
"Come on, Jubes. Time to pack it in!" Bobby folded the blanket, tucking it under his arm. He grabbed the basket and her sandals, venturing towards her. By this time, the rain was pouring heavily, almost obscuring her from his line of vision completely.  
  
P  
  
"Why?" She flipped her lithe body into the air. The landing left much to be desired as her feet slid slightly on the wet ground. "There's no lightning!"  
  
P  
  
"You don't know that for sure," he said, still walking to her. "Besides, you're soaked through."  
  
P  
  
"I don't care," she laughed merrily, pushing her hair from her face again. Her sapphire eyes twinkled as she grinned at his exasperated face. "Anyway, the house and the mansion are both really far if you want to get out of the rain fast."  
  
P  
  
Bobby shook his head in disbelief, wondering if this was the result of some built-up stress from the first week of classes. "Fine," he managed, his hair plastered to his head in sandy streaks. "The boathouse then. It's just a couple feet away. We can stay in there until the rain lets up. Come on, Mary Lou."  
  
P  
  
"Fine!" She raced ahead of him, cartwheeling every step or so, and laughing. "Who's Mary Lou?"  
  
P  
  
He shook his head again, but somewhat enchanted. It was like a ghost of the Jubilee he had known years before---the happy, carefree girl with that zest for life and all its secrets and promises. This aspect of her personality was what had initially drawn to him when they first met. Now, it was something that endeared her to him even more. A smile tugged at his mouth as he walked alongside her.  
  
P  
  
When they edged closer to the red-shingled boathouse, she performed another cartwheel. However, unlike the previous ones, she failed to land on her feet. Instead, she landed on her rear---not exactly graceful. Bobby couldn't help, but smirk. To her credit, she burst into another fit of cheerful giggles.  
  
P  
  
"Smooth," he commented, extending a hand to help her to her feet. When he pulled her up, he noticed how she was no longer laughing, but staring up at him with those wide, beautiful eyes. He stepped forward, sliding his hands around her waist and lifting her against him. Then he brushed the wet strands from her exquisite face.  
  
P  
  
"Jubes..." he murmured, covering her mouth with his own in a tender kiss. The sweetness of her mouth mixed with the summer rain and the emotions it stirred inside him were incredible. He lost the number of times they kissed, but the end result was always the same---a sense of well-being and euphoria that was beyond anything he could ever imagine. All he could think about during these blissful moments was how lucky he was.  
  
P  
  
Bobby felt her melt against him, allowing him to lead her to the boathouse. Their steps were coordinated even as they continued kissing. He reached behind her, grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open. Jubilee's slender fingertips stroked his ears and the back of his neck as she sauntered inside. He nipped at her lower lip gently, pulling her even closer against him, and slamming the door behind them.  
  
P  
  
She drew back slightly, smiling up at him with sparkling eyes. Then she stared down at herself and shook her head. "I'm a mess," she whispered, suddenly self-conscious. She could just imagined how she looked---hair clinging to her head and shoulders and face, clothes soaked through, and pieces of grass and wet dirt on her bare feet. Not exactly an image to swoon over. Her cheeks were suddenly stained with a furious blush as she proceeded to pull away from him.  
  
P  
  
He, however, had no intention of letting her go. Placing the picnic basket and her sandals on the wood-planked floor of the boathouse, he tightened his arms around her waist. "You're anything but," he said to her quietly, gray eyes filled with sincerity and affection. He peered down at his own dripping Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, which clung to his wiry form. Then he grinned at her sheepishly.  
  
P  
  
"I guess the wet look's in this year," he quipped, earning a giggle from her. He then stared out the window. The rain was continuing to fall heavily upon the mansion grounds, with no signs of letting up anytime soon. He did not want to scurry back to either the house or the mansion. It would be just too much trouble. Besides, there was no pressing need to return to either location.  
  
P  
  
"We're stuck here for now," he told her, gray eyes apologetic. While no ex- girlfriends or upset friends had complicated this outing, the outcome was eerily familiar.  
  
P  
  
She drew away from him and bent down to unfold the blanket they had used for their picnic. Relieved to find it only slightly damp, she spread it across the floor. "You say that like it's a bad thing," she teased, taking one of his hands and guiding him to the blanket, sinking down.  
  
P  
  
He shook his head, listening to the rainfall against the tin roofing of the boathouse. "No... It's just that things didn't turn out how I planned them. Again."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee watched a shadow darken his usually cheery face. "Is that it?" she inquired quietly. She shook her head at him, cupping his face with her smooth, slender hands. Her sapphire gaze, so intense and yet so affectionate, bore straight into his soul. "This was the best day."  
  
P  
  
"I've been bogged down with school stuff lately. It's like I forgot what it was to be myself. I mean, I haven't felt this free like this in ages."  
  
P  
  
"It's great to hear you say that, but the rain...."  
  
P  
  
"The rain was an added bonus."  
  
P  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
P  
  
"Well, I think it's kind of romantic, don't you?"  
  
P  
  
"I think you're the first person to say that having a rained-out picnic is something romantic."  
  
P  
  
"Probably. I don't care about what the weather's like outside or anything else now. I just want to be with you."  
  
P  
  
The unconditional warmth that emanated from her and from her words enveloped him like a welcoming embrace. Bobby could feel his heart swell within his chest, observing the earnest quality reflected in her delicate features. He wasn't sure when was the last time anyone had said that to him. Perhaps that meant it had been truly too long. After holding onto the idea of being content and happy in the back of his mind for so long, he was now experiencing both feelings in their most genuine forms.  
  
P  
  
He brushed his lips against hers, lowering her onto the blanket. The young girl sighed softly as he deepened his kiss. She pulled her mouth from his, breathing heavily. He ran his thumb across her lips before he turned her face and raked his teeth along her jaw. Sparks of pleasure jumped through her as his fingertips caressed her lips and his mouth opened against her neck. He closed his teeth tenderly on the graceful curve there before planting gentle kisses against her throat, sending shivers through her body. Her hands clung to his shoulders, delighting in the firm muscle there. All the while, she could not help but think how fortunate she was to have him like this for herself.  
  
P  
  
"Bobby?" Jubilee asked breathlessly, her eyes glazed over with bliss as she stared up at his beautiful face.  
  
P  
  
He raised his head, staring into those hypnotic sapphire depths. "Yeah?"  
  
P  
  
"This is the best date I've ever had," she told him, smiling up at him. Her slender arms circled around his neck in an attempt to tug him closer to her body.  
  
P  
  
Bobby pressed his lips tenderly against her forehead, pleased but somewhat confused. "How do you figure?" he inquired, relishing how close he was to her at this moment.  
  
P  
  
"I can't tell you the last time I fooled around like that in the rain. Maybe not since I was a little kid. I guess I haven't felt comfortable enough in my own skin after my parents...." Her voice trailed off as she brushed back wet, sandy strands from his forehead, fingers stroking his sideburns.  
  
P  
  
He didn't need for her to finish her sentence. As his eyes roved over those stunning features that were fixed in an intense expression, he was instantly aware. "I know," he whispered softly, resting his forehead against hers. P  
  
Outside of the boathouse, the summer storm continued to rage on with blustery winds shifting the direction of the downpour. Just over the horizon, a familiar object soared against the blackening sky. The X -Men's primary aircraft, known as the Blackbird, hovered over the property of the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. The current version of the Blackbird had been completely re-built using ultra-advanced Shi'Ar technology. Problems encountered at Mach 4 plus flight speeds, such as high temperatures, mechanical operations and stability, and routine equipment functioning had been eliminated during this reconstruction. P  
  
In spite of the heavy and driving rain that impeded the clarity of the landscape below, the pilot could make out everything in fine detail as if it were clear day. Usually focused, he did find his concentration thrown off slightly when he caught sight of a couple; composed of two people he was quite familiar with. As he watched them embrace passionately before stumbling inside the boathouse, his eyes narrowed behind his visor. 


	8. Chapter Eight Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

Chapter Eight: Cruisin' for a Bruisin'  
  
Thanks for the well wishes. I've been struggling with some weird bug that's been going around, but I'm feeling much better!  
  
Thanks for the reviews. Please keep them coming. It's nice to get input on this story.  
  
Also, I have to thank my new beta, Jolie. She made sure everyone's reactions to the news were in character.  
  
As usual, the characters belong to Marvel, but the story is mine.  
  
P  
  
Logan found himself ambling down the long corridor of the underground hangar. Having just landed several minutes ago in Westchester after many hours in the air, the laconic Canadian was glad to be on the ground with the ability to ram freely. Sharing overseas quarters as well as the inside the X-Jet with Ororo, Remy, Rogue, Sam, Bishop, and Tessa proved to be very cramped for his tastes. It was not that he did not get along with the rest of his teammates or had engaged in some sort of explosive argument. It was simply that he needed his own space to brood and mull over the events of his travels.  
  
P  
  
There was another reason why he was pleased to be back at the mansion. It had been several weeks since he had seen the kid. Chewing on his trademark Cohiba, Logan recalled the look of disappointment on her face when he told her he was leaving for his latest mission. If it were up to him at that moment, he would have blown it off and stayed at the mansion with her. Logan was wary of having to leave her again. He knew that the circumstances were different this time, but the guilt still remained. After working towards rebuilding their relationship after his lengthy absence, here he was, preparing to leave her once again.  
  
P He also sensed there was something troubling the young girl's mind. She insisted that there was nothing wrong. So, Logan decided to provide her with space, allowing her to deal with whatever it was and waiting for her to come to him.  
  
P During the infrequent phone conversations (the machinations of the mission did not allow regular contact, unfortunately), Jubilee made no statements about what had been distressing her. In fact, she sounded upbeat like the child he had first come to know. Despite the fact that she never revealed the cause of her change in mood, Logan was relieved to hear that the glum young woman he had left behind was gone. Yet, there was something else that tempered her newfound enthusiasm. His ears picked up on some tinges of anxiety and fear. He remembered calling her on it, only to be quickly dismissed or having the subject of the conversation change suddenly. Realizing that he was far away from her, he decided to let it go for the moment.  
  
P "Home sweet home, eh, mon ami?" The whiskey-and-cigarettes soaked voice of Remy LeBeau shattered his thoughts. The tall and lean Cajun walked alongside him, his own red-on-black eyes reflective of his travel weariness. It was almost strange that he had uttered that phrase, 'Home sweet home'. It was only recently after reconciling with Rogue that the Louisiana native became more comfortable with the idea of stable dwellings. Logan could see the yearnings of life on the road, alone, were slowly fading from Gambit's mind.  
  
P Logan's green eyes narrowed at his old friend. He grunted quietly in response. The two men rounded the corner of the corridor, several steps behind the business-like Storm, Rogue, and Bishop, who were in the midst of pooling their information together for a debriefing with Professor Xavier. Tessa strode ahead of the two them, assessing the damage of some equipment Sam was carrying.  
  
P  
  
Gambit pulled out a pack of Cloves from the pocket of his brown leather duster. Slipping one between his lips, he charged his index finger and lit the cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of sweet, sugary smoke, an expression of relief crossing his sculpted features. "Gambit been waitin' hours for dat."  
  
P  
  
Logan smirked. As the two smokers of the group (Bishop was only a casual smoker, choosing to do so while he was out at bars), they were restricted from engaging in their habit on the jet, lest they incur the wrath of one weather goddess. While Logan was able to focus his attentions on other things, Remy almost lost his trademark cool, nearly climbing the walls of the craft. It was one of the few moments of the trip back to Westchester that truly amused him.  
  
P "I thought you were quittin', Gumbo," Logan said, puffing on his own cigar.  
  
P  
  
Gambit smirked, auburn locks flopping over his brow. "Hah. Where you get dat crazy idea, mon ami?" he asked, as they neared the elevator at the other end of the corridor. "Wolverine beginnin' to sound like Rogue." P  
  
Logan snorted, watching their teammates scurry into one of the elevators. The idea of the Southern Belle and himself having anything in common was almost too much. "Watch your mouth, Cajun," he warned his smirking companion as he waved on at the group to go ahead of them. "I don't know who'd hurt you more over that one." P  
  
Gambit winked at Rogue as the sliding doors of the elevator closed. When he and Logan reached the steel-plated elevators, he pressed the UP button and smiled slyly at his friend. "Oui, mais one of you is guaranteed to give good pain to dis ol' t'ief." His eyes glittered under the dim lights of the hangar. P  
  
The older man grimaced. "Didn't need to know that," he muttered, bluish- gray smoke swirling around his head. He glared when the Cajun started chuckling softly. "I still have to grab some grub." P  
  
As they continued to wait for one of the other elevators to arrive, Gambit peered down at his digital watch. "It's almost ten, Wolverine. Better get used to mansion time."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah," Logan agreed when the doors to the second elevator on the left opened. Briskly, he and Gambit made their way inside. He hit the button for the main floor of the mansion while his friend punched the one for the floor above. P  
  
Gambit looked rather amused, flicking ash on the ground. He had never known Logan to be a slave to his stomach. He left that kind of thing to Beast or even Drake. "Not even goin' to put your bags away first?" P  
  
The older man adjusted the strap to his army-surplus bag he had kept from another life. "Goin' to see the kid," he informed Gambit, unzipping his black leather jacket. From the brief inspection he gave himself, he could forego the shower for now. P  
  
The tall, lean man from New Orleans nodded approvingly, remembering how he, too, missed the young girl. It was then he wondered whether or not Drake had taken his advice many weeks ago. His mind began to flood of images with Jubilee and Bobby---each miserable and despondent in isolation. A pang of guilt hit him in the chest as he thought about the situation he had left, but quickly assured himself that he had done what he could to handle things. He had given the younger man his implicit approval, as well as the go-ahead to act upon his feelings. If Drake was not ready to act, then Gambit was completely blameless at this point. However, he hated thinking about the possibility of Jubilee aching. P  
  
He was startled when the doors suddenly opened to the main floor of the mansion. He watched Logan, the self-appointed protector and guardian for the young girl, step out of the elevator. As the weary man began to walk towards the foyer, Gambit called out after him, "Tell de petite dis ol' t'ief been t'inking of her." P  
  
After arriving back from walking Jubilee home, Bobby dropped off the basket in the kitchen. He knew he needed to clean out the contents (or hear about it the next morning from Cook), but wanted to get cleaned up first. His clothes were still wet and clung to him like a second skin, giving off an aroma that was composed of grass, rain, and bubblegum mixed with cinnamon. He tossed the damp tartan blanket into the laundry room before making his way towards the stairs. P  
  
Racing up the spiral staircase, he could not help but smile broadly. The night, in his eyes, had been a success. All the doubt that ate away at him prior to that evening had been washed away with the summer rain. Bobby felt validated. He proved to himself that he was not cursed when it came to planning a romantic evening. P  
  
Then there were the memories that overwhelmed his senses. He could still taste the rain in her kisses and feel the inviting warmth of her body under his. The sweet mixture of bubblegum and cinnamon from her skin lingered in his nostrils. He could still see the way her sapphire eyes sparkled as she gazed up at him. The soothing softness of her voice as she whispered his name between kisses echoed in his ears. He had no idea hearing his name sighed like that could make him feel so alive. P  
  
The rickety boathouse with all the accessories and equipment was not quite what he had in mind for a romantic backdrop. But huddling inside, sheltered from the driving rain outside, there was no other place he would have rather been. He came to realize that Jubilee was right. It did not matter where they were or what they were doing. What was important was that they had each other. It had been so long since he had heard that from anyone he was with. I "...I just want to be with you."P  
  
Bobby also became quite aware of something else happening during their excursion to the boathouse. During those wonderful kisses, he was overcome by new, but familiar feelings. They were quite different from the yearnings to be close to her. These were stirrings of desire and want that made him tremble as he struggled to restrain himself. Feeling her satiny- soft skin under his hands, hearing her whisper his name, and tasting her sweetness in his mouth made this almost impossible. However, he knew that he had to maintain his composure. Acting on his feelings at that moment would have scared her, would have complicated things, and that was definitely something he wanted to avoid. Bobby was happy and was going to do everything in his power to make sure that nothing---not even his own possible missteps---would ruin it. P  
  
Opening the door to his bedroom, he wanted to take a cold shower (the only kind he took) to distract himself. He then paused at the doorway when he noticed he was not alone. Leaning against his desk was Scott Summers, still dressed in his field combat uniform---black leather pants, black combat boots, and a black leather, bomber jacket with a gold 'X' emblazoned across the chest. Instead of his wraparound, ruby-quartz sunglasses, the leader of the X-Men was sporting his trademark visor. He appeared somewhat travel-weary, possibly from his trip back from wherever he was. Other than that, he seemed no worse for wear. P  
  
"Uh, hey." Bobby felt his stomach suddenly twist inside, as he closed the door behind him. "When did you get back?" P  
  
"I let myself in," Scott informed him tersely, not bothering to answer his question and crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I think we need to talk." P  
  
Bobby was taken aback from the curt manner in which Scott was handling himself. His boyish features were arranged in a grim, concerned expression, relaying the importance of whatever it was that was on his mind. By no means were he and Scott close buddies. But the two were, for the most part, friendly towards one another. The fact that the other man wanted to speak to him privately in his room was something unusual. P  
  
"Sure," he finally replied, dismayed that he was not going to be able to get out of his wet clothes and hop into the shower. He was beginning to feel clammy from his rain-drenched clothing. "What about?" P  
  
Scott eyed the young man standing in front of him warily. He liked Bobby. Starting from their time together as the Professor's first students, he always considered him the younger brother he thought he no longer had. Even after Alex reappeared in his life, Scott continued to treat Drake as not only a teammate, but also as a member of the family. After all, that was what the Professor and the others had come to be for him, a man who had grown up alone and orphaned in the world. P  
  
Having known Bobby for this long, Scott knew that beneath the jokes and beneath the ice, there was a more complex man inside. He observed the younger man experience hardships, not only stemming from what he was, but from his personal life as well. He recalled the younger man leaving the team for some time in order to care for his convalescing father, who was not exactly the model of social support when it came to his son. Throughout it all, Bobby was able to grow and learn, and (dare Scott say it)---mature? Granted, the practical jokes and wisecracks sometimes frayed at his nerves, but Scott acknowledged that it was all a part of who Drake was. P  
  
There were times when Bobby was known to lose his temper, but Scott was aware that Bobby was a good man. He was a stalwart friend, who was deeply and fiercely loyal. He cared about his friends and the students around the mansion. Like Scott, he had come to consider these individuals part of his family as well. He, too, would do everything he could protect them from any harm that might pose as a threat. P  
  
And yet, seeing this good man with the young girl he considered the closest thing he had to his own child aroused feelings of ambivalence. P  
  
"I saw you and Jubilee together," he began, adjusting his visor. P  
  
Bobby swallowed hard. He suddenly was able to decipher the meaning behind displeased, but restrained expression on the other man's countenance. I He knows. Crap. /I. "Oh?" he managed finally after a brief pause. P  
  
"What exactly did you think you were doing?" Scott demanded, his head clouded with images of Bobby and Jubilee in the rain together, kissing, and eventually, walking into the red-shingled boathouse. He remembered losing his concentration in landing the Blackbird as he attempted to recover from the shock of seeing them together. P  
  
"We were playing house." Immediately, Bobby wanted to slap his forehead. He cursed himself inwardly as to why he provided that kind of knee-jerk response. I What am I, six years old again? /I P  
  
"You were all over Jubilee." P  
  
"We were playing Colin Farrell's house?" P  
  
Jubilee stepped out of her steaming bathroom, freshly showered. The dirt and pieces of grass that had clung to her feet and calves had washed down the drain. Quickly, she pulled on a white, V-neck T-shirt and a pair of white pajama pants with blue-and-green stripes. Deciding it was too warm and too late to dry her hair, she opted to pile it on the top of her head, securing the loose bun with two black, lacquered sticks from her dresser. The young girl flopped onto her bed, a dreamy smile creeping across her delicate features. She grabbed the remote to her stereo system to play some music. Her mind began to drift as her Ben Folds CD played in the background. P  
  
The picnic with Bobby was amazing. For her, it wasn't the food or the tranquil weather (until the rain set in), but it was Bobby. He was so relaxed, not at all the anxiety-ridden person she had been out with during their first date. That evening he was so eager to please that most of his focus was on how the fine details of the date were playing out. It was the antithesis of the Bobby she had come to know and care about. P  
  
But tonight, he was his usual self. He was disarming, irresistible, and adorable.... He was all of those things and more. The euphoria and joy that was elicited every time Bobby was near was incredible. He made her feel special and important, as if she were the highest priority on his list. When she was with him, she felt safe, secure, and quite cherished. It had been quite some time since she had experienced that kind of unconditional acceptance and affection, not fearing that the other person would turn away or leave. P  
  
And for her part, she wanted to show him how deeply she cared in return. She wanted to erase all that hurt he had experienced, which probably caused his nervousness during their first date. She wanted to help him see that he was a good man and that he deserved to be happy. She wanted to prove to him that his fears (which she sometimes felt he still held on to) of ruining things with her were unfounded. P  
  
Jubilee's fingers absentmindedly brushed against her lips. They were still tingling, as was the rest of her, from the memories of his kisses earlier this evening. Her face began to grow warm and her pulse began to race as she pictured his handsome face with those gentle eyes and easy grin. She could still feel his arms around her, cradling her against his chest. The thought alone brought forth another smile and made her heart swell inside her slender frame. P  
  
The young girl had been so deep in thought that she almost did not hear insistent knocking at the front door. Startled, she leapt off of the bed and bounded down the stairs. Part of her was hoping that it was Bobby, paying her another visit. However, he had told her as he walked her home that he had to prepare for his class the following day, and therefore, would not be able to pay her a visit. I Maybe he's changed his mind, /I she mused, sapphire-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. I I can be very persuasive when I want to be... /I P  
  
Flinging the door open, she found someone else waiting for her. "Wolvie?" P  
  
"I was beginning to think you weren't home," he said gruffly in greeting, striding inside the Summers' home. To appease his militantly anti-smoking Jubilee, he had stomped out his cigar outside while he was waiting for her to answer the door. He watched her face vacillate between shock and happiness as she stood there, taking him in with those old-soul eyes. Immediately, he felt her slim arms wrap around his neck tightly, her soft cheek pressed against his stubble-ridden one. A part of the old man melted inside as he held her close to him. It was almost like the days he thought were long forgotten.  
  
P "You were gone for so long," she whispered, drawing back slightly to stare at his rugged face. It was then that she realized how much she had truly missed her beloved Wolverine. The bad-tempered front he had put on, which would have turned away other people, was for her benefit. She would not have had it any other way.  
  
P "It was longer than a couple of days," he admitted, referring to the weeks he had been away. He hated the time that had passed while he was with the others, but knew that unlike the previous times he had been away, he would ultimately return. Having her in his arms like this reminded him that this was what he been waiting to come home to; this was home for the loner. P  
  
Suddenly, his nostrils flared. He sniffed quietly, frowning. The gold flecks in his green eyes flashed as he picked up on something. Mixed with her unique scent was that of someone else. Someone he was familiar with. While it was faint, he was certain it was there. P  
  
Observing Logan engage in his tracking behavior, Jubilee pulled back, expression quizzical. "What's wrong?" she inquired, almost nervous from the intense stare he was giving her. P  
  
His brows furrowed together. He closed the door firmly behind him. "You smell.... different."  
  
P "I took a shower a couple of minutes ago." She suddenly knew where he was going. Her palms began to sweat profusely. While she was aware that she had to tell Logan about Bobby, she had not expected to do so quite so soon. Her ambivalence stemmed from his possible volatile reaction to the news. From the darkening expression that was clouding his features, her suspicions were probably not unfounded.  
  
P "What's this?"  
  
P  
  
"What's what?"  
  
P  
  
"This." Logan leaned towards her, his fingers lightly brushing against her neck. The mark, while faint, was still discernible to his sharp eyes. It almost looked like... No, it couldn't be.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee quickly slapped her hand over where his eyes were focused, fighting the urge to blush. She wondered how she had missed seeing whatever mark was there when she had stripped for her shower. Thoughts about earlier that evening in the boathouse raced through her mind. I Dammit, Bobby. P  
  
"I burned myself with a curling iron," she lied, backing away from him. Her back suddenly met the wall and she realized there was nowhere for her to flee given that Logan was blocking her path to the door.  
  
P  
  
He raised a stony brow at her. While the young girl had grown and changed over the years, there were still aspects of her that reminded him of the child he met so long ago. It was quite easy for him to decipher when the kid was lying. There were always these trademark behaviors that were subtle, yet communicated her evasiveness---the slightly shakiness in her voice, the blinking of the eyes, and the slight twitch that touched her small mouth. He watched with unwavering interest as those telltale behaviors manifested themselves.  
  
P  
  
"Curling iron?" he mused flatly, eyes narrowing. "Doesn't look like a burn mark to me, kid."  
  
P  
  
Bobby swallowed hard, trying not to flinch under the cold, Stoic gaze of one Scott Summers. In hindsight, he supposed that using Colin Farrell to describe the version of house he and Jubilee were playing wasn't the best idea. He mentally cursed himself for speaking before thinking---an old habit he engaged in, particularly when he was nervous. It was something he definitely needed to work on. Too bad he didn't do so before this confrontation.  
  
P  
  
"I didn't mean that," he quickly said, smiling weakly.  
  
P  
  
Scott frowned in response, the creases around the visor deepening with each passing second. "I should hope not."  
  
I Holy hell, how do I get out of this one alive? /I Bobby racked his brain frantically. He was trying to find some eloquent way of explaining the situation to Scott, without provoking him further. Raking a hand through his sandy hair, he sighed. "Scott," he began, his voice very steady and even.  
  
P  
  
"I don't think this is a good idea, Bobby," Scott cut in, mouth forming a grim line. And suddenly, that pained, almost constipated expression the other man wore when he thought something was terribly wrong.  
  
P  
  
The younger man stared at him incredulously. His smile disappeared. "What?"  
  
P  
  
"This thing with Jubilee," Scott explained, rubbing his square chin with his fingers carefully. "I mean, whatever game you're playing with her.... It's not a good idea."  
  
P  
  
Bobby felt as if he were struck in the abdomen. He resisted the urge not to drop his jaw as he continued to stare at the man he considered a friend, a teammate, and a surrogate older brother---someone he looked up to. This man was apparently accusing him of something he knew he was never capable of. From the concerned expression on the other man's face, it appeared he was dead serious about this assertion.  
  
P  
  
After a few seconds, anger began to set in and Bobby went on the defensive. "What the hell do you mean?" he demanded, thunder crashing outside his window. "I'm not... I would never..."  
  
P  
  
Scott crossed his arms over his chest again. "She's young and she's been through a lot in her life. In spite of the happy front she puts on, Jubilee has had her share of pain. Look at what's happened to her in the last five years..."  
  
P  
  
"You're talking to me as if I don't know that?" Bobby snapped, trying to drown out the loud beating of the rain against the window. It was almost as if Mother Nature was reflecting his feelings of rage and hurt.  
  
P  
  
"You also know that she deserves to be happy," the other man continued, ignoring the sardonic tone his old friend was using. "I'm not saying that you would go out of your way to hurt her---"  
  
P  
  
"Then what the hell are you trying to say, Scott? Because it certainly sounds that way to me." Bobby fumed, clenching his fists at sides. Apparently, all these years together with Xavier meant nothing. Apparently, Scott didn't know him at all.  
  
P  
  
Scott felt a chill in the air. He peered over at the scowling young man standing across from him. Whenever Bobby got quite emotional, he had a tendency to lose control of his powers briefly. It was better now than when he first came to the school. "Stop it, Bobby. I'm trying to talk to you," he managed through chattering teeth. He could feel his skin begin to go numb from the frigid air.  
  
P  
  
Bobby narrowed his eyes, breathing heavily. His ribs felt as if they were squeezing his lungs for every ounce of oxygen. The cold air that swirled around the room seemed to aggravate that. He relented, bringing the temperature back to its' normal level.  
  
P  
  
"Look," Scott began, exhaling sharply. "You're a good guy, I know that---"  
  
P  
  
"Then what's the problem?" Bobby asked, still stinging from Scott's initial words. For a moment, he thought the man had exchanged some words with Gambit until he remembered that it was the Cajun thief who had given him his blessing. "You know me. You know I know Jubilee. I would never hurt her, man. Not in a million years would I do that."  
  
P  
  
"I know, but---"  
  
P  
  
"But what?"  
  
P  
  
"But she doesn't need to be hurt again. She's had enough hurt for a lifetime. Don't make her first time being in love with someone something she's going to look back on and regret."  
  
P  
  
"What gives you the idea that I would ever do something to hurt her?"  
  
P  
  
"I was there at the wedding, remember? I heard you stand up and declare your love for Lorna, even after all these years..."  
  
P  
  
"That was ages ago, Scott. I don't feel---"  
  
P  
  
"Oh come on, Bobby. We've all watched you for years pine and scheme your way into getting her back. It was no secret that it killed you to see her with someone else. Hell, Alex can probably write a book about it."  
  
P  
  
"That's not the case anymore."  
  
P  
  
"That's kind of hard to believe, isn't it?"  
  
P  
  
"I'm over Lorna."  
  
P  
  
"What the hell does that mean?"  
  
P  
  
"I'm not going to stand by and let you use Jubilee as some kind of distraction until you get Lorna back."  
  
P  
  
"Are you serious? Really, are you serious?"  
  
P  
  
"You bet I am."  
  
P  
  
"You know, you can be so full of---"  
  
P  
  
"Don't do this to her, Bobby. Don't use some crush she may have on you to occupy yourself. If you're really her friend and if you care about her at all, you'll put a stop to this. Now."  
  
P  
  
"Listen, I hear you when you say you're concerned. But you know what? I'm not playing a game. I don't think I've ever been more serious about anything in my life."  
  
P  
  
"Me neither."  
  
P  
  
The two men lapsed into stony silence. Time crawled by as the rain continued to pound the spacious property of the mansion. Both eyed each other with tension and wariness. Never had something this contentious come between them. Never had they fought so ardently ---the point where their friendship stood to be eviscerated.  
  
P  
  
Scott stared across the lawn at his home, a beacon in the middle of the summer storm. His thoughts went to Jubilee, protecting her and keeping her safe and happy. When he found out she had been attacked, he swore he would do everything in his power not to allow her to experience any kind of hurt again. It didn't matter whether or not it was physical or mental pain; it was still pain. Formulating his conclusion about Bobby's motives, he was going to be damned if he was going to be stand by and allow something terrible to happen. Logan's ire and fury was going to be nothing compared to what Scott was capable of.  
  
P  
  
At the same time, he reminded himself that Bobby Drake was a good man. He had never done anything to rouse any kind of suspicions. In fact, Bobby had always been close to Jubilee. When she had visited the mansion in the past, he was the second person (Logan being the first) she spent the most time with. After she was brought back to the mansion following her ordeal with Bastion, Bobby was a constant companion by her bedside. He knew of all the movies, video games, and magazines to bring with him while visiting. Scott had always admired the other man's ability to bring a sunny smile to her face, something he often struggled to do given his lack of comedic timing.  
  
P  
  
Scott sighed wearily. "It's just that I care about her," he finally said quietly, turning to face the window.  
  
P  
  
Bobby followed the man's gaze, his thoughts following a similar pattern. Then he studied Scott's profile gravely as he whispered back, "So do I."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee sighed, sheepishly looking up at her beloved Wolvie. "I guess it's time to come clean, huh?" She rubbed her neck nervously, as if trying to will the mark to disappear.  
  
P  
  
He was expressionless as he nodded. I This should be good if the kid feels she has to lie to me, /I he mused, gesturing for her to follow him into the living room. He had his suspicions and was keeping a lid on his reaction until she said something. There was no need to scare her right off the bat.  
  
P  
  
The faint scent of sweet pine emanated from the hardwood floors of the living room. Usually, this would have been a comforting sensation for her. However, dread and fear overwhelmed her as she prepared to tell the man she considered the closest thing she had to a father her news. She did not necessarily fear for herself, but for Bobby. Given Logan's vocal and behavioral protestations regarding any man's romantic inclinations towards her, she knew his response was likely not going to be filled with cries of joy. More like cries of a man possessed, hunting for his terror-stricken prey.  
  
P  
  
Logan paused in front of the fireplace, turning to face her. The mark on her neck was definitely not some burn mark as she first asserted. The indentations were certainly from something else. Rather, someone else. His eyes narrowed.  
  
P  
  
"Spill it, kid," he told her. "You and I know that ain't some burn."  
  
P  
  
That was her Wolvie---never dancing around the subject and always to the point. "It's not," she admitted, chewing on her lower lip nervously. "I need to tell you something."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah?" He raised his brows expectantly.  
  
P  
  
"You have to promise not to go nuts or anything," she blurted out, cheeks flushing pink. Yes, it was childish, but words seemed to escape her as she edged closer to telling him the truth.  
  
P  
  
He smirked at her. "Listen, kid. I'm not gonna promise you anything. Tell me whatever it is and I'll decide later."  
  
P  
  
She stared at him, open-mouthed. "That's not fair," she protested indignantly, tempted to stamp her foot down. Images of Logan chasing her poor Bobby around the mansion with his claws extended flooded her brain. There was no way she could allow that to happen.  
  
P  
  
"Life's not fair," he declared flatly, partially amused with the way she was twisting in the wind. Had his curiosity not been piqued, he would have enjoyed allowing this to play out further.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee stepped away from him, sapphire eyes blazing with fury. She almost forgot how unreasonable he could be sometimes. "You're not making a compelling case for me to tell you anything."  
  
P  
  
He stalked towards her, deciding to call the young girl's bluff. "Sounds good to me. I can have a I friendly talk /I with every guy in the mansion 'til I hear what I wanna hear." With a SNIKT, he extended his adamantium claws.  
  
P  
  
She was about to say, "You wouldn't...", but then thought better of it. This was Logan she was dealing with. Of course, he would. Her shoulders sank as she peered up at him. Those stony eyes stared back, unreadable and waiting.  
  
P  
  
A tiny frown creased her smooth forehead. "Alright," she muttered, trying to avert his stare, but to no avail. The way he was looking at her was making her squirm slightly. Having never been the focus of such a look, she was uncomfortable.  
  
P  
  
Satisfied, he retracted those sharp, shining claws.  
  
P  
  
Taking a deep breath, she said, "I'm seeing someone."  
  
P  
  
Silence fell over the room, which was then followed by a low growl from Logan's scowling lips. Before he could extend his claws, she clasped his hands with hers. Her sapphire gaze was steady as she stared into the face of the man she cherished all these years.  
  
P  
  
"Who?" he demanded, surprised as to how strong her grip was. He realized he could take another sniff and confirm the person's identity for himself. Hell, he had a list of suspects running in his head; many of whom he had 'talked' to before. But for some reason, he had to hear the answer from her.  
  
P  
  
She pressed her lips together. As much as she wanted to stall, she knew that she could not. She simply had to trust him, as she did when she first met him. "Bobby."  
  
P  
  
He narrowed his eyes. Drake? It was hard for him to even fathom. His mind drifted off to an incident several years ago. It was late morning and most of the residents had gathered in the spacious kitchen for breakfast. She and Drake were sitting together, plotting their latest prank for the day when one of Gambit's conquests wandered downstairs. Unlike other women the Cajun thief had brought back, this one appeared as if she had seen better days. Bobby and Jubilee had been snickering as the woman leaned against the wall next to where they were sitting. She was possibly still intoxicated from the night before. Drake kept nudging the shorthaired, pixie next to him with a banana, whispering something. In response, she had shaken her head vigorously.  
  
P  
  
"Do it," he had urged, smirking and struggling to keep a straight face.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee had peered over at the woman next to her, holding the banana Drake handed her. "Excuse me," she had said. "How far can you get this banana..? Oh, Bobby, I can't do it. She's looking right at me!"P  
  
"Wolvie?" Jubilee's soft voice broke into his thoughts, interrupting his reverie. He had looked so far away, almost confused.  
  
P  
  
Logan shook his head to clear it. "Yeah, kid. I'm here." He frowned at her quizzically. "Drake?"  
  
P  
  
She nodded.  
  
P  
  
"Really?" He still couldn't believe it. For some reason, he figured Drake was celibate, especially after what happened at the wedding.  
  
P  
  
She nodded again. "Yes, really."  
  
P  
  
"And he gave you that... that on your neck?" He grunted, puzzled as to why he could not bring himself to say 'hickey'. For some reason, connecting that word to his Jubilee seemed so wrong. She was still his, still that small child he met in Australia.  
  
P  
  
She blushed, eyes lowered to the floor. "Yeah, he did." Then she quickly snapped her head up. "Please don't kill him."  
  
P  
  
He raised a brow at her, lips quirked. "What?"  
  
P  
  
"I... I really care about him," she blurted out, chin quivering. "He's so good to me. And I... I haven't been this happy in a long time. It's because of him."  
  
P  
  
Logan intently looked into her sapphire depths. They were fiercely determined and pleading at the same time. The last time he had seen that look in her eyes was when he experiencing one of his rages. She had been the only one who was certain she could reason with him, without using any force or powers.  
  
P  
  
Pulling his hands away from hers, he exhaled loudly. He stepped back from the young girl, studying her closely. As much as he wanted to continue denying it, she had grown up. He could not will her back into childhood again just to keep her close to him. Logan realized he had to face facts and accept another set of changes set before him.  
  
P  
  
"He's good to you, huh?" he finally asked wearily, trying to hide the sadness and longing in his gravelly voice.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee nodded, eyes shining.  
  
P  
  
He grunted before wrapping his arms around the young girl, pulling her close to his wiry form. Pressing his lips against her forehead, he sighed. "I'm not gonna hurt him, kid," he muttered, feeling her slender arms tighten around him in response.  
  
I At least not today, /I he added silently. 


	9. Chapter Nine Don't Get Me Wrong

Chapter Nine: Don't Get Me Wrong  
  
I'm back! This chapter is kind of long. As I wrote it, it kept expanding and expanding. I have to say that I'm a big believer in karma, and hopefully you'll see it in this chapter. Also, it might be a while until I get Chapter 10 out. I'll be heading into hell month soon at school, so I can't really guarantee anything next week.  
  
Please keep the reviews coming. It's good to hear from all of you. I'm still new to this whole thing and getting feedback helps out a lot.  
  
As usual, the characters are Marvel's, but the story is mine.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
P  
  
Fall had arrived in Westchester rather quickly. Mild air was replaced with cool, brisk breezes. The lively greenery that populated the grounds of the mansion competed with vibrant shades of red, orange, gold, and brown. Crisp, fallen leaves were scattered about the manicured lawn, adding to the festive air of the new season.  
  
P  
  
Autumn sunshine streamed through the bay window of the spacious kitchen. Kurt Wagner leaned back in his chair at the kitchen table. It was days like these he longed to travel back to his native Germany. He smiled as he recalled long, lazy days traveling with his adopted family across the countryside. The air was filled with wonderful scents of German food and ale, mixed with the sweet, merry music from their caravan. Those were simpler times. All that truly mattered then was family and making enough to take care of the most basic needs. No one cared what he looked like or what he might have been. There was no fear, no concern regarding what mutants were and what they could do. He was just Kurt, a member of the family and their circus's star attraction. Looking back now, he realized it was all so different from what his life had evolved into now. And yet, there was no place he would have rather been than here at the mansion with the Professor, his friends, and his many students.  
  
P  
  
Sighing, he returned to his crossword puzzle, an activity he found helpful in expanding his English vocabulary. As he struggled to finish the remaining sections, he could hear Cook on the other side of the kitchen, arguing vociferously with someone on the telephone. While such noise would distract most people, Kurt had developed such a strong sense of focus through his meditation exercises. His ability to drown out background noises was almost legendary around the mansion. A triumphant smile crossed his lips as he deciphered another clue.  
  
P  
  
"Hey, Kurt."  
  
P  
  
Kurt raised his eyes from the newspaper to see Bobby Drake, seating himself across the table from him. He nodded in greeting before commenting dryly, "Ah, Bobby. Good to see you're still in one piece, mein freund."  
  
P  
  
Bobby narrowed his gray eyes behind his purple-tinted, sunglasses. At first, he laughed off the comments about not getting ass kicked. However, as each day passed by, he was growing increasingly tired of the remarks. Even the students had their wry jokes. He overheard a group of them speculating as to whether or not he had some claw marks or burn holes under his shirt. Now, it seemed as if Kurt was looking to get his jabs in.  
  
P  
  
Several weeks had passed between the return of both Scott and Logan and today. His confrontation with Scott still left him reeling. It was still hard for him to accept that his friend and teammate had such a low opinion of him. He thought all these years of serving together would have attested to his character, to his intentions. While the two agreed that Jubilee's happiness was important, Bobby found himself still trying to convince Scott that there was no game being played. The discussion ended with the older man telling Bobby to consider his position on the relationship before leaving. Hurt and boiling with anger, Bobby was determined to do everything in his power to change Scott's mind.  
  
P  
  
In the days that followed, there was an uneasy air between them. When it was possible, both men avoided contact with one another. Faculty meetings or briefings in the war room were the worst for Bobby. Every time Scott was lecturing the instructors and teammates, he felt as if he (Bobby) were being singled out. He had even caught Scott glaring directly at him while he talked. It was humiliating, especially as he attempted to avoid the curious stares of his peers. The piercing glare became more intense whenever Bobby and Jubilee were together. Despite the fact that no optic beam was radiating from Scott's eyes, Bobby still felt like a target. His skin, usually cool, felt as if it were on fire every time Scott stared at him. It was all he could do not to flinch, and not to directly confront the other man. Even the self-involved Cain Marko, Xavier's stepbrother, noticed the tension. After one of the war room meetings, he had approached Bobby to inquire as to what he did to get on One-Eyed's bad side.  
  
P  
  
And Logan? Bobby was unsure as to where he stood with the notoriously protective man from Canada. He anticipated being pulled into a dark room and being interrogated. He anticipated the larger man flashing his adamantium claws at him. He anticipated being on the receiving end of various threats to his body. Surprisingly, there was none of that. In fact, the loner made no attempts to approach him. Not even any hostile warnings to dissuade him from getting involved with his Jubilee. It was almost surreal. For a while, Bobby was under the impression Logan had no idea what was going on.  
  
P  
  
Instead, Logan began to watch him quite carefully. It was similar to the looks Scott often gave him, but much more intense---almost as if he were eyeing possible prey in the wild. Bobby could feel each move he made analyzed under the old man's gaze. Scott made his disapproval and wariness apparent, but Logan was taking a different approach. No, the old man chose to keep his distance. He wanted to watch Bobby twist in the wind. For some reason, Bobby's fear was more paralyzing when it came to Logan. He had seen what the man was capable of during field missions. Feral was an understatement when it came to describing the loner's rages. It was almost spine-tingling watching Logan relish the attacks during missions. The joy and satisfaction that twinkled in the old man's eyes was intriguing and yet, terrifying.  
  
P  
  
Bobby often found himself vacillating between wanting to talk to Logan and avoiding him. Each time he had summoned the courage to even approach the old man, he would lose his nerve. Worse than the uncertainty he continued to live with was Logan's reaction. The smug expression on his face communicated his awareness of the younger man's ambivalence. And from Logan's behavior over the past several weeks, he was more than content to allow things to run their course.  
  
P  
  
Closing his eyes, Bobby's mind drifted to the only thing that was keeping him sane through all of this. Those sapphire-blue eyes and that brilliant smile was enough to lift to his spirits. Being with Jubilee made the persecution and the possibility of bodily harm worth it in the end. There were even times Bobby swore he would endure much worse in order to be with her. Holding her close to him, he knew this was right. No amount of intimidation would convince him otherwise.  
  
P  
  
Bobby abruptly returned to the kitchen when he heard the German native chuckle softly. "Et tu, Kurt?" he finally drawled, drumming his fingers against the tabletop.  
  
P  
  
Kurt gave him an apologetic smile. "I couldn't resist," he replied, putting down his crossword puzzle. Then he asked casually, "So, how are things going?"  
  
P  
  
"OK. I can't believe mid-terms are coming up." Bobby tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "I haven't prepared anything for my classes at all."  
  
P  
  
Kurt looked at him sympathetically. Not quite the answer he had been looking for, but it was typical Bobby Drake. He often found that instead of being frank about what was going on inside of him, Bobby often relied on jokes or ducking the question altogether. It was some sort of defense mechanism the young man used to avoid any tension.  
  
P  
  
Despite his teasing comment, Kurt was concerned about the young man sitting across from him. Bobby seemed anxious lately. It was the antithesis of the easy-going, wry young man he often found himself laughing with. He knew Logan and Scott were good men. He was also aware of how protective both were of Jubilee. To their credit, neither one had attempted to chase Bobby out of the mansion. Knowing Logan as long and as well as he did, Kurt could not help but think that the old man was taking his aggression on something else instead of Bobby. But the implicit reactions appeared to be just as damning.  
  
P  
  
To complicate things even further, Kurt noticed how his friend was trying to shield Jubilee from the whole thing. He watched with amazement and admiration as Bobby attempted to pretend that all was well. This was in spite of the stony glances he was receiving from either Scott or Logan, or both. Bobby placed his own sanity on the backburner so he would not trouble his new girlfriend. It was a chivalrous approach, but ultimately Kurt believed it would be his undoing sooner or later. There was only so much a person could take before completing snapping.  
  
P  
  
Reading the weary expression in the other man's gray eyes, Kurt decided not to pursue the topic. It was evident the situation had been weighing heavily on his mind. There was no need to remind him of it. Instead, he simply nodded empathically.  
  
P  
  
"I haven't either," he echoed, noting the relief washing over his friend's boyish features. Apparently, he made the right decision. "Looks like the children aren't going to be the only ones pulling in late hours."  
  
P  
  
"Bloody 'ell!" Cook stormed, slamming the phone on the receiver. The portly, middle-aged Englishwoman was usually a cheery person, who had a marked disdain for swearing. She even promulgated rule, expressly forbidding any kind of cursing in her kitchen. Initially, this proved to be a difficult order to follow, especially for some of the residents (Logan and Gambit). To hear her exclaim like that meant something was definitely amiss.  
  
P  
  
Exchanging curious glances, the two men rose from their seats at the table. Then they slowly made their way to where the cherubic-faced Cook was standing, which was in behind the kitchen island. Kurt placed a comforting hand on her soft shoulder.  
  
P  
  
"Vat's vrong?" he inquired, golden eyes puzzled.  
  
P  
  
She threw her hands in the air, clearly frustrated. "'ow am I supposed to prepare for this bloody party if the bloody icebox doesn't work?" Then she sighed heavily. "I rang up the repairman and 'e can't get 'ere until later this afternoon. Naow, wot am I going to do?"  
  
P  
  
"Vat's the problem vit the fridge?" Kurt asked calmly. There was no need for hysterics at this point. If it was something simple, he was sure Kitty or Hank could figure something out.  
  
P  
  
She shook her head, chewing on her fleshy lower lip. "I dunno," she admitted. "It just won't work, is all." As she finished her sentence, the Englishwoman appeared as if she were going to drive into town and give the repairman a piece of her mind. Clearly, dealing with stress was not something Cook did well.  
  
P  
  
Bobby frowned as he strode over to the mammoth, stainless steel refrigerator. He opened the door and stuck his hand inside. Nothing, not even the usual hum from its' motor. Closing the door, he shrugged his shoulders. Whatever was wrong with the appliance, he knew that she was up a creek if she needed cold air for whatever she was making. Unless....  
  
P  
  
"How much ice do you need?" he asked, returning to the island with Cook and Kurt. He pretended to crack his knuckles to showboat. Bobby added some stretches for an added effect, earning a groan from Kurt.  
  
P  
  
Cook sniffed. "Dunno. Why?"  
  
P  
  
Bobby grinned at her wryly. "Let's see if this will do," he said. With his hands outstretched over the butcher-block top of the island, wisps of cold air swirled. In a matter of seconds, a large, thick block of ice appeared on the island. The mass was so tall it almost obscured his view of Kurt and Cook who were standing on the other side. He could make out their figures, but the details of their features were somewhat distorted from the ice crystals.  
  
P  
  
Kurt was impressed. "Nice," he commented, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Even though he could not completely see his friend's face, he knew Bobby was beaming triumphantly on the other side.  
  
P  
  
"Yes, well...." Cook sounded hesitant as she studied the massive block of ice in front of her.  
  
P  
  
Bobby frowned. "What?"  
  
P  
  
"Nothing, lad," she replied, waving a dismissive hand in the air.  
  
P  
  
Bobby wasn't biting. He could hear in her voice that something was wrong. "What is it, Cook?"  
  
P  
  
Cook clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "Well, I need smaller pieces, Bobby," she explained ruefully. Sighing, she wished she had made that specifier clear before the boy went ahead and tried to help. He just seemed so eager to please. The thought of telling him he was not helping was something she did not want to do.  
  
P  
  
"Oh." Bobby eyed the block, trying not to appear crestfallen. He shrugged nonchalantly and peered down at his hands. "I guess if you give me a bucket or something, I could---"  
  
P  
  
Before he was able to finish his sentence, a SNIKT pierced the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glint of light reflecting off steel-like blades. Bobby soon figured out that the blades were not steel, but were adamantium. Just as quickly as he made that conclusion, pieces of ice started flying about him. Startled and terrified, he jumped and scurried towards the kitchen table nearby. His heartbeat was thudding in his ears, which drowned the sound of the blades slicing into the ice. He watched with stunned eyes, along with Kurt and Cook, as shards of ice continued to scatter around them.  
  
P  
  
Within seconds, all was still again. Mist emanating from the island wafted in the air. Pieces of ice were piled on the island, threatening to spill onto the floor. A smirking Logan stood over the crystals, his rugged face looming over one of the piles. Grinding his trademark Cohiba between his teeth, he shook the excess moisture from one set of claws.  
  
P  
  
"That help?" he asked Cook. Had he been in a more smug mood, he would have flashed a smile.  
  
P  
  
Cook swallowed, staring at the cubes of ice on the butcher block top and then at the Wolverine. She licked her lips quickly and blinked. All years working for the Professor and his school, she should not have been so shocked over what just happened. The Englishwoman had witnessed many things that made her question her own sense of reality. Knowing people who could walk through walls or shoot rays of light from their eyes was the stuff of science fiction and fantasy, she had thought so long ago. Now, it seemed so commonplace. And yet, watching Mr. Logan tear apart the ice with his sharp claws was something that still managed to shock her. Perhaps she was not as jaded as she once thought.  
  
P  
  
"Aye, me," she breathed, her eyes as round as saucers. She placed a chubby hand over her chest. "Cheers, Mr. Logan." If she weren't reeling from her surprise, she would have scolded him for bringing that disgusting cigar into her kitchen. He knew better.  
  
P  
  
Logan nodded briefly at her, and then eyed Drake. He saw that the young man was standing next to Kurt. Bobby's face seemed to be drained of all color as his mouth formed an expressionless line. The older man could not help but smirk again as he saw fear and terror in Drake's eyes.  
  
P  
  
He turned on his heel to exit the kitchen. As he wandered out the door, he called out, "Let me know if you need crushed ice. I can definitely do something about that." He threw Bobby a knowing look before he left.  
  
P  
  
Closing his bedroom door, Logan exhaled. He put out his cigar in the glass ashtray one of the students gave him last year. Despite being in the States for some time now, his body was still readjusting the different time zone. It was not at all debilitating, but slightly annoying. He disliked the fact that he found himself growing exhausted by the late afternoon. Seeing the medical staff did not help all that much. Both Hank and Cecilia explained that it was normal for weeks to pass and that nothing was wrong with him. Logan, used to being in top physical shape, was dissatisfied with the response he received.  
  
P  
  
The loner decided to take matters into his own hands. Riding on his motorcycle around town always seemed to provide an adrenaline rush. Shortly after his Danger Room session with Ororo, he hopped on his bike and raced out of the mansion. The briskness of the wind sliding along his cheeks and rumpling his thick hair often awakened his mind and his body. However, this was not the case this afternoon. Logan found himself cutting short the ride through town. He was tired and desperately needed some rest. All he could think of as he parked his vintage Harley-Davidson motorcycle was his inviting bed.  
  
P  
  
Unlike the well-furnished rooms in the mansion, the room Logan called his sanctuary was bare. There was nothing that indicated any attachment to this place. The walls were stark, devoid of any photographs or paintings. On the far side of the room was a plain dresser, which was half-filled with the clothing he had brought with him from his last trip. Against the wall closest to the door was his bed—a queen-sized mattress and box spring on a metal frame. Next to his bedside was a small, wooden table with a black desk lamp and an alarm clock. On the other bedside table was a box of Cohibas. Underneath the box was the dog-eared photograph he often carried of a thirteen-year-old Jubilee.  
  
P  
  
He stripped off his weathered, leather jacket before kicking off his scuffed boots. Rubbing his rough hands over his stubble-ridden face, Logan sank onto the bed. He closed his eyes in bliss. I Ahhhhh.... P  
  
The only thing as satisfying as lying in bed was seeing Drake's expression. It was priceless. If Logan weren't so drained, he would have barked with laughter. He had been standing in the hallway as Drake showed off his abilities. Granted, he was trying to help Cook with the party, but he seemed so full of himself. Logan knew he had to take him down a notch or two.  
  
P  
  
Watching the young man cower in terror as he tore apart the block of ice into pieces was almost too much. Logan nearly lost his concentration, trying not to snort and snicker. He was convinced that having that much fun in the kitchen should have been illegal. Logan wished he had a video camera to record the entire scene. He would have loved to play it for the Cajun. Gambit would have definitely appreciated the whole thing.  
  
P  
  
As he settled into a comfortable position in bed, his mind mulled over the past few weeks. It was still hard to believe that his Jubilee was now dating. Even more mind-boggling was the fact that she was seeing Drake. At first, he couldn't even picture the two of them together as a couple. Besides the fact that he was still attached to the idea of Jubilee as a child, Logan had been convinced that Drake was asexual. After all, what kind of man, interested in any kind of relationship, would wear those ridiculous Hawaiian shirts? Not that Logan could talk as he often sported the ultra-casual, lumberjack style, but at least his tastes were a little more subdued than Drake's. Some of the prints the younger man wore were almost blinding to the eyes.  
  
P  
  
And yet, Drake was with his Jubilee. Logan watched with amazement as he observed the two of them walking the grounds of the mansion together. They were not all over each other like some couples. If they were, Logan knew he would have to definitely do something about that. No, the two were quite careful when it came to public displays of affection. The most he ever saw was Drake's arm around her shoulders.  
  
P  
  
The loner also noticed there was something different about the two of them when they were together. He saw that Jubilee, true to her words when she first disclosed the relationship, was happier. In fact, she was radiant. Her dazzling smiles and her tinkling, girlish laughs, which once were reserved for him, now found another target in Bobby Drake. It had been some time since Logan had seen her in such high spirits. After all the pain---emotional and physical---she had to endure during her young life, she deserved it.  
  
P  
  
For his part, Drake seemed to be just as enamored with Jubilee. Unlike the anxious bundle of nerves Logan encountered in the kitchen, the young man was relaxed and at ease. He could tell from the way Drake interacted with her, the young man was sincere. There was nothing duplicitous or seamy about his motives. Drake was simply happy to be with her.  
  
P  
  
Given all this, Logan was not sure what to think. He wanted to Jubilee to be happy. As someone who loved and cared about her as his own, there was nothing more he wanted. However, he was not all that thrilled about the fact she was dating in the first place. It also bothered him that she decided the person she wanted to be with was Drake. Like Scott and many around the mansion, Logan was present at the wedding. He witnessed the young man profess his continued love and affection for the abandoned bride. After learning that Drake was Jubilee's boyfriend, Logan was tempted to have a 'friendly' talk with the young man to set him straight. And if his claws just happened to be unsheathed during this talk, then what was the worse that could happen?  
  
P  
  
But he made a promise.  
  
P  
  
He made a promise to Jubilee.  
  
P  
  
And Logan never broke his promises.  
  
P  
  
He grunted quietly, suppressing a growl. There were countless times he could have ambushed and confronted Drake. The kid wasn't with him all the time. How could she find out? Drake, being a guy, would never cry and tattle on him to her. And yet, Logan found that those old-soul, blue eyes that implored him not to harm Drake restrained him. He cursed himself for his lack of resolve. Perhaps it was true. Getting older did mean getting softer.  
  
P  
  
Logan closed his eyes again, willing the conflict out of his consciousness. As he drifted into slumber, he thought about life years ago. It was a simpler time for him. Back then, he was a young girl's hero and beloved companion. All they really needed was each other. There were no secondary father figures, no boyfriends. It was a world-weary man and an energetic child against the rest of the world. That seemed to be enough to sustain the two of them over the years.  
  
P  
  
Not anymore.  
  
P  
  
He was startled from his sleep when his ears picked up on a soft rapping at his door. The Canadian native contemplated barking a series of expletives, but decided against it. Logan remembered that school was in session for the fall. The person on the other side could have been a student. He could imagine another lecture by Scott and the Professor about swearing in front of the children---again. Groaning, he opened his eyes and swung his wiry legs over the side of the bed. Then he ambled towards the door, still groggy from his nap.  
  
P  
  
He yanked open the door to find Kitty standing before him. The young woman who preferred sweatshirts and jeans as standards in her closet seemed transformed. She wore a plum-colored, satin, low-cut, halter gown, which reached her ankles. Instead of sneakers, Kitty sported a pair of strappy, violet heels. Her wavy, brown locks were pulled back in a sleek bun. Usually not one to wear make-up, the young woman seemed to make a special exception. Her cat-like, brown eyes were dramatically lined with dark- brown shadow and brown liner, while her heart-shaped mouth was painted a faded plum. Kitty's round cheeks were flushed with a warm pink, contrasting against her eyes.  
  
P  
  
Blinking in surprise, Logan muttered, "Where's the party?"  
  
P  
  
She played with the gold Star of David around her neck. "Downstairs," she replied, staring up at him incredulously. "Why aren't you dressed? Everything's supposed to start in ten minutes!"  
  
P  
  
He looked at her quizzically. Usually, the Professor did not force him to attend the socials that were held for the students and their parents. He wondered why he had to go to this one. From the way Kitty was glaring at him, it seemed important that he be present.  
  
P  
  
Logan grunted, raising a brow at her. "Let me just throw on a shirt over what I got on..." he began.  
  
P  
  
"Are you crazy?" Kitty demanded, shaking her head in disapproval. Her eyes roved over the red flannel shirt, gray T-shirt, and dark jeans with boots he was wearing. "You can't go downstairs in that. The Professor and Jean will kill you, among other people..."  
  
P  
  
He raised a stony brow at her. He almost forgot how excitable she could be sometimes. "Fine," he relented flatly. "What do you want me in?"  
  
P  
  
"Your suit should be hanging on the outside of your closet," she informed him, as music from below began to drift upstairs. The tinkling of piano keys complemented the steady bass and beating of snare drums. The lush melody from a string quartet soon joined the symphony of sounds.  
  
P  
  
He wasn't sure he heard her correctly. She must have been mistaken. There was nothing remotely resembling a suit in his wardrobe. He left that kind of pretty-boy attire to the likes of Summers and Worthington. "My what?"  
  
P  
  
She motioned for him to turn around, which he did. Sure enough, hanging neatly on his closet door was a classically tailored, black tuxedo with a crisp, white shirt. In the breast pocket of the jacket was a black bowtie. Logan was dumbfounded. Never had he ever been asked to wear something like this and for a party no less. What was going through the Professor's baldhead?  
  
P  
  
He whipped around to face Kitty. "You gotta be kiddin' me," he said, growling. "There's no way I'm wearin' I that P  
  
She rolled her eyes at him. "Listen, don't shoot the messenger, OK? Besides, you have to wear it. You don't want to tick off everyone, do you?" Noticing the twinkle in the older man's eyes, she sighed and shook her head. "Come on, Logan. It'll only be for a couple of hours..."  
  
P  
  
He winced slightly, recognizing the pleading tone. Jubilee had used it when she begged him not to hurt Drake. He wanted to believe he was stronger and had more resolve than to give in. After all, he was the Wolverine, the man who took no pity on his enemies, who fought fiercely for what he felt was true and right. With the exception of a few close friends, he was feared by most of the residents.  
  
P  
  
But for some reason, he realized Kitty had a point. It was important for him to do this. He wasn't sure why, though.  
  
P  
  
"Fine," he grumbled, narrowing his eyes in disdain.  
  
P  
  
Pleased, Kitty smiled up at him. "Do you need help?" she inquired, glancing at the tuxedo and then at Logan. She was not entirely convinced he could manage the bowtie.  
  
P  
  
"No." Promptly, he shut the door. He eyed the formal suit that hung over the door with disgust. Then without another word, he proceeded to strip out of his clothes and changed into the dreaded suit. Logan tried to tell himself that he had experienced much more painful things in his lifetime. He had his memory erased, claws implanted against his will, his adamantium skeleton removed once, and watched the loves of his life leave him. Surely, he could live through this ordeal. Schmoozing with parents and students in an itchy, starch-laced suit couldn't be that difficult. If someone like One-Eyed could do it, then why couldn't he? Nevertheless, he made a mental note to have a discussion with Professor Xavier later on.  
  
P  
  
Logan was buttoning up his white tuxedo shirt when there was another knock on the door. He scowled as he called out gruffly, "I don't need help."  
  
P  
  
Instead of Kitty's high-pitched voice, a deeper, more mature voice informed him, "I never said you did."  
  
P  
  
The faint scent of sandalwood filled his nostrils. There was only one person who smelled like that. He didn't have to turn around to know who it was. His scowl was quickly replaced by an amused smile. Logan finished buttoning up before turning to face his visitor.  
  
P  
  
Ororo watched him slip on his black tuxedo jacket, noting how well it fit his sleek, wiry form. "This is an interesting sight," she commented, tucking a lock of white hair behind her ear.  
  
P  
  
"Don't get used to it," he groused, realizing that she had never seen him in anything other than his flannel shirts and jeans, or his black leather field uniform. Less than five minutes had passed since he put on the suit. He could not help but uncomfortable already. Inwardly, he hoped he would only have to endure this torture for a brief period of time.  
  
P  
  
Then his eyes flicked over at the weather goddess. Always the fashion icon, Ororo was even more dressed up than usual for a school social. She wore a Tiffany-blue, sateen strapless dress, which was cinched at the waist by a white satin ribbon. A pair of pale pink heels completed the outfit. Her thick, white hair flowed down her graceful shoulders, accenting the coffee-color to her skin. Her exotic, elegant features were dramatically made-up with heavy liner around her eyes and red lips.  
  
P  
  
Logan was almost taken aback as to how stunning she was at that moment. He had always been aware of her beauty, but it was not until now that he understood why the Professor had called her "his rose". Not wanting to appear totally at a loss, he quickly turned away from her and set to work on his tie.  
  
P  
  
"You clean up good," he remarked gruffly, staring at his craggy face in the mirror. As he struggled with the tie, he compared the piece of fabric to some sort of noose. I At least with a noose, I get relief sooner... P  
  
He saw her in his reflection, just past his shoulder. She smiled at him, crossing her slender arms over her chest. "I take that as a compliment?"  
  
P  
  
"Call it what you want, Princess." Logan shrugged, finally setting the knot in place. Satisfied, he turned around to face her again.  
  
P  
  
Her eyes sparkled with warmth. "Then I extend the same to you, Logan," she replied, watching him carefully as he walked towards her. "Perhaps, you will save me a dance later on?"  
  
P  
  
He smirked at her. "I don't dance," he informed her abruptly. Then he leaned towards the dazzling weather goddess. "But there are I other things /I we can do."  
  
P  
  
Ororo pursed her shimmering, pink lips as she stared back at him. "For a moment there, I thought you were Gambit," she chided.  
  
P  
  
A low growl escaped from his lips. He stepped backwards, trying not to flinch. While he and the Cajun were friends, the idea of being compared to Gambit bothered him. What was more irritating was the pleased, smug expression on Ororo's face.  
  
P  
  
She extended a graceful hand to him. "Come, Logan," she drawled in a soothing, placating tone. "Let us see how the rest of the preparations are going."  
  
P  
  
"Would you rather sit in your room and wait?"  
  
P  
  
"I'd rather be somewhere else and wearing something else."  
  
P  
  
"Obviously, you cannot do that. Come, Logan. Please keep this Princess company."  
  
P  
  
The two of them strode down the hallway together amid the bustling and chatter coming from behind various closed doors. The music from downstairs was growing louder and louder as he edged closer to the stairs. He couldn't recognize the tune they were playing, but assumed it was probably something old and classical. His nose picked up on a mixed bouquet of scents---flowers, food, and scented candles. Not very unusual for a social for the parents and the students, especially when Jean and the Professor were involved as planners. Together, Logan and Ororo descended down the spiral staircase.  
  
P  
  
When they reached the main floor, household employees dressed in white tuxedo shirts and black slacks were scurrying from the kitchen to either the living room or towards the patio. One of the employees was carrying a tray of hollowed-out grape tomatoes, stuffed with lightly dressed greens. Laughing and boisterous conversation from the living room and each of the recreation rooms could be heard as well. White candles provided a soft glow to the mansion. Garlands of white narcissus and star-shaped orinthogalum lined the railing and the banister. Apparently, the Professor was looking to go all out for this party.  
  
P  
  
Linking her arm through his, Ororo led him into the kitchen. Cook stood in the middle of the room, calling out orders to the employees carrying various trays in and out of the room. Despite her frazzled demeanor, she was dressed to the nines. The chubby Englishwoman wore a khaki cotton pantsuit with a champagne top. Her brown-and-gray hair was swept back in a casual bun. Usually, during a large-scale event, she would be in her usual apron and all-purpose, gray dress. Logan wondered if the Professor had talked her into getting into more formal attire as well.  
  
P  
  
Behind her was Gambit. Wearing a tuxedo similar to the one Logan had on, the Cajun thief looked as if he stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. His bow tie, made of burgundy silk, complemented the red in his eyes. Thick, wavy auburn hair and slight stubble added to the appeal of the notorious charmer.  
  
P  
  
This afternoon found the Cajun attempting to sneak something to his sculpted lips other than a woman's mouth or hand. Very stealthily, he hovered over Cook's masterpiece for the party. It was a hexagonal, three- tiered, lemon cake, covered in light-blue fondant with swirls of white icing for piping. He was about to dip a finger into the frosting when Cook turned around. Her face turned an unnatural shade of red as she slapped his hand away.  
  
P  
  
"Mr. LeBeau!" she screamed, storming towards him.  
  
P  
  
Logan snickered as Gambit attempted to play innocent. With a lazy grin, he placed an arm around Cook's shoulders. "Chère," he drawled huskily, pulling her towards him. "Gambit only wanted to appreciate dis masterpiece you worked so hard to create. You can't be too mad about dat, chère. How about you let Gambit have a little taste, non?"  
  
P  
  
Her glassy eyes peered up at him, stunned. She was speechless for only a few seconds. Suddenly, her head snapped back up and she pulled away, slapping his arms.  
  
P  
  
"Get out, you bloody wanker!" she shrieked, continuing to assault him as he backed away from her quickly. "I don't want to see you in 'ere again! Do you 'ear me?"  
  
P  
  
Gambit, surprised and shocked that his trademark charm failed to enrapture the Englishwoman, retreated from the kitchen. As he passed by Logan and Ororo, who were both laughing, he expressed his disbelief. "Hell hath no fury like a Cook crossed," he muttered, pulling out a cigarette.  
  
P  
  
"Serves you right, Gumbo," Logan commented, watching him stride towards the living room. He noticed how crowded it was; filled with people he had not seen in quite some time. For example, Sean Cassidy, former headmaster of the Massachusetts Academy, was talking to the Summers brothers. While Alex appeared to be cheerful and talkative, his older brother looked less than thrilled to be at the party. In fact, if Logan did not know better, he could have sworn Scott was grimacing.  
  
I Well, look at that, /I Logan thought, smirking. I I'm not the only miserable bastard here. Who would have thought One-Eyed and I share something? All I need is a beer and this shindig will be complete. P  
  
A part of him was curious as to what was up Scott's craw. During most of these events, he often made a point to meet and greet all the parents who attended the parties. As Professor Xavier's right-hand man, he saw himself as another emissary for the school. It was very strange to see Scott acting very antisocial. Then again, he could have had a lover's quarrel with Jeannie over something. The thought brought a broad smile to Logan's lips. It was not that he still pined for the statuesque redhead, but the idea of bumpy roads in their domestic bliss was quite amusing.  
  
P  
  
He was about to ask Ororo and Cook where the bar was set up when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he found Jubilee's friend and former roommate, Paige Guthrie. The tall blonde from Kentucky was formally dressed as well, but Logan observed something unusual. It was then that he noticed she was wearing the same dress and shoes Ororo was currently sporting.  
  
P  
  
Raising a brow at her, he asked, "Are you and Ororo trying to go for the twin look?"  
  
P  
  
"What?" Paige gave him a quizzical look, and then shook her blond head. "No... Never mind. Jubilee wants to see you."  
  
P  
  
Logan stepped away from Ororo, nodding at the young girl next to him. "Great," he said, "I need to get out of the mansion for a while anyway."  
  
P  
  
Paige frowned lightly, creasing her smooth forehead. "What are you talking about? She's upstairs, not at Scott and Jean's. Come on."  
  
P  
  
Gently, she took his hand in hers and began to weave through the thickening crowd in the hallway. Her pace became more brisk as they reached the stairs. They climbed up the spiral staircase quickly. Then the two of them made their way to her room, which was next to Worthington's. No big surprise.  
  
P  
  
She opened the door slowly, prodding Logan inside. "Be nice," she warned him in a whisper. The young girl then stepped away from the door and closed it behind him.  
  
I What is she talking about? Be nice? /I Logan scowled, loosening his tie slightly. He was convinced that this day was getting stranger and stranger with each passing second. Either he had done or said something in sleep towards Jubilee, or Paige was completely oblivious to their relationship.  
  
P  
  
He was startled out of his thoughts at the sound of that soft voice which tugged at his heart constantly. His green eyes widened as he took in the vision before him. He could feel his mouth dry and his stomach sink to his feet.  
  
P  
  
"Kid?" he managed, still not believing his own eyes. He walked to her, needing to take a closer look. It was almost as if by doing so it would confirm what he was seeing. His steps ceased when he realized he was not having a hallucination.  
  
P  
  
Standing on the other side of the room was Jubilee. She appeared angelic and ethereal as she smiled at him. The young girl was wearing a white, silk kimono-style dress. The V-neck accentuated her slender neck. Meanwhile, the embroidered lace on the flowing sleeves and the fitted, satin bodice added to the flawless image. Her long, silky black hair was pulled back from her delicate features in a partial updo. Black waves with midnight-blue highlights flowed down her slim shoulders. Jubilee's creamy skin was lightly colored with some pink make-up.  
  
P  
  
"How do I look?" she asked shyly. Her sapphire eyes were staring at him expectantly.  
  
P  
  
It took Logan awhile to collect his thoughts. He never saw Jubilee like this, ever. She was so beautiful it was unreal. The shock to his system was similar to being immersed in cold, harsh water after a deep sleep. "You look.... You look good."  
  
P  
  
She grinned. "Thank you, Wolvie," she whispered, leaning over and kissing his stubble-ridden cheek. Then she added teasingly, "You couldn't shave today?"  
  
P  
  
"Didn't have time," he answered quickly, watching her saunter towards Paige's suede-covered, sleigh bed. There was something about the situation, something about seeing Jubilee just now that made him uneasy inside. Like the other residents, she would dress nicely for the annual parties the Professor organized for the parents and students. But there was something different about the way she looked now.  
  
P  
  
"What's wrong?" Jubilee's soft voice interrupted his musings. Her back was turned to him. From Logan's vantage point, she appeared as if she were searching for something on the bed.  
  
P  
  
He shook his head quickly, as if to clear his head. "Um, nothing."  
  
P  
  
"You're awfully quiet today."  
  
P  
  
"Well, more so than usual."  
  
P  
  
"You know how I hate gettin' dressed up like some kind of monkey."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, I know that. Thanks, Wolvie."  
  
P  
  
"For what?"  
  
P  
  
"For everything."  
  
P  
  
"Kid, you don't have to..."  
  
P  
  
"No, but I do. I don't know what I would have done without you."  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, well... You would have been OK anyway. You're stronger than you think."  
  
P  
  
"Maybe so, but you helped out a lot. More than you know."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee turned around. Her sapphire-blue eyes were shining as she smiled at him. "Don't," she said, shaking her head. "In spite of what you think, you've always been there. You're the one who said you wouldn't let me fall, remember?"  
  
P  
  
He didn't remember ever saying something like that. Then again, he offered a great deal of guidance to the young girl over the years. His memory was never an enhanced mutant ability, either. Perhaps he did say that, along with other things. After all, he was the one who taught her how to curse like a sailor.  
  
P  
  
She briefly turned her head to the open window by Paige's bed, a soft, and gentle breeze flowing through the room. Taking a deep breath, she walked towards him. "Well, let's get going. There are tons of people downstairs, waiting."  
  
P  
  
"Waiting for what?" he demanded, raising a stony brow at her. The Professor, Jean, and One-Eyed shared billing for the spotlight at these parties. Most of the instructors and teammates primarily attended for the food and the occasional conversation with a concerned parent. No, there was definitely something different about this gathering. It was unsettling, but Logan could not put his finger on what it was.  
  
P  
  
His puzzlement soon faded when his eyes lowered from her lovely face to her hands. Those small, delicate hands clutched a bouquet of lilies of the valley and lisianthus with a collar of white feathers. Jubilee was not one to wear a great deal of jewelry, which was why Logan was surprised to see her left hand. Around her ring finger was a white gold, floral eternity band with round diamonds.  
  
P  
  
It was then that Logan realized that this was not another one of Xavier's school functions.  
  
P  
  
Suddenly, his blood ran cold.  
  
P  
  
No, it couldn't be.  
  
P  
  
Not like this.  
  
P  
  
Not this soon.  
  
P  
  
The self-proclaimed loner was so consumed by his own troubling thoughts that he did not feel Jubilee's slender arm slip through his. He almost jumped at the sensation. His stunned eyes roved over the attractive face of the young girl next to him. There was a dreamy, but earnest quality to her expression. He had seen that face before.  
  
I "He's so good to me. And I... I haven't been this happy in a long time. It's because of him." P  
  
Logan nearly winced, his mind reeling to a conversation that seemed to take place so recently. How could this be happening now? Questions regarding the plausibility of the situation raced through his brain. His head was spinning.  
  
P  
  
"Wolvie?" Jubilee tugged at his arm gently, trying to lead him to the door. "Wolvie, come on. It's time."  
  
P  
  
He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to keep her in this room. He wanted to lock her away.  
  
P  
  
And, yet he did none of those things.  
  
P  
  
Much to his chagrin, Logan allowed her to walk him to the door. It was a surreal experience as he watched his own hand open it. He felt as if his head was detached from his body. Walking down that spiral staircase and down the hallway did not seem real. The live music was distorted in his ears, overwhelmed by the racing of his heartbeat. His mind kept commanding him to question her about whether or not this was the right decision. He even willed his feet to stop moving, but to no avail. Some unseen, powerful force pushed him along.  
  
I Now I know why One-Eyed was upset. P  
  
They soon reached the French doors of the living room, which were opened to the spacious grounds. A large, white plywood platform was placed right outside of the doors, where guests were seated in white chairs. The chairs along the aisle had glass jars of white orchids hanging on the backs. Logan recognized many of the guests as teammates and instructors at the Institute. Their smiles and expressions of pride and awe ate away at him, making him feeling like dirt for not sharing their feelings. As he and Jubilee reached the end of the aisle, he saw Kurt standing at the other end, wearing his priest's collar. Paige, Ororo, Rogue, and Jean flanked one side of him, all wearing identical dresses and shoes. Rogue was the only one who stood out, adding a pair of white opera gloves to her outfit. On the other side of Kurt were Warren and Hank, wearing tuxedos similar to the one Logan was in.  
  
P  
  
And then there was I him P  
  
Logan struggled to suppress a bitter growl. He watched with murderous eyes as Drake turned to face them. His limbs were paralyzed as Jubilee extracted her arm from his and clasped hands with the boyish young man. The two exchanged radiant smiles in greeting. There were a million of things Logan wanted to do at that moment---throwing Jubilee over his shoulder and carrying her away from this ridiculous charade being at the top of the list.  
  
P  
  
Drake leaned towards him, grinning cheerfully. "Just think," he whispered, "by the end of the ceremony, I can call you Pops or Wolvie. Which do you prefer?"  
  
P  
  
That did it. With a pain-filled, anguished cry, Logan unsheathed his adamantium claws. He then lunged at Bobby, still screaming.  
  
P  
  
Logan felt his body jerk against the firm mattress that cradled his body. His eyes flew open as sweat poured down his cheeks. It took him a second to realize he was still yelling at the top of his lungs. Closing his mouth, he exhaled heavily. I All a dream, /I he said to himself, relieved but nonetheless reeling from the experience. The realistic quality of the dream continued to rattle him.  
  
P  
  
He peered down at one his hands, noticing something was stuck. His claws were indeed out and were buried in a nearby pillow. Feathers were flying around him, scattering across his bed and the floor. Taking a shaky breath, he retracted his claws and shook his head wearily.  
  
******** Oh, linzer_b, Bobby and Jubilee did not do the deed in the boathouse. Hope that clears things up. 


	10. Chapter Ten Open Book

Chapter Ten: Open Book  
  
I'm back; a brief interlude of some creative writing between papers, studying, exams, and trying to look for a summer job. Apparently, I made my beta spew cola all over her computer screen with this chapter. Thanks to everyone for reviewing this story. Please do keep the feedback coming.  
  
As usual, the characters belong to Marvel, but the story is all mine. Enjoy.  
  
P  
  
Scott Summers sighed as he opened the door to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Navy and cream ticking stripes mixed with blue floral duvet and ruffled shams implied seaside cottage simplicity. The creamy cashmere sham Jean recently purchased was reminiscent of the classic Irish fisherman's knit her father favored. The distressed hardwood floors, vintage drawings of various aquatic animals and maps, and brass light fixtures, completed the theme.  
  
P  
  
The room felt quite large to him lately. Jean was on yet another trip, acting as a liaison for the school. This time, she was on the West Coast, trying to recruit a couple of students with Lorna Dane. As much as he hated their time apart, he realized it was all a part of their duties. It was also reassuring to know that she shared his weariness of being separated. The late-night phone calls that lasted for several hours were a testament to that.  
  
P  
  
Scott had attempted to distract himself by searching a birthday present for Hank McCoy. He and Alex traveled to the local mall in the hopes of finding something for their refined, but athletic friend. After several arguments regarding possible selections (Scott wanted to purchase a first-edition copy of I'Catcher in the Rye'/I, while Alex was advocating for a case of wine), the brothers agreed on a set of golf clubs. Hank had recently picked up the game while he was traveling in Florida with Ororo and Kitty. Since then, he had constructed an indoor course with the Professor's permission.  
  
P  
  
The elder Summers had studied the set of clubs with interest. It had been his idea to get monogrammed golf club links, wool and leather golf club head covers, and a matching golf caddy. Knowing Hank's need for order, it was a good investment. As he stared at the present, Scott wondered if he should go back to the store and purchase a set of his own. After all, he had heard the sport was a great stress reliever. Scott, being in his position, was all too familiar with being overwhelmed.  
  
P  
  
His gaze flicked to the clock on his bedside table. It was still too early to call Jean. Jubilee was still at school, while Alex was running a Danger Room session for some of the younger students. Shaking his head, Scott began to rack his brain as to what else he could do to occupy his time. His train of thought was interrupted when he heard the front door slam.  
  
P  
  
"Aren't you going to give me a hint?" Jubilee's girlish voice floated from the foyer below.  
  
P  
  
Scott smiled fondly. He was about to make his way out of his room to greet her. However, he stopped himself when he reached the doorway when his ears picked up on something else.  
  
P  
  
"That would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" A male voice teasingly inquired.  
  
P  
  
Someone else.  
  
P  
  
Scott's mouth formed a taut line. Like Logan, he was still trying to become accustomed to the idea of the two of them dating. It did not matter how many times he saw them together. Accepting the reality was quite difficult to accept. And while he attempted to tone down his disapproving parent routine at the request of his wife, Scott found himself constantly struggling to swallow the wariness he experienced. The stony glares he gave the other man were nothing compared to what he could have done.  
  
P  
  
Again, it was not that he thought Bobby was a bad person. In fact, he still liked the younger man. Had he been dating anyone else around the mansion, Scott was sure he would not be experiencing the same reservations. Hell, he would probably clap the young man on the back and congratulate him. There were plenty of single, attractive women who resided in the mansion. Bobby could, if he put his mind to it, be with any one of them.  
  
P  
  
Unfortunately, Bobby was not dating just anyone; he was dating Jubilee.  
  
P  
  
Scott's forehead wrinkled with a frown as his mind reeled with the thoughts that ate away at him about this relationship. Over the years, he had watched the young man plot and scheme his way into getting Lorna back from Alex. Like many residents at the mansion, he had attended the wedding. He witnessed Bobby suddenly standing up and professing his continued love and affection for the bride. And now, he was with Jubilee, claiming to care about her and only her alone. For Scott, it seemed too incredible to believe. Not after all these years of pining for Lorna.  
  
P  
  
He wanted to believe that Bobby would not hurt Jubilee. His rational side recalled arguments Jean and Hank presented on the younger man's behalf. These urgings included testaments to Bobby's character, the fact that none of his romantic difficulties were his fault, and Scott's own tendencies to overreact. Jean had even painfully pointed out that Logan, known for his ferocious temper and his overprotective nature, was taking the news in stride. Scott found that especially hard to believe, but did not bother to argue otherwise. He inferred that the loner was probably taking out his frustrations elsewhere and that someday, they would find some poor, tattered soul who ended up crossing paths with the angry man.  
  
P  
  
But there was something deep inside his chest that would not allow him to let things go. This something forced him to be hypervigilant. It drove him to lay awake at night, ruminating about what the other man's motives could be; what the ultimate outcome was going to be. Seeing how happy Jubilee was with Bobby, Scott found himself torn. On one hand, he loved seeing her elated on an everyday basis. On the other hand, he wanted to do everything in his power to ensure she would never know the pain and sadness that often followed her in life.  
  
P  
  
So, as hard as it was, he kept his mouth shut when he was around her. This proved to be difficult as she often remarked about the relationship in his presence. Jubilee would often come floating into the room, sighing about Bobby and wonderful he was. Scott could feel the cords in his neck begin to strain at the mention of Drake's name. It was almost an automatic reaction. Either Jubilee was oblivious to his nonverbal cues or she was unwilling to come down from her ecstatic high. Scott was unsure. All he knew was that he was struggling.  
  
P  
  
Granted, Scott knew his behavior towards Bobby was rather unbecoming. Jean had made several comments about this, inflicting an occasional headache here and there. He made countless promises to improve, to change, and to amend his ways. However, he often found himself in the same cycle of behavior: feelings of disapproval arising, questioning Bobby's intentions, realizing he could not directly confront the other man, and consequently, taking out his frustration on Bobby in various ways. Scott wondered what good, if any, would come of approaching Bobby. Would things change? Would he have fewer reservations about this relationship? Again, Scott was unsure.  
  
P  
  
Scott found his thoughts shattered when he heard Jubilee drawl, "So, in order to find out what this awesome surprise is, I have to go back with you to your bedroom?"  
  
/I Scott clenched his fists tightly.  
  
P  
  
To Scott's disbelief, Bobby smugly replied, "That's the deal."  
  
P  
  
She giggled, the sound resembling the tinkling of a bell. "But can't you bring it here?"  
  
P  
  
"No. That's where the surprise is. That, and I want to get you alone. Have you all to myself..."  
  
P  
  
"A-ha! I knew it. How do I know there's a real surprise? How do I know you don't have some underhanded scheme to corrupt me? You know...warp my fragile, little mind?"  
  
P  
  
"Trust me, Jubes. There's a surprise."  
  
P  
  
There was a brief pause in the conversation. For a moment, Scott almost believed she was going to decline. In fact, he had been willing her to do so throughout their exchange. He held his breath in anticipation. Unfortunately, he heard her merrily laugh again. It was then that he lost hope.  
  
P  
  
Scott was so consumed in his disappointment that he did not hear the door open and close. A million scenarios as to what Bobby's surprise could be flashed in Scott's head. None of them were all that good. From the sly, flirtatious tone of voice Bobby had been using, it was as if he were referring to...  
  
P  
  
No, he wouldn't.  
  
P  
  
And she wouldn't.  
  
P  
  
Would they?  
  
P  
  
Scott's eyebrows shot straight up, almost reaching his hairline. Frantically, he pulled on his navy, poplin bomber jacket over his green crewneck sweater, chambray shirt, and chinos. He sped down the stairs. The adrenaline surged through his veins like live current in a lamp. Yanking the door open, he raced outside and across the lawn, hoping to catch the couple. The two were nowhere to be seen. I Must be inside already, /I he mused, his face flushed. He continued his quick, efficient strides toward the mansion.  
  
P  
  
In spite of his mind screaming at him that he was only operating on a hunch, Scott internally rationalized that he could not take the chance. There was no way. If his worst suspicions were true, then he could not allow Jubilee to make this mistake. To give herself to someone who was possibly ambivalent about his own feelings would be traumatic. Jubilee had had enough traumas to last her a lifetime.  
  
P  
  
Scott's lean legs carried him through the open French doors. Ignoring the curious stares of the students and support staff of the school, he darted past the recreational rooms and living room. Finally, he reached the spiral staircase. As he climbed the familiar steps, his calves suddenly felt heavy like lead. His lungs were tightening inside his chest and his heart thudded against his sternum. It took all of his mental strength to will some forward movement.  
  
P  
  
He felt like a madman---crazed and wild, not thinking, but only operating on instinct. Had he had some time to reflect, he might have mused that this might be the way Logan often felt. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Scott attempted to catch his breath. He wanted to collapse to his knees, but realized there was something to attend to. As he continued to collect himself, his ears picked up on some sounds at the end of the hall. He soon remembered that this was where Bobby's room was located. Slowly and cautiously, Scott made his way towards the noises. When he was closer, the sounds were more defined and discernable.  
  
P  
  
He heard voices: one male, the other female. Frowning, Scott located the door where the voices were coming from, and gingerly placed his ear near it. They weren't engaged in any conversation that he could pick up.  
  
P  
  
Instead, he heard other things.  
  
P  
  
Moans, groans, and sighs.  
  
P  
  
The bedsprings of a mattress squeaking ever so softly.  
  
P  
  
Scott's eyes narrowed from behind his visor. He had to put a stop to whatever it was Bobby and Jubilee were doing. There was no way he was going to allow her to make some gross error in judgment by committing herself to someone like Bobby. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the doorknob and shoved his entire weight against the door to break inside.  
  
P  
  
"Stop it right now!" he barked, scowling in disapproval. Scott wanted to show Bobby his reserve and commitment against this relationship. Enough was truly enough. He was going to take Jubilee away from all of this. "Get off of her!"  
  
P  
  
This approach would have been somewhat effective had Scott targeted the right room.  
  
P  
  
That might have explained as to why there were none of Bobby's trademark comedy movie posters on the walls. The walls were a bright shade of watermelon pink. Instead of standard blinds, flowing, yellow curtains streamed from the window.  
  
P  
  
And why there were white-gray feathers flying around the room.  
  
P  
  
And why Paige Guthrie was shrieking at the top of her lungs, pulling the hot- pink, plaid sheet to cover her nude form.  
  
P  
  
Scott could feel his face drain of all color. Immediately, he jumped back into the hallway. Then he slammed the door behind him. A string of curses sprang forth from his lips. No matter what, there was no graceful way to explain or bow out of this one. He was about to make a quick exit when Paige's bedroom door opened.  
  
P  
  
Warren Worthington's classical Adonis features were arranged in a furious expression. His face was a mottled red, contrasting against his gold locks. He was clutching a colorful, patchwork duvet cover around the lower half of his body. His knuckles were almost white from the intensity of his grip. Warren's lean, sinewy shoulders were heaving as he struggled to compose himself. His other hand was holding onto the door itself, as if to obtain some support.  
  
P  
  
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, feathers flying around his blond head. His usual calm, cool voice trembled with the rage that was quickly bubbling over. If he could get away with murdering Scott Summers at that moment, he would. He then started to contemplate it. After all, he could hire the best attorney to represent him. The case for justifiable homicide could easily be made.  
  
P  
  
Before Scott could respond, he heard a door open two rooms down. Jubilee stepped out, fully dressed in a chino blazer over a pink blouse and red slacks. Behind her was Bobby in a Hawaiian shirt with martini glasses and playing cards with a pair of chinos. Both stared with their mouths hanging open as they gazed upon a half-naked Warren Worthington coming within inches of strangling a very shocked Scott Summers. Bobby frowned in confusion, putting his new Gamecube booklet back in his bedroom.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee's sapphire-blue eyes widened as she stared at Scott and then at Warren. Instantly reading the situation for what it was, she placed a hand over her small mouth. Then she peered up at Bobby, her eyes conveying what she had learned. In response, the boyishly handsome man next to her simply sighed.  
  
P  
  
Turning back to Warren, Scott attempted to save face. "Warren," he began carefully, "I can explain..." His lower lip quivered nervously. The images of seeing Warren and Paige nude and very intimate flashed through his mind. He was not sure if that was any worse than if he had caught Bobby and Jubilee in the same manner.  
  
P  
  
Warren snarled as his hand shot out to grab a fistful of sweater. "I don't want an explanation," he snapped, his scowl deepening when Scott ducked out of his reach. "I want revenge!"  
  
P  
  
In a flash, Jubilee darted from Bobby's doorway. She inserted herself between Scott and Warren. The young girl with the delicate features stared up at the glowering face above her. She sometimes wondered what her best friend was really doing with this guy. Granted, he had a right to be angry, but somehow, he was taking it a little too far for her liking. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the situation.  
  
P  
  
"Don't!" she cried, placing her hands up. She was careful not to touch him. From what she heard from Bobby and Paige, Warren was still processing issues relating to his body. There was no telling how he might react from a benign gesture at this moment.  
  
P  
  
"Jubilee," Warren began sternly, blue eyes very steely as they peered down at her and then past her at Scott. He was trying to keep himself as even as he could, as he did not want to take out his anger on her. He forced himself to focus on the true target of his ire. "Step aside. This has nothing to do with you."  
  
P  
  
While that icy gaze might have worked with hostile shareholders and various employees at Worthington Industries, Jubilee failed to be impressed. She returned his stare, crossing her arms over her chest. A grim line formed by her lips replaced her usually cheery smile. From the hardening expression that clouded her bright features, there was no way the young girl was backing down.  
  
P  
  
"Actually, Warren," she answered coolly, "it has /I to do with me." She then nodded at Bobby, who returned the nod rather glumly. Next, the young girl stared up at Scott. For his part, the leader was uncharacteristically deferential at this moment.  
  
P  
  
Warren narrowed his eyes into razor-thin slits. While he was furious beyond words, his ability to comprehend what Jubilee was saying to him was not lost. As one of Bobby's closest friends, he was all too aware of Scott's disapproving gestures toward his friend. He observed the strained interactions between the two on a regular basis, wanting to intervene but being told not to by Bobby. He shook his head bitterly, realizing that he was only a mistaken target for Scott's behavior. Retaliating would simply do nothing to remedy the situation. Besides, he was having a hard time keeping the blanket around him. He wasn't in the mood to engage in a physical fight with Scott while naked.  
  
P  
  
Jean-Paul was strolling past the scene, a copy of the Financial Times tucked under his arm. The handsome French-Canadian surveyed the situation in front of him with some faint interest. He raised a finely arched brow at Warren, whose sculpted and well-tone physique was definitely something to be admired. However, that did not detract from the reality that Worthington's irresponsibility caused Jean-Paul to lose some substantial amount of money in the stock market recently. He could not help but be somewhat bitter about that.  
  
P  
  
Smirking slightly, he inquired, "Eh, Bird. What's up?"  
  
P  
  
Warren glared at him and then at Scott. He continued to clutch the sheet around himself. "Nothing /I!" he barked. With that, he slammed the door shut. Behind it, there was a muffled, but distressed wail, which presumably came from Paige.  
  
P  
  
Jean-Paul suppressed a throaty laugh, playing with the collar of his yellow, button-down shirt. His china-blue eyes flicked over to the child, who was now leaning against the wall outside of Paige's door, and then at Summers, who was shaking his head. Amusement lit up his normally peevish expression as he came up with various theories as to what happened. Then he turned on his heel, continuing to make his way downstairs. The snorts of laughter were now echoing throughout the hall.  
  
P  
  
With the laughter of Jean-Paul fading, a silence fell in the hallway. It lasted several minutes, but seemed like much longer than that. The three individuals remaining continued to process their shock and disbelief. Had the circumstances been slightly different, Jubilee and Bobby would have been on the floor, laughing hysterically. Their friends interrupted in the middle of getting it on by of all people, Scott Summers? Unfortunately, neither one was finding much humor in anything at that moment.  
  
P  
  
Finally, Jubilee raised her face to peer over at Scott, who appeared as if he wanted to disappear. "Stopping people from having sex, huh?" she asked wryly, "I guess you know how Pat Robertson and the 700 Club feel."  
  
P  
  
Scott grimaced, wincing at the sarcastic remark. He could feel his face burn with embarrassment. Deep down, he realized that he had deserved that. He simply sighed wearily in response.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee turned her gaze to Bobby. He was still stunned over what occurred. His expression soon took on a perplexed quality as he stared at Scott. Bobby's mouth was open, as if he wanted to say something as well. Then he snapped it closed and shook his head. She nodded at him, relaying that she shared his confusion and shock as well. Next, she returned her attention to Scott.  
  
P  
  
"I think we need to talk," she told him quietly, dark ponytail swinging behind her head.  
  
P  
  
He pressed his lips together in a tight line. After several seconds, he nodded in agreement. "I need some air," he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.  
  
P  
  
"Me, too," she echoed, watching him stiffly stride towards the stairs. Then she peered over her shoulder at Bobby. He was desperately trying to hide his worry through what appeared to be an encouraging smile. It was all too clear as to how anxious he was feeling; she wanted to take that away. She gave him a broader, reassuring grin of her own. Without another word, she soon descended down the spiral staircase after Scott.  
  
P  
  
If any of the students, instructors, and staff heard any of the commotion from upstairs, they were certainly not showing any indication. All were consumed in their activities in the many rooms of the first floor. The blaring sounds from the television in both recreation areas probably muffled the screaming from above. Scott stared stoically ahead, his pace quickening. Jubilee jogged behind him. She finally caught up, walking briskly alongside of him. They silently made their way to the kitchen, where Cook was engrossed in a flipping through the latest issue of I'Bon Appetit'/I. The two soon crossed through the laundry room and past the garage. Scott fished the remote for the garage door and punched the button. As the door retracted, he motioned for Jubilee to follow him outside.  
  
P  
  
The late autumn wind was brisk, swirling the fallen leaves around the manicured lawns of the mansion. Disappearing behind the thicket of almost barren trees was the sun. The sky overhead darkened in response, signaling the arrival of evening. Usually, some of the students would be playing various games of touch football on the property. However, the grounds were surprisingly empty that day.  
  
P  
  
Dead leaves crunched under Scott's loafers as he slowed his pace. While the immediate humiliation of what he had done was lessening in intensity, he was aware that he was going to be the target of some immature jokes or comments. It seemed like a bad dream to him. Never had he done something so careless and reckless before. He was always one to plan, to consider the possibilities prior to acting. Now, he felt so out of control, like a victim of his own instincts, which in this case, proved to be terribly wrong.  
  
P  
  
His gaze fell onto the individual next to him. Jubilee's arms were wrapped around her slender form. Despite the dimming light, he could tell she was shivering. Her chin trembled as she sniffled quietly. Pausing in his steps, he pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Those old-soul, blue eyes stared up at him. There was no anger, no indignation, or any sign that she was still in shock. They simply stared.  
  
P  
  
He wanted to draw her close to him, to tell her how sorry he was. And yet, he did not. Instead, he remained fixed in that spot in the middle of the lawn with her. The silence between forced time to pass like rush-hour traffic in downtown Manhattan.  
  
P  
  
She brushed a few wispy tendrils of hair from her cheeks and suddenly asked, "Do you trust me?"  
  
P  
  
He was taken aback. Her question hurt him much more than he ever thought it could. After all these years knowing one another, she should know the answer to that. The time he and Jean spent raising her, as their own child should have made her aware of the answer to that. "You know I do."  
  
P  
  
"You're not acting like it," Jubilee pointed out, pulling the jacket closer to her body.  
  
P  
  
"I'm sorry. I don't know why... I didn't mean to..."  
  
P  
  
"That's not completely true."  
  
P  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
P  
  
"You're not sorry. You know why you did it. The only thing is that you busted the wrong room."  
  
P  
  
"Don't, Scott. Don't try to tell me any different."  
  
P  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
P  
  
"You thought Bobby and I were... And you came upstairs to break that up, didn't you?"  
  
P  
  
"Jubilee, it's not like that."  
  
P  
  
"Then what is it like?"  
  
P  
  
"From what I saw, it was pretty blatant that was your intention. I mean it wasn't like you were hoping to play with Bobby's new Gamecube. I heard you yelling 'stop' and to 'get off of her'."  
  
P  
  
Scott sighed, turning away from the earnest face of the young girl in front of him. He did recalling saying those things. There was no sense in trying to cover up that anymore. Reluctantly, he nodded.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee frowned, slightly dismayed. She studied Scott's attractive, clean features thoughtfully. He seemed genuinely sorry about what he had done in the mansion. However, that regret did not extend to what was really behind his behavior in the first place. She decided to take him to task over that in order to make sure a repeat performance did not occur.  
  
P  
  
"It shouldn't have happened in the first place," she informed him, her voice low. She sighed heavily and shook her head. "I know... I know you're not thrilled about Bobby and me. Hell, even Wolvie's taken the news much better than you have been. You don't see him threatening Bobby or trying to intimidate him."  
  
P  
  
"No, wait and let me finish, OK?"  
  
P  
  
"I've seen you---the way you look at him, the way you talk to him sometimes. Neither one of you seems to think I notice, but I do. And do you know what? I hate everything about it. I hate the fact that my new boyfriend is being persecuted in his own home, a place where he's supposed to feel comfortable. I hate the fact that a man, who I love and respect, is responsible for making my boyfriend feel that way. I hate knowing that I'm partly to blame for all of this."  
  
P  
  
"Sweetheart, no. No, that's not it."  
  
P  
  
"Then why is it? Before Bobby and I started seeing each other, things were fine. You weren't giving him these dirty looks or stalking us to make sure we weren't doing anything we weren't supposed to."  
  
P  
  
"It's more complicated than what you're thinking."  
  
P  
  
"I think I've summed it up just fine."  
  
P  
  
"You're not responsible for any of this. It's just that.... It's just that..."  
  
P  
  
"Just what?"  
  
P  
  
"Just that I don't want to see you get hurt."  
  
P  
  
"What? What do you mean? You know Bobby."  
  
P  
  
"I'm not following you, Scott."  
  
P  
  
"Listen, I know you must think Bobby is the greatest guy and I think that, too. It's just that I've known him for a lot longer than you. I've seen him go through relationships. He's not exactly the most successful in that area. The guy might not mean to do anything, but somehow, things don't work out in the end. I would hate to see that with you."  
  
P  
  
"None of that stuff was his fault."  
  
P  
  
"Maybe. But what about Lorna?"  
  
P  
  
"What about the not-so-jolly green one?"  
  
P  
  
"He's been in love with her for a long time. Why, just at her wedding---"  
  
P  
  
"That's ancient history, Scott. Bobby doesn't have those feelings anymore. They've even talked about the whole thing. He's told me."  
  
P  
  
"And you believe him?"  
  
P  
  
"Why the hell shouldn't I? I'm not some insecure psycho, you know."  
  
P  
  
"I never said that. I know you better than that."  
  
P  
  
"Then you should also know that I really like him. He's the best thing that's happened to me in some time. Don't I deserve my own piece of happiness?"  
  
P  
  
"Of course, you do, Jubilee. There's nothing more I want than your happiness. But I also want to make sure you're safe."  
  
P  
  
"Scott, that's not your job anymore. I'm not a child anymore. Remember a couple of months ago when I turned eighteen? According to the law, I'm an adult, meaning I can make my own decisions. I can decide whom I want to see. If there are risks involved, then that responsibility falls on me. Not on you; not on Logan."  
  
P  
  
"I'm aware of that."  
  
P  
  
"You're also aware that Bobby is a good person. He would never do anything to hurt me. I would never be with him if there were the possibility of him doing anything harmful. I trust him completely. Why is it so hard for you to do the same?"  
  
P  
  
"I don't know. I just get this feeling that this whole thing isn't the best idea."  
  
P  
  
"Do you /I think anything's a good idea?"  
  
P  
  
"That's not funny."  
  
P  
  
"Sorry. Why are you so against me and Bobby dating?"  
  
P  
  
"I can't help it. I've seen you hurt before. I'm not going to stand by and allow it to happen again."  
  
P  
  
"Those times were different."  
  
P  
  
"But still..."  
  
P  
  
"I appreciate the sentiment, Scott, but as I've pointed out before, I'm a big girl now. I can take care of myself just fine." Her sapphire eyes bore deeply into his; hidden by the visor he wore. "I'm also capable of making sure those I care about are okay and safe as well. I'd do just about anything to see that through."  
  
P  
  
Scott noticed that both of her small hands were clenched. Sparks of brightly colored lights jumped from her tiny fists. Fortunately for him, those fists were lowered away from him. However, he was able to grasp the point without question. Not a direct, menacing threat, but a threat nonetheless. As someone who trained in long sessions with her, he definitely knew what the firecracker was able to do. He had witnessed countless cameras and robots destroyed into millions of pieces as a result of those pyrotechnics.  
  
P  
  
As he looked her, he observed that same determined expression she wore to stare down Warren back in the mansion. Her sapphire eyes were serious, no mirth reflected in their brilliant depths. The smiling mouth he had become familiar with was now in a grim line. A slight frown creased her smooth forehead as she summoned the sparks back into her hands. It was a side to her Scott had never seen before, but often heard about through Jean and Hank, who were primarily responsible for her physical rehabilitation after her ordeals.  
  
P  
  
Watching her nonverbally emphasize her declaration, he realized that she was no longer the frail child he was first acquainted with. There was a strength that emanated from her---something he knew was always there, but never really took the time to recognize. He had always known she was resilient. Yet, there was something different about what she was radiating now. While he could not exactly identify what it was, he felt as if he were looking at her very differently that night.  
  
P  
  
It was at that moment that he believed her.  
  
P  
  
Scott pressed his lips together firmly. Then he pulled Jubilee close to him, holding her against his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head. Cradling her in his arms, he whispered, "I know. I know." 


	11. Chapter Eleven La Cienega Just Smiled

Chapter Eleven: La Cienega Just Smiled  
  
I'm back! In between school, internship, and looking for a summer gig, I managed to write!  
  
I am considering upping the rating for some later chapters. Given the age we live in, I don't want to risk offending anyone. My beta and I thought the PG-13 rating was OK for now, but if it isn't please let me know and I'll update accordingly.  
  
The characters are Marvel's, but the story is mine.  
  
P Late fall grew colder and colder in Westchester, accompanied by brisk winds. Gray skies often predominated with rare appearances from the sun. While it was still too mild for snow, one could often feel the chill in anticipation of the most obvious sign of winter's arrival. The grass, once littered with fallen leaves from the many trees surrounding the mansion, was often frosted from the moist and cold air. It was only a matter of time until the major holidays came, marking the season.  
  
P  
  
The change in the atmosphere outside was complemented by a shift in the atmosphere from inside the mansion. Weeks following what soon became known as 'The Incident', Scott's demeanor became less hostile towards Bobby. While the leader of the team was making no effort to embrace Bobby and give him his approval, Scott was sincere in his attempts to mend things. The angry, piercing glares lessened in frequency and soon disappeared altogether. His tone of voice was less sharp and haughty whenever he and Bobby spoke. Granted, it was evident to those who knew him well that he was still ambivalent about the relationship. Every once in a while, Scott's jaw would clench tightly. It was as if he were fighting off the urge to say something to either Jubilee or Bobby about his true feelings.   
  
P Scott was relieved that no one had bothered to comment about the change. He felt it would simply draw more attention to the situation---something he could definitely do without. He was still recovering from the new and strange position he was in. No longer allowed to play the role of the overprotective paternal figure, he was relegated to watch her take on the responsibilities of being an adult. That meant forcing himself to back down from his old habits. Needless to say, Scott found it to be a rather painful experience.   
  
P  
  
For his part, Bobby was grateful for the reduction in tension and friction between himself and Scott. It certainly made life easier. He could finally exist in the mansion without feeling like a slime ball. The fact that his friends and teammates were no longer making comments about how he was a dead man walking also helped. He wasn't sure how much more teasing he could take without freezing someone's lips shut.   
  
P  
  
Yet, he could not help but feel somewhat miffed about Jubilee going to bat for him. Not that she gloated or made him feel emasculated. It was just that Bobby felt it was responsible to take care of the situation as he saw fit. He wanted to be the one to confront Scott. After all, he was the source of the hostility, not Jubilee.   
  
P  
  
It was difficult for Bobby to approach Jubilee about the situation. In the weeks that followed, he vacillated between being grateful for having someone defending him and wishing he was the one who had done the job in the first place. He tried to hide this conflict from her, throwing out the easygoing façade she was so used to. Initially, he thought this had worked. After all, why make unnecessary waves in something that was going right? Unlike previous relationships, things were going quite smoothly beyond the two-week marker. There was no way he was going to say or do anything to ruin that.   
  
P However, Jubilee suspected something was afoot. Bobby was being too cheery and there was a stiff, plastic quality to his mood. She could not help but sense he was trying to keep something from her. On several occasions, she attempted to call him on his behavior. Almost reading the situation immediately, he would quickly change the subject. She instantly recognized this pattern of behavior as some coping mechanism he resorted to in the face of stress. For a while, she allowed herself to play along, for his peace of mind. However, as the weeks passed, Jubilee realized that by going along with this routine, Bobby's tense state remained.   
  
P  
  
The young couple were in his room that evening, watching a pre-Halloween movie festival on one of the local stations. Most of the selections ranged from the classic I'Nosfaratu' /I to the campy I'Friday the 13th'/I series. Having seen many of these films numerous times, Bobby and Jubilee were providing their running commentary throughout. It was like their own version of I'Mystery Science Theatre'/I.   
  
P  
  
As the credits rolled across the television screen, Bobby stretched his arms over his head and leaned against the headboard of his bed. "These kids," he said, shaking his head. "They're so easy to kill nowadays. Did you see that one girl wandering in the woods in the dark? She was like, 'Hello? Is anyone there?' Nothing. And then she's like, 'OK... I'm gonna get naked and take a shower now...'"   
  
P  
  
Jubilee took a sip of her water. "Which girl?" she snickered, rolling her blue eyes. "There were like five that did just that."   
  
P  
  
"Oh, yeah..." He took the plastic bottle from Jubilee to take a swig of his own. "Still, I'm disappointed."   
  
P  
  
She turned to face him. Her delicate features arranged themselves into a quizzical _expression. "Why's that?" she asked.   
  
P  
  
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, being who we are, I guess nothing Hollywood can come up with is all that scary," he replied, his face illuminated by the glow from the screen. "Crazy axe murderers and old vampires are like kids' play compared to Magneto and the likes."   
  
P She nodded. "I get your point."   
  
P  
  
"Well, there's that, and I wanted you to grab onto me," he admitted sheepishly. "It's just my luck that I'm going out with someone completely fearless." As he uttered his last sentence, Bobby was uncertain as to whether he meant it as a joke or if he was truly sincere. Perhaps it was a little of both?   
  
P  
  
Jubilee drew her knees to her chest. "That's not true," she told him. "There are plenty of things that scare me."   
  
P  
  
He gave her a skeptical look. "Really? Name some."   
  
P  
  
"You're not going to use this information for future practical jokes?" she asked warily.   
  
P  
  
He feigned a wounded _expression, clutching his chest. "Jubes, you know me."   
  
P  
  
"That's why I'm asking, funny man."   
  
P  
  
"Just tell me, OK?"   
  
P  
  
"Well, here goes... I hate small spaces. Totally freaks me out."   
  
P  
  
"Why's that?"   
  
P  
  
"I feel like I can't breathe, can't move, you know. It also reminds me of..."   
  
P "Being stuck in the elevator with Juggernaut?"   
  
P "No. Never mind."   
  
P  
  
"Sorry. What then?"   
  
P  
  
"When I was taken---both times."   
  
P  
  
Suddenly, he felt like a jerk. IReal smooth, Drake,/I he sarcastically told himself. "Jubes..." he began.   
  
P She shook her head, sensing his anger at himself. "It's OK. I can talk about it."   
  
P "Are you sure? I don't want you to... I mean if it's too much, then maybe..." A worried frown creased his forehead.   
  
P  
  
Her sapphire eyes bore into his, strength radiating from those shining pools. "I'm fine, really." The way she spoke punctuated her determination to discuss the experience.   
  
P  
  
Bobby nodded reluctantly. The last thing he wanted to do was to force her to relieve horrific memories. That was not where he was going with the conversation at all. He clasped her tiny hand in his, squeezing it slightly.   
  
P She sighed. "Being put in that box was worse than anything they did. I mean I would have rather been starved, beaten, and screamed at three times over if they didn't put me in that box. It was so small and dark and quiet. No matter how many times I tried to knock down the walls, I was still stuck. I kept crying for someone to let me out because I was so scared. No one ever came." P  
  
Her slender shoulders straightened as she continued to speak. "It was like they knew I hated being in there. I mean, when the Church of Humanity took Angelo and me, they did the same thing. It was almost as if Bastion sent them a recipe as to how to deal with me." An uncharacteristically dry and bitter laugh escaped from her lips. "Maybe I should be flattered." P  
  
Bobby wanted to tell her that she didn't need to think about that anymore. And yet, he did not. For some reason, it would feel like he was taking something away from her. Instead, he nodded at her in encouragement and support.  
  
P  
  
She lifted her arms and pushed up the sleeves of her salmon-colored sweater. Her eyes traveled to her wrists. While most people could not detect them, she could always tell they were there. Tiny, faint scars marred the insides of her wrists. They were a constant reminder of what she had gone through and what was lost. It was this ordeal coupled with the one at the hands of Bastion that finally made her realize that she was no longer a carefree child. Losing one of her close friends and nearly dying had seen to that. As much as she portrayed the well-adjusted Jubilee, there were things that continued to eat away inside of her to this day.   
  
P  
  
"I look at these every once in a while," she said quietly, pulling down at her sleeves. "They make me think and reflect about what happened during those times, especially the time I spent in that box. I used to relieve the whole thing and would totally panic. Some nights were really bad. Scott or Jean would have to sit in my room just until I fell asleep.   
  
P "One night, I decided I couldn't be scared anymore. I was really sick of it, you know? It was like every time; I became someone's victim all over again. That's no way to live. So, to counter all that fear, I think about what's really important and good in my life. You know, like everyone here...and you." She stared up at him, sapphire eyes shining.   
  
P Then she quickly shook her head. "Don't get me wrong. I still hate small spaces. If I could avoid them all the time, I would. Now, it's a little easier to deal with them."   
  
P  
  
Bobby observed her in stunned silence. She had never openly and directly discussed either incident with anyone other than the Professor or Hank. Hearing her speak about her ordeal was overwhelming. The fact that she saw him as inspiration for her strength was also amazing.   
  
P Inside, he experienced a myriad of emotions. On one hand, he felt privileged to know that she could confide him so easily about something so hard for her talk about in the first place. On the other hand, listening to her speak made him want to exact justice on those who had harmed her. The thought of anyone hurting her was too much for him to bear. ISo this is how Logan feels,/I Bobby mused inwardly.   
  
P Not knowing how else to respond, he drew her close to him. He felt her head rest gently against his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Reassuring words seemed to escape him at that moment. He only hoped that holding her would convey what he was feeling---how he admired her courage, her honesty, and how he would never allow anything remotely similar to ever happen to her on his watch. His heart skipped a beat when he felt her arms tighten around him in response.   
  
P  
  
For Jubilee, there was no safer place to be than right here with Bobby. Being this close to him always brought on those feelings of safety and security. Even as she talked about things she desperately tried to hide from other people, he relayed the fact that he was listening, not judging, and certainly not taking away anything away from the experiences by telling things were okay now. Again, he instilled a sense of peace and tranquility that seemed to be missing for so long. He didn't have to say anything to her to inform her of this. She just simply knew, and that was good enough for her.   
  
P They lapsed into a comforting silence, allowing the sounds from the television act as inconsequential background noise. Bobby began to stroke her hair gently. His mind reeled from her words and how moved he had been. He surmised it must have taken her a great deal of courage and faith in him for her to do that. Sure, they had been dating for several months, but what she shared was rather intense and something she had kept under wraps for some time. There were few around the mansion that were aware of the details or had even heard her account of what happened.   
  
P As he continued to hold Jubilee, he soon realized something. He was being ridiculous for holding back his reservations about the situation with Scott. His reluctance stemmed from some silly, unfounded fear of causing some friction and making her want to reconsider being with him. Compared with Jubilee had lain out, Bobby felt low and weak. He exhaled loudly.   
  
P  
  
"I'm scared of something, too," he finally said.   
  
P  
  
She raised her face to peer up at him. "You are?" she inquired rather incredulously. Not that Bobby laughed in the face of danger like Logan, but he seemed to be the first to be out on the front line when a team was needed. He had done so since he was fifteen. What could possibly frighten him?   
  
P  
  
"I was afraid of telling you... I didn't want to tell you about how I wasn't cool with the whole Scott thing," he blurted out, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Hearing himself make his confession out loud made him feel like an idiot, not to mention a chauvinist pig. He might as well grabbed her by the hair and dragged her off to one of the caves outside of the mansion.   
  
P  
  
Instead of becoming indignant or haughty, she appeared confused. "Why?"   
  
P  
  
He looked at her sheepishly, and then averted his gaze from those brilliant sapphire eyes. "It's just that... I wanted to be the one to handle things with him. On my terms, you know."   
  
P  
  
"Oh." Jubilee shifted slightly against him, nodding slowly. "I guess I could see that."   
  
P  
  
Bobby couldn't tell if she was simmering or if she truly understood. There was a noncommittal quality to the way she spoke. Swallowing hard, he said, "It's not what you think."   
  
P  
  
"And what's that?" She turned her face up at him.   
  
P  
  
He frowned before speaking his mind. "That I didn't like the fact you felt like you had to fight my battle for me."   
  
P  
  
"Talking to Scott is like a battle?" she asked, trying to hide the joking tone in her voice. The comparison was rather strange.   
  
P  
  
"You know what I mean," he scoffed, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. This confession was hard enough for him to make without Jubilee mocking him.   
  
P  
  
"Yeah, I do," she replied, blue eyes twinkling. Then she gave him an apologetic smile as she said, "I was just teasing you."   
  
P  
  
"Thanks," he pretended to grouse, but still somewhat hurt.   
  
P  
  
Jubilee propped herself on an elbow. "But let me ask you something."   
  
P  
  
Bobby nodded with encouragement. "Shoot."   
  
P  
  
"Did you ever think I wanted to fight for you? That I didn't feel like I had to?" Her _expression was suddenly solemn.   
  
P  
  
"What do you mean?" he inquired, confused. He wasn't sure where she was going with this conversation.   
  
P  
  
"Come on, Bobby," she sighed wearily. "I'm not blind. You tried to keep me in the dark about all this tension between you and Scott, but I saw what was going on. I hated the way he was treating you like some second-class citizen. Worse of all, it was my fault."   
  
P  
  
"That's not true," Bobby protested. There was a part of him that was disappointed that she managed to sense the underlying conflict between himself and Scott. He thought he had worked so hard to hide that from her, to protect from her all of that.   
  
P  
  
"It is," Jubilee corrected in a matter-of-fact tone. "I mean if you were going out with Kitty or Tabitha, he wouldn't be having these conniptions. Do you disagree?"   
  
P  
  
"No, he wouldn't," he admitted. However, he was not ready to relent. "Still, it doesn't mean it was your fault. He was just being Scott. There's no rhyme or reason for it."   
  
P  
  
"I don't know..." Despite Bobby's reassuring words, she was not ready to believe she was not culpable for the stress in his life.   
  
P  
  
"Trust me," Bobby told her, draping an arm around her slim shoulders. "I've known the apple-polisher longer than you have."   
  
P  
  
"Back to my original point, I wasn't going to stand around and watch someone I care about get treated like crap. You deserve better than that, Bobby. I'm sorry I didn't consult with you first, but I wasn't expecting to do it. Standing up to Scott isn't something I always do." There was a wavering quality to her voice, coloring it with some fear and trepidation.   
  
P  
  
He brushed her hair from her face comfortingly. "I know and I appreciate it, really. I'm sure you did a great job whatever you did. Again, I felt like that was my job. I'm the one he has the beef with, not you. I should have been the one to do it. That kind of responsibility shouldn't have fallen on your shoulders, Jubes. Telling Scott isn't exactly the easiest thing to do. I've seen Logan do it millions of times and I'm still amazed..."  
  
P  
  
"I know," she told him quietly. "I have to tell you I was kind of scared. For a while, I thought he was going to make me clean up the Danger Room or something for the rest of my natural life."   
  
P  
  
"Then why?" He wasn't sure why she had forced herself to confront something that she considered frightful. Conquering her fear of small spaces was one thing. After all, that particular fear had the potential to interfere and limit her daily functioning. Of course, she would want to deal with that. But taking down Scott Summers? How was that necessary?   
  
P  
  
"I told you I can't be scared of everything anymore." Jubilee stared up at the boyish face she associated with so many wonderful feelings. Then she added, "Also, I found someone I'd do anything for, no matter what."   
  
P  
  
Bobby saw the sincerity and warmth that radiated from those deep-blue depths. Never had he heard someone make such a declaration like that before---at least to him. His heart swelled inside his chest, as it often did when he was with her, but the intensity seemed greater at that moment. All the fears, preoccupations, and insecurities he carried these past weeks faded away. It never ceased to amaze him what kind of effect she had over him. The feelings elicited were infinitely different than anything he experienced with anyone else. He wasn't sure how to describe them or if he could even put them into words.   
  
P  
  
Instead, he was only certain of one thing at that moment.   
  
P I This is what it's like to be really happy with someone. /I   
  
P  
  
He leaned towards her to steal a kiss from her when there was a crash of thunder from outside. She jumped, burying her face against his shoulder. A wry grin tugged at his lips. Amused, he held her comfortingly.   
  
P  
  
"Maybe I should have asked Storm to provide the spooky mood sooner," he remarked, finally laughing.   
  
P  
  
Jubilee pulled back, sticking out her tongue at him. "I was just startled," she told him. Then she slid off the bed and ambled towards the window. She peered through the blinds. Despite the fact it was pitch- black outside, her eyes detected the rain now falling on the grounds of the mansion. Grimacing, she remembered she left her umbrella at the house. She supposed she could ask Bobby for his spare.   
  
P  
  
She sighed and grabbed her yellow rain slicker, which had been hanging on the back of his swivel chair. "Well, I should head home before it really starts to pour out there," she announced, slipping it on.   
  
P Bobby watched her prepare for her trip outside. He never liked it when she had to leave. Granted, he would always walk back with her to spend more time with her. But he still missed her.   
  
P  
  
Suddenly, he said, "You don't have to go back tonight."   
  
P  
  
She slung her black messenger bag over her shoulder. Her brows furrowed together quizzically. "What do you mean?" she asked.   
  
P  
  
"I mean, why go out and get soaked from the rain when you can stay here tonight?" His gray eyes were expectant as he finished his offer. When she didn't answer right away, he went on. "You're off from classes tomorrow anyway, so you don't have to worry about having to rush around."   
  
P  
  
Jubilee bit her lower lip thoughtfully. He was right on both counts. It would be convenient for her to stay the night. Given the fact that Scott and Logan were currently on mission with Jean, there were no paternal figures to hunt for Bobby in the morning. Plus, it would not be the first time they shared a bed together. It would be like that they first night after they kissed.   
  
P  
  
After several minutes, she made her decision. "Sure," she replied, playing with the strap of her bag as she placed back on the chair. Then she began to kick off her brown loafers.   
  
P  
  
"Great." Bobby grinned, sliding off the bed. For a while there, he thought she was going to decline.   
  
P  
  
As she took off her slicker, Jubilee's eyes widened as a thought popped into her head. "I don't have anything here to wear," she pointed out.   
  
P  
  
He sauntered to his dresser. "No worries," he told her, pulling open a drawer and extracted a George Washington University T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. He tossed them over at her. "The latest styles, of course."   
  
P  
  
She smiled wryly at him and held up the gym shorts. "If these fit," she said, eyeing the waistband with wariness. "I'll kill myself." Then she threw them back at Bobby, giggling.   
  
P  
  
He pretended to look wounded as she walked towards his private bath, but found himself grinning broadly. Just as she was about to close the door, he said, "There's an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet."   
  
P  
  
"Thanks." With that, the door closed softly.   
  
P  
  
Inside the bathroom, Jubilee stripped out of her pink sweater, jeans, socks, and bra and then slipped on the T-shirt. The makeshift nightshirt fell below her slim hips. As she brushed her teeth, she realized that this was the first time she was going to spend the night with him. Well, since the night they first got together. She wondered if things would be different now since they were dating. The first time he slept over, both of them had been so emotionally and physically exhausted. There was no nervous anticipation about being with one another. Studying her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she felt things were more planned this time. At the same time, there was a sense of the unknown present as well.   
  
P  
  
When she stepped out, Bobby was wearing a faded lacrosse T-shirt and a pair of boxers with palm trees printed on them. He gave her a grin in greeting as he flicked off the television with the remote. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he then made his way to her on the way to the bathroom.   
  
P  
  
"Be right back," he told her, kissing her forehead. "Take any side you want."   
  
P  
  
Inside the bathroom, he quickly brushed his teeth. Excitement flowed through his veins as he thought of Jubilee waiting for him in bed. For Bobby, it was hard for him to recall the last time someone was spending the night in his bed. He amended the last part of that thought to include the specifier, someone he really cared about.   
  
P Memories of their first night together began to rush through his head. He remembered how he had slept so soundly, holding her close to him. It seemed like that happened so long ago. Since then, a great deal had happened. None of which he would trade in for the world, including the tension with both Scott and Logan. Bobby thought Jubilee articulated the their relationship perfectly minutes earlier.   
  
I "...I found someone I'd do anything for, no matter what." /I   
  
P  
  
He found her lying in bed. Despite the darkness in the room, he could see the sparkle of her eyes as he approached the bed. Climbing underneath the covers with her, he slid over to where she lay. He reached for her and pulled her body close to his. His nostrils inhaled that sweet and comforting scent of bubblegum and cinnamon he had grown to associate with her.   
  
P  
  
"Hey," he drawled, his voice suddenly husky to his own ears.   
  
P  
  
She rested her head against his shoulder and draped an arm around his waist. "Hey," she responded in greeting.   
  
P  
  
"Are you comfortable? I can turn up the thermostat if you're cold."   
  
P  
  
"I'm good, Bobby."   
  
P  
  
"Do you want me to pop in a CD? I've got that one by Wilco you told me to get..."   
  
P  
  
"That's OK, but I'd like to know where the mint on my pillow is."   
  
P  
  
"Hilarious."   
  
P  
  
"Couldn't resist."   
  
P  
  
He pretended to look upset, but could not keep up the charade when he saw her smiling face peering up at him. "You're lucky I'm crazy about you."   
  
P  
  
Her eyes crinkled at the corners playfully. "I know it."   
  
P  
  
In the pale shimmer of the autumn moon, Bobby could make out her delicate features in fine detail. The affection that emanated from her expression was genuine. As he stared down at that lovely face, it was hard for to him believe his luck. It was almost strange that he was this happy with someone.   
  
P  
  
She gave him a perplexed look, confused as to why he staring intently at her like that. "What?"   
  
P  
  
He shook his head quickly. "Nothing... I'm just glad you stayed."   
  
P  
  
She smiled. Then she brushed a lock of sandy hair from his forehead gently. "Me, too," she whispered.   
  
P He rolled over so that she was now beneath him. He then leaned towards Jubilee to kiss her goodnight. At first, his lips simply brushed against hers. She moved against him, her arms circling around his neck to draw him closer. In response, Bobby began to deepen his kiss. He tangled his fingers in her silky hair. His lips teased hers while his tongue tasted and explored her mouth. She gripped his shoulders, letting herself fall into the embrace.   
  
P  
  
Her sighs between kisses were soothing in his ears. His hands traveled from her hair to her face. They soon slid down her shoulders to her sides. He could feel her slender arms wrap around his neck again as she kissed him. Bobby allowed his lips to graze along her jaw line and ears before making a trail down her throat. Then he buried his face in the curve between neck and shoulder. There, he relished the sweet perfume that emanated from her. Jubilee shuddered against him, running her hands through his hair.   
  
P  
  
His mouth, warm and gentle, returned to hers. Between kisses, he would smile at her tenderly and she would respond with a radiant grin of her own. Meanwhile, his fingers had made their way down her sides, reaching the hem of the T-shirt she was wearing. Bobby's fingertips brushed against the soft skin underneath. As they continued kissing, he felt his hands slowly push the shirt up, past her hips and then her waist. He found himself intoxicated with the sensation of the smooth, lush skin underneath his hands. Thoughts of wanting to feel more of her raced through his mind as he continued to lift the T-shirt higher and higher. He could feel a groan escape his lips. Meanwhile, his hands wandered across her belly and upwards towards her chest.   
  
P  
  
Suddenly, she pulled away, rolling over on her side. Then she turned to face him again. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him, her lips swollen from their kissing. Breathing heavily, she pushed the T-shirt back down over her hips, covering herself again.   
  
P  
  
Observing Jubilee's reaction, Bobby wanted to slap his hand over his forehead. There was no denying that he had frightened her. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not thinking, for not knowing better. Had things gone farther, he wasn't sure what would have happened. "I---I'm sorry, Jubes," he managed finally, his boyish face apologetic.   
  
P  
  
She nodded. After several seconds, she replied softly, "I know... Me, too."   
  
P  
  
"Why are you sorry?" he asked, feeling even worse than he did before. "I'm the one who screwed up here. I didn't mean to push you, scare you... I never wanted to do that. I guess I kind of got carried away." He looked embarrassed as he struggled to verbalize what he had been thinking. Truth be told, he couldn't say he really was. It was like he had been operating on instinct.   
  
P  
  
She watched him frown at himself, as she sat up in bed. Her long, ebony tresses rippled down her shoulders. Sighing, she began to play with a lock of hair nervously. "I was a little freaked," she admitted, feeling her cheeks flush. "It's just that... I mean you know you're the first person I've ever dated. It also means I've never been with anyone like...this."   
  
P He looked up at empathically. "I know," he told her quietly, wishing he could erase the last ten minutes.   
  
P "Contrary to what most people think, just because I'm for L.A. and I used to live on the streets, doesn't mean I'm experienced or anything. Up until a couple of years ago, I used to think premarital sex made your teeth and hair fall out." She rolled her eyes at her stupidity and naïveté. "You must think I'm so dumb or something, huh?"   
  
P  
  
He shook his head vigorously. "No, never," he said earnestly, taking her hand and squeezing it. "I don't think that at all. I'm just worried about making you feel uncomfortable, which I did and I feel like an ass for that. You're the one who should be upset."   
  
P  
  
She squeezed his cool, dry hand back with her warm one. "I'm not," she whispered. Her eyes focused on their clasped hands. "I just never thought about it, really. Yeah, I know we've been dating for a while..."   
  
P  
  
Bobby sensed a 'but' to follow her statement. When she didn't finish her sentence, he raised his brows expectantly. "What is it, Jubes?" he prodded gently.   
  
P  
  
"Nothing." She turned away from him, self-conscious.   
  
P  
  
He pulled himself up to a seating position and tugged at her shoulder until she faced him again. "You were going to say something. Go ahead. You know you can say anything when you're with me."   
  
P  
  
Jubilee bit her lower lip before answering. "I didn't know you thought about us Ithat way/I," she blurted out, feeling more and more childish with each passing second. Her face and neck with hot with a stubborn blush. It was one thing to talk about these things in a joking way with Paige or Tabitha for laughs. However, discussing the subject with Bobby proved to be a more trying task.   
  
P  
  
He looked perplexed. "You sound surprised," he observed quietly. "Does that scare you?"   
  
P  
  
"No, I don't think so," she said slowly, as if she had taken some time to consider the question before. "I know you're not with me for that reason alone."   
  
P  
  
Bobby shook his head patiently. "No, I'm not. You know, not all men are pigs."   
  
P  
  
"I know," the young girl responded, sapphire eyes wide. "Hanging out together and kissing is one thing, but this is different. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I didn't think you wanted me that way."   
  
P  
  
"Is that so hard to believe?" he prodded gently. It was hard for him to believe that she had no idea how desirable she was and how much he really wanted her.   
  
P  
  
"Kind of. I mean I haven't attracted that kind of attention before." Her face continued to burn with embarrassment. She was praying inside that he didn't think she was some kind of social retard or worse.   
  
P  
  
"I can't speak to that, but if you did back then, I know a whole slew of men here who would have a say about it." He tried to give her a teasing grin, but it merely came out as a grimace.   
  
P  
  
"But now... But now, you do." Her voice was hesitant as she stared at him deeply.   
  
P  
  
"Yeah, I do," Bobby replied thickly. "I want you very much."   
  
P  
  
Jubilee watched his expression change slightly as he made his admission. It was intense, communicating his honesty and his yearning. She felt a sudden surge of warmth spreading over her skin. Unlike the blush earlier, this did not stem from feelings of embarrassment. It seemed to be triggered by awe and wonder. The fact that he felt so strongly about her was almost too much for her to fathom.   
  
P  
  
"Then why haven't you tried before, or now?" she finally whispered. It was not an invitation or a challenge, but a simple question.   
  
P  
  
He leaned towards her, cupping her beautiful face with his hands. His gray eyes stared deeply into the deep-blue depths. "Because when we make love," he said quietly, resting his forehead against hers, "it should be because we both want to, not just because you feel some pressure from me. It's supposed to be an expression about how we feel about one another. Feeling like you have to takes away from that."   
  
P  
  
She nodded, his words sinking in. Things were now clearer. "So you don't mind waiting?" she asked, still feeling very childish. He probably never had conversations like this with Lorna or that Opal woman.   
  
P  
  
He smiled at her tenderly, kissing her forehead. The affection dismissed any fears she had that he viewed her as being immature. "No," he told her, "I don't mind. I'd wait as long as forever if I have to."   
  
P  
  
She could feel the corners of her mouth tug upwards in a small smile. His words resonated with her deeply. She wasn't sure when was the last time someone had professed that kind of devotion and care for her. Yet, she could not help but ask, "Really?"   
  
P  
  
"Really," Bobby affirmed softly, brushing tendrils of hair from her cheeks. Then he added, echoing her words from earlier that evening, "Because I found someone I'd do anything for, no matter what."   
  
P  
  
With that, he lay back down in bed and drew in her into the circle of his arms. There was no need for words to communicate anymore. The comfort of being close to one another was simply enough. For the rest of the night, they held each other until falling blissfully asleep. 


	12. Chapter Twelve King of Yesterday

Chapter Twelve: King of Yesterday  
  
Here's another chapter. This one made my beta say, "Poor Kurt."  
  
The characters are Marvel's, but the story is mine.  
  
Thanks again for the reviews and feedback. They're much appreciated. Please keep them coming.  
  
P  
  
Scott Summers stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black leather bomber jacket with a gold 'X' emblazoned across the chest. He sauntered out of the control room for the training area. His footsteps were loud and brisk across the stainless steel floor of Sub-Basement Level Two of the mansion. After spending many hours in this area, he was eager to make his way back home. Jean was now home from recruiting across the country on Xavier's behalf. She had been on the road for several weeks, meeting with parents and prospective students about the school. Despite her travel- weariness, the statuesque redhead managed to make a teasing comment when she first arrived home. It was something about Scott being an anti- aphrodisiac for mutant love.  
  
P  
  
As he was rounding the corner of the long hallway, he noticed Logan exiting the showers. The wiry loner was clad in a white T-shirt, faded jeans, and scuffed black boots. Logan usually engaged in private Danger Room sessions during the late afternoons when the students were in their other classes. According to him, workouts alone were better as he could tear up the robots and cameras to his heart's content, much to Scott's chagrin.  
  
P  
  
Scott braced himself as he neared the other man. While they were no longer at each other's throat for various reasons, things continued to be tense between them. At this point, he simply resigned himself to the fact that it was part of the dynamic between them. Anything different would be less than acceptable.  
  
P  
  
When the two finally met, Scott was almost taken aback. Logan's regenerative abilities helped him to maintain a somewhat youthful appearance (in relation to how old he really was). This was despite the years of smoking, drinking, and other activities that constituted his version of "hard living." However, that day found the self-professed loner looking quite haggard and exhausted. Lines around his eyes and mouth seemed more deeply etched than usual.  
  
P  
  
Before thinking, Scott commented, "You look terrible."  
  
P  
  
Logan raised a brow at him. "You're no prize, either," he retorted, chewing on his Cohiba. Then he remarked flatly, "Surprised you're still here." The usually composed leader appeared uncharacteristically rumpled and worn out.  
  
P  
  
Scott looked perplexed. "What are you talking about?" he asked.  
  
P  
  
The older man shrugged his sleek shoulders. "I'm talking about this morning's meeting not going your way," he replied, smirking slightly. He crossed his arms over his broad chest in smug satisfaction.  
  
P  
  
Scott's eyes narrowed behind his visor as he pressed his lips together tightly. He had almost forgotten about that. After watching several hours of news coverage regarding the team and the Professor, Scott mulled over the idea of having all members return to wearing their original, spandex uniforms. He had broached the idea with Professor Xavier, who had been the one to institute the black leather uniforms for everyone. While his mentor did not vehemently oppose the idea, the Professor did express some reservations about the others going along. In retrospect, Scott supposed he should recognized the older man's trepidations for what they were. His ears began ringing at the memory of the vociferous criticism and sarcastic comments that dominated the responses of his teammates. Even the more reserved members, like Kurt and X'ian, voiced their opposition to the idea.  
  
P  
  
The chiseled-featured leader grimaced as he returned to the present time. He suppressed an urge to scowl when he noticed Logan with that obnoxious smug grin. It seemed like a permanent accessory for the loner from Canada. Scott racked his brain to come up with something profound and worthy of respect---anything to wipe that irritating expression from Logan's face.  
  
P  
  
He was only able to echo an argument he presented that morning. "People find the black leather threatening," he began sharply. "There's no need to frighten people more than they already are."  
  
P  
  
Logan grunted. "So running around in neon tights is gonna change that? Instead of being scared, they're either calling the local nut house or laughing their asses off." I I would, /I he silently added to himself.  
  
P  
  
"Well, it's not a dead issue," Scott cut in, still feeling as if he were on the defensive. More than anything, he hated losing an argument. He didn't necessarily feel the need to completely his will on everyone (at least not all the time), but this was something he felt quite strongly about. He wasn't ready to give up just yet. "I'm going to raise this subject again tomorrow. People need to understand the reasoning behind it."  
  
P  
  
The other man shrugged nonchalantly. He was not certain that the others were going to allow Scott to bring up the topic for discussion again. He, too, was present at the meeting. It was one of the few gatherings where he was not the one openly challenging Cyclops's assertions regarding what was best for the team. The change was quite refreshing and amusing when he noticed Scott's expression during the confrontation.  
  
P  
  
The younger man's voice shattered Logan's musings. "Just don't throw out your old uniform yet."  
  
P  
  
"Too late."  
  
P  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
P  
  
"I mean it's gone."  
  
P  
  
"Gone? Where the hell is it?"  
  
P  
  
"I gave it to the nurse's kid. He needed a Halloween costume. Said he was going to fix it so he could be some cartoon character... Pickalot or Pickafight? Beats the hell outta me."  
  
P  
  
Scott gritted his teeth. The fact that Logan had freely given away his uniform to Carter as means of disposal was bad enough, but the older man seemed to take immense pleasure from what he had done. In fact, he seemed to be triumphant over what he had done. As if making snide comments and constantly questioning Scott's leadership was not enough, Logan now felt the need to try to make him appear like some authoritarian dictator.  
  
P  
  
Frustration suddenly boiled over. Scott Summers finally had enough. The line was crossed.  
  
P  
  
"Do you think this is easy?" he demanded, his voice leveling at a dull roar. "You think this is some kind of joke? You think I'm some kind of joke? Listen, looking after other people's interests isn't exactly the easiest job in the world. Someone has to be around to tell other people certain things aren't necessarily a good idea. Granted I'm not popular most of the time, but it's a job that has to be done. After all, I'm responsible for keeping people safe and secure. No one around here seems to understand that."  
  
P  
  
Logan tried to keep his mouth from gaping open as he stared at Scott Summers in stunned silence. He wanted to believe that the bitter tirade came out of nowhere. It would also be easy and simple to attribute that kind of reaction to the stresses and pressures of being a leader and the Professor's right-hand man. After all, under those circumstances, it would hardly be surprising. Yet, deep down, Logan knew that was not the case at all. Something else was eating away at Scott Summers. It did not take that much pondering to consider the possibilities. Immediately, Logan realized it was the same thing that kept him up at night.  
  
P  
  
Usually one to keep his nose out of other people's affairs, Logan could not help but hear about 'The Incident'. Initially, he had a couple of yuks over the whole situation. Picturing Summers interrupting Worthington's intimate moment was enough to bring tears to his eyes. The mirth soon faded as soon as he contemplated the grounds for the other man's behavior. It was then that Logan understood what compelled Scott to do such a thing. Hell, he would even go as far as to say he condoned it.  
  
P  
  
Logan was also somewhat aware of the kid's reaction to the situation. While she never directly discussed it with him, he could tell she had taken care of the matter. There was this expression that consumed her whenever they broached the subject. It was one he recognized from long ago when she was training, trying to prove her worth to the team and the school. One could almost be certain that beneath that mask of resolve was a fierce conviction to fight for what she held dear. Logan pitied the idiot who faced off against that, having had experience with that side of her himself.  
  
P  
  
Scott's jaw was clenched tightly. His shoulders heaved as he exhaled wearily. He noticed Logan was now somber, almost pensive. The older man's eyes, usually cynical and cold, were somewhat empathic---as if he knew the outburst stemmed from something else that had been on Scott's mind. Pressing his lips firmly together, he shook his head.  
  
P  
  
"It's hard to let go sometimes," he admitted quietly, turning away from the other man's stare. "I'm so used to thinking about what's best for other people. I don't usually take the time to consider their opinions. Being a leader in the field, I don't have that luxury."  
  
P  
  
Logan leaned against the stainless steel wall. "We're not talking about something on the field," he remarked in a low voice, referring to what was truly on Scott's mind. There was no need for the other man to hide behind the guise of another issue.  
  
P  
  
Scott nodded when he realized that the proverbial jig was up. "I know that," he conceded. He laughed bitterly. "I never thought I would have a hard time removing myself from that field commander mindset, you know."  
  
IThat's not what the students say,/I Logan mused inwardly. "Things around here change," he pointed out matter-of-factly. "It means you have to, too."  
  
P  
  
"But you're handling the changes around here...well." Scott managed not to grind his teeth as he made his observation. It pained him to think that Logan was more thoughtful and introspective than he was when it came to this situation.  
  
P  
  
Logan snorted. "What the hell gave you that idea?" he demanded.  
  
P  
  
"I hear it from multiple sources," the younger man informed him warily. He tried not to appear disgusted as he continued. In fact, he couldn't believe he was going to make the following observation. "Let's say, my behavior as of late makes you look like the poster-child for self- restraint."  
  
P  
  
Logan wasn't sure if he should growl in contempt or to throw his head back and laugh. He decided not to indulge in either. "I'm not too thrilled about this whole thing, bub," he said very succinctly, green eyes flashing. "Just because I don't bust down doors or give Popsicle the evil eye all the time, doesn't mean I care any less. You think I like watching the kid and not doing anything?"  
  
P  
  
"Then why aren't you?" Scott countered, confused. From the glowering expression on Logan's lined face, it was obvious he was frustrated---almost as much as he was.  
  
P  
  
The other man's eyes soaked up the floor beneath his feet. "Because things can't stay the same forever," he replied in a low voice. He had learned that the hard way when he first returned to the mansion. Finding a grown Jubilee who did not hang on his every word and who did not feel the need to traipse along by his side was a harsh reality for him to accept. While he had made peace with that, there were times when he longed to have the doting child back.  
  
P  
  
Before Scott could respond, there was a loud clanging noise that came from the main laboratory where Hank primarily worked. Curious, the two men darted towards the area. Having undergone some changes to his body, Hank had recently become quite clumsy. He was taking some time adjust to his new bulkier form. As a result, it was not uncommon to find equipment or supplies scattered across the floor due to a misstep on his part.  
  
P  
  
Scott shoved open the steel door with Logan following close behind. They found their old friend picking up a couple of screwdrivers from the floor. Hank gave them a sheepish grin before rising to his feet. He then returned to his workbench on the other side of the room.  
  
P  
  
"No need for alarm," he assured them, revealing a set of sharp teeth with his smile. "Just a misadventure with my toolbox."  
  
P  
  
Scott sauntered after the larger man and stopped by his side. His eyes peered over at what appeared to be a rather intricate stereo receiver. Two large speakers flanked it. "What's this you're working on?"  
  
P  
  
Hank's fingers fumbled inside his lab coat as he searched for his penlight. "Ah, this? It's an observational device designed to pick up audio information from various distances. Kitty and I have been working on it since she graduated from college."  
  
P  
  
Logan raised a brow at him. "So, you're eavesdropping on people?"  
  
P  
  
"I suppose you could see it like that," Hank replied, pulling the penlight from his pocket. He leaned over the receiver to examine some wires protruding from the back.  
  
P  
  
Scott shook his head. "Sounds like 1984," he observed.  
  
P  
  
Hank reached over to his right, seizing a pair of wire clippers. "In a way," he said, trimming one set of wires. He straightened his posture, rising to his full height and towering over both men. "However, such technology should prove to be useful during our covert missions."  
  
P  
  
"Does it work now?" Logan asked, slightly skeptical. He vaguely remembered a contraption similar to this one used during his Weapon X days. Knowing Hank and the others, he was positive that the instrument would not be misused.  
  
P  
  
The larger man's round, blue eyes were quizzical. "I'm not sure," he answered thoughtfully. His chewed on his lower lip and said, "I suppose we could try it out now in the mansion. Just a brief test---nothing too intensive, I think."  
  
P  
  
Scott nodded. "Sounds like a good idea." Part of him was curious as to how the other team members were reacting to this morning's meeting. Perhaps some of them had time to consider the validity of his arguments. After all, not everyone would share Logan's reaction---could they?  
  
P  
  
Logan was still hesitant about the idea. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. The invasion of other people's privacy and personal space were two issues close to heart for various reasons. However, he, too, was intrigued with the piece of machinery. The loner decided to keep his opinion to himself.  
  
P  
  
Leaning over the receiver, Hank proceeded to flick a series of switches and levers. A series of lights flashed on after several minutes. The crackling of static and feedback rang sharply in the air of the laboratory. The former biochemist adjusted the knobs on the receiver to sharpen the signal. A series of "Oh dears" escaped from Hank's lips as he struggled with the machine. For a moment, he was afraid he had seriously damaged something.  
  
P  
  
Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming could be heard from both of the speakers. A triumphant smile spread over Hank's feline features. Then he grabbed a stool and perched himself upon it. Exchanging curious glances, Scott and Logan followed suit. The three men sat around the worktable, entranced.  
  
P  
  
"Where were you?" Dani's low and soothing voice inquired. Her voice was quite clear, almost as if she were in the room with them.  
  
P  
  
Xi'an's Vietnamese accent was light as she added, "You were supposed to be back for dinner with us an hour ago."  
  
P  
  
The individual being chided was none other than Rahne Sinclair, one of their former classmates and good friends. "I don't remember having to check in with either one of you," she snapped, the strong Scottish accent she was known for now suppressed. The sound of her feet stomping across the floor was like thunder from the speakers.  
  
P  
  
The hurt and confusion was evident in Dani's tone as she said, "You never answered my question."  
  
P  
  
"Not in the mood right now," Rahne told her dismissively. Her voice was fading as if she were walking out of the room.  
  
P  
  
After a brief silence, one of the young women released a heavy sigh.  
  
P  
  
Scott's brows were raised. He had heard stories about the young Scotswoman having a hard time adjusting to life without her abilities. It was hard for him to accept. The young girl was always so polite and so eager to please. Since her return, there were rumors about Rahne racing her motorbike all around town, sneaking cigarettes in the mansion, and encouraging the other students to stay out past curfew.  
  
P  
  
"What's with Rebel Without a Clue?" Xi'an mused sarcastically. While she sounded somewhat glib about her observation, one could easily detect the concern in her voice.  
  
P  
  
Dani was perplexed as she answered her friend. "I don't know. I wish---"  
  
P  
  
The young instructor was interrupted by a crackle of static and audio distortion. Quickly, Hank rose from his seat. He began fumbling with the knobs and switches in an effort to enhance the signal. After several seconds, the static faded. Instead of hearing Dani and Xi'an continue their conversation about their friend, the speakers picked up on a series of new voices.  
  
P  
  
"...Nightcrawler." Tabitha's trademark singsong tone was almost shrill as she pronounced Kurt's codename.  
  
P  
  
The voice of Kitty Pryde was filled with a mixture of disbelief and puzzlement. "Are you serious?"  
  
P  
  
"Why not?" Tabitha asked blithely.  
  
P  
  
Amara chimed in the conversation, echoing Kitty's wariness. "He's like a priest, you know," she sniffed.  
  
P  
  
"He studied to be a priest," Tabitha corrected smugly. One could tell she was wearing a smile from the mischievous tone that permeated her voice. "He was never ordained, you know..."  
  
P  
  
Logan made a face. He was hoping they weren't talking about what he thought they were talking about. His eyes narrowed.  
  
P  
  
"And I bet he's really amazing," she continued, giggling. "Just think about it. Those hands and that tail! Mmmm..."  
  
P  
  
Her comment was met with a chorus of gasps and excited squeals. Back in the laboratory, Hank cupped a hand over his mouth, completely mortified. Meanwhile, Scott grimaced. Logan could only shake his head, relieved that his friend was not present in the room to listen to this conversation. He was certain the elf would teleport himself to a monastery.  
  
P  
  
"Tabitha, that's disgusting," Kitty scolded, her discomfort more than evident. "He's like my brother. You can't talk about him like that."  
  
P  
  
Amara echoed her friend's sentiment. "Yeah, cut it out. I have to chaperone a field trip with him tomorrow. Now, I have those images running in my head. Thanks a lot."  
  
P  
  
"How about y'all talk about someone else?" Rogue suggested, her Southern accent thick. Like Kitty, she shared some feelings of uneasiness when it came to talking about her foster brother in a provocative manner. "Ya know, Ah always thought---"  
  
P  
  
Static crisply cut off the Southern Belle's sentence, concealing the identity of the next X-Man to be discussed in detail. Secretly, Logan was relieved. He wasn't sure if he could stomach listening to another minute of their banter. Perish forbid they started talking about him while he was in the room with Cyclops and Beast. While the two men carried themselves off as rather serious, they were more than capable of cheerful ribbing at other people's expense.  
  
P  
  
Again, Hank rose from his stool to adjust a series of knobs and levers. When the static cleared, his ears picked up on the soft murmurs of voices. Instantly, he was able to identify the owners. Recognizing the implications of allowing the two men in the room with him to listen, he made a decision. Clearing his throat abruptly, he said, "I'm afraid the machine's not working now. I suppose I will need to fix it later."  
  
P  
  
His attempt to switch off the device was thwarted by Logan, whose ironclad grip on Hank's wrist was fierce. Apparently, his keen sense of hearing had also picked up on the voices as well. The larger man winced in pain as he retracted his hand. When he backed away from the receiver, the growling man released his arm. Scott, initially oblivious to the nature of the confrontation, quickly understood what was going on. Although he never outright condoned Logan's aggressive actions, he failed to provide his usual disapproval. Wordlessly, the three men sat back and listened to the drifting conversation from the speakers.  
  
P  
  
"What about this idea?" Jubilee drawled brightly, her girlish voice echoing from the amplifiers. "We can go as Bonnie and Clyde. That would be totally cool, don't you think?"  
  
P  
  
The corners of Scott's mouth lifted slightly. Jubilee was referring to the upcoming costume party at the mansion. This year, Alex was organizing the festivities. At his insistence, the team members and students were choosing and preparing costumes in line with their favorite movies.  
  
P  
  
Bobby expressed some trepidation with the suggestion. "I don't know. That would involve carrying plastic guns and I'm not sure if Jeannie or Ororo would be too thrilled about that. At least, not with the younger kids around."  
  
P  
  
"I see your point," she replied, somewhat disappointed. She was quiet for several minutes as she mulled over her next idea. Then she said, "Ooh. How about this? I'm thinking ILord of the Rings/I. I'll be the elf princess and you can be...Gimli."  
  
P  
  
"The hairy dwarf?" Bobby snorted, pretending to sound insulted. However, it was quite obvious he was laughing. "Is that what you think of me?"  
  
P  
  
"Are you saying you'd rather be Gollum?" she countered teasingly. "Cause you definitely got the ears for the part."  
  
P  
  
He growled at her. "That does it, Lee."  
  
P  
  
Her giggles grew increasingly louder, combined with the noise of pillows being tossed about. Then she started screeching, which was piercing to the ears of the men who were listening in. For a moment, Scott and Logan thought she was in some kind of pain until they heard an eruption of giggles from her. The two had been prepared to dart upstairs and to check in on the young girl. Hank motioned for them to remain in their seats.  
  
P  
  
"Stop it!" Jubilee gasped, still laughing. "Stop it, Bobby. I... I can't breathe. Stop tickling me!"  
  
P  
  
His response was preceded by another screech from her. "Serves you right."  
  
P  
  
Soon, her laughter was interrupted by a fit of raspy coughing. Bobby mumbled something about drinking some water. Loud gulping echoed in the laboratory from the speakers. Seconds later, the coughing ceased.  
  
P  
  
"You OK?" Bobby inquired, the concern evident in his tone.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee swallowed hard. "Yeah...Yeah, I am. Thanks."  
  
P  
  
"Don't mention it." He paused briefly before approaching her. "Listen, are you OK?"  
  
P  
  
"I just told you that I was."  
  
P  
  
"I know... But all afternoon, you've been kind of preoccupied. What's up?"  
  
P  
  
"What can I say? I'm caught up in the Halloween spirit."  
  
P  
  
"Seriously, Jubes."  
  
P  
  
"Fine. I've been thinking that's all."  
  
P  
  
"About what?"  
  
P  
  
"I knew you were going to ask that."  
  
P  
  
"I'm horribly predictable that way. Spill it."  
  
P  
  
"OK, OK. Well, I've been thinking about how everything seems to be better now."  
  
P  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
P  
  
Jubilee sighed, bedsprings creaking softly. "Scott and Wolvie seem to be OK with the idea of us now," she replied. "No more death stares or anything like that. Don't you get that vibe, too?"  
  
P  
  
Scott and Logan exchanged wary looks.  
  
P  
  
"I guess," Bobby said nonchalantly. "Was that really important to you?"  
  
P  
  
She was thoughtful as she provided her answer. "I think so. I'd never say it publicly because I'm not into being mushy and overly expressive, but they're important to me. They're the first males I was able to closely to relate to. When I think of an ideal, I think of the qualities the two them bring to the table. Is that kind of weird?"  
  
P  
  
"Sounds like you're just as relieved as I am about the outcome. Maybe for you, more so." Bobby observed astutely. "Yearning for approval is kind of funny that way."  
  
P  
  
"Is it really approval, Bobby?" Her voice was guileless.  
  
P  
  
He was quick with his response. "That's what I'm hearing, Jubes," he told her softly. "Of course you want that. You love both of them very much, and they only want the best for you. There's nothing weird or dysfunctional about that. Well, with the exception of how it's expressed sometimes."  
  
P  
  
Scott narrowed his eyes behind his visor, recognizing the subtle jab.  
  
P  
  
"Sometimes," Jubilee said after a pause in the conversation. "I feel guilty."  
  
P  
  
Bobby was surprised. "Why?"  
  
P  
  
"Not about us," she quickly said, as if she were trying to assuage any fears and doubts. "It's just that I get this feeling that they both think I don't appreciate them or anything they've done for me. That's not true. I don't know what I would have done without either one."  
  
P  
  
Logan raised his brow. He turned to Scott, who was clasping his hands together. The younger man stared intently ahead at the receiver. His reaction was rather subdued with the news of this validation.  
  
P  
  
Bobby's voice was low as he declared, "They know. Those two guys---they're pretty sharp, you know. No matter what happens, no matter who comes into your life, they know you still care."  
  
P  
  
"Thanks," she sighed again, her speech whispery and soft. "I don't know what I would do without you, either. How about I show you---"  
  
P  
  
Immediately, her voice began to fade in a sea of static. The crackle gradually masked any audible voices. As with the conversations before, it appeared that some adjusting of the equipment would need to be done to do some additional observing. However, Hank appeared reluctant to perform such a task.  
  
P  
  
Scott's mouth formed a grim line. He stood up and made his way towards the receiver. His hand was outstretched over the control panel.  
  
P  
  
Hank reached out to stop his old friend. "Wait," he protested, "Scott, the volume's not supposed to go that high---"  
  
P  
  
Instead of attempting to search for the signal again, the young leader switched the receiver off. He gave the machine a long, hard look. Then he said quietly, "That's enough. Leave them alone."  
  
P  
  
With that, he turned on his heel and exited the laboratory. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen Eyes Wide Open

Chapter Thirteen: Eyes Wide Open  
  
I'm back! Here's the latest installment. I've upped the rating just in case.  
  
I've fudged some of the details. I didn't want to get too detailed or too graphic about what goes on. I really didn't want to get all Dawson's Creek for this chapter.  
  
Thanks for the reviews. Please do keep them coming.  
  
As usual, the characters are Marvel's but the story is mine.  
  
P  
  
The return of winter to Westchester was signaled by winds that were much more brisk and chilly than the ones associated with autumn. While snow had yet to touch the ground, many speculated that would not last for very long. Gray, overcast skies often prevailed most of the time. The bright, shining sun had become a rare sight these days.  
  
P  
  
Most individuals found that the cooler temperatures fostered sluggishness in their movements. With the many layers of clothing to protect them against the cold, this seemed hardly surprising. However, there seemed to be one exception to this rule. This early afternoon found a young girl of Asian descent racing out of one of the venerable, stone buildings on the local university campus. Her movements were purposeful and quick. It was quite unusual since she would have been one of the more relaxed individuals sauntering across the grounds.  
  
P  
  
Yet, this day was different.  
  
P  
  
She had somewhere to be.  
  
P  
  
The flush creeping across her skin from the jogging was tempered by the cold wind that slapped her cheeks and whipped her hair back. Her heart was racing, beating wildly in her chest. While Jubilee wanted to attribute the physiological changes to the exertion, she knew better. She knew there was something else responsible.  
  
P  
  
Rewrapping her striped scarf around her graceful neck, Jubilee could feel her stomach flutter with butterflies. She pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket of her dark-camel pea coat. Checking the address of her destination, she determined she was another two blocks away. Close enough to campus, but far away from other familiar places. The likelihood of unexpectedly running into someone she knew had been greatly reduced, as planned. Quickly, she shoved the scrap of paper back into her pocket. Then she picked up the pace of her jog.  
  
P  
  
In retrospect, Jubilee supposed she could have made things much easier, logistically speaking, if she chose to speak to someone at the mansion. This entire running around thing was beginning to irritate her. There was also the cloak-and-dagger approach she had taken on for this trip. It made her edgy and jittery. Concentrating during her philosophy lecture proved to be quite difficult. Instead of considering the meaning of Voltaire's works, her mind kept racing with a million thoughts. Most of those thoughts centered on this errand.  
  
P  
  
Yet, she knew that taking the easy way out would actually create many complicated issues.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee wrapped her slender arms around herself as she paused to catch her breath. Wisps of hot air slipped from between her pink lips. As high as her anxiety level was at that moment, she realized there was no turning back now. This was something she definitely she had to do.  
  
P  
  
Then why was she so damn frightened? After all, she had faced down her share of the most psychopathic, violent and cruel individuals. She often endangered her own safety during those confrontations. This errand involved none of that. Compared to those field missions and being captured, her trip was rather mundane.  
  
P  
  
But still she was terribly nervous and scared.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee resumed her hurried pace. She mulled over the reasons behind her apprehension. Where should she start? There was the fact that this marked an entirely new venture in her life. It was also something she had never thought about ever. For Jubilee, there was so much of the unknown associated with this entire situation.  
  
P  
  
Her mind also considered the reactions of other people who knew her. In the end, that was the deciding factor to seek services outside of the mansion. Those potential reactions were also primarily responsible for the secretive approach to the situation. No one was aware of what she was about to do---not even Bobby. She had made a point to keep a tight lid on this plan. This was something she had to carry about alone.  
  
P  
  
She could almost imagine the range---shock to angry disapproval. The myriad of questions from various loved ones and friends were already thudding in her ears. They were questions she wasn't sure she was ready to answer. Immediately, she pictured the two most reactive individuals who would instigate such an interrogation. No, things were definitely better this way.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee supposed she could have avoided this entire task altogether. She could have allowed her sense of foreboding to hold her back. She could have allowed those nagging insecurities to hold her back.  
  
P  
  
But she did not.  
  
P  
  
Because she was through with being scared.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee trudged up the hill, nearing her destination. The jumpiness of her stomach intensified with a vengeance. Her mouth was suddenly dry. She swore she could feel her heart nearly exploding inside of her. As she made her way up the circular path, she wondered if others before her experienced such feelings. The young woman stopped at the front steps of the innocuous, gray building and stared at the sign.  
  
P  
  
Planned Parenthood, Salem County Chapter.  
  
P  
  
Taking a deep breath, she marched up the steps and hurriedly darted inside.  
  
P  
  
The grandmotherly receptionist had informed her that she was about ten minutes early. Jubilee found herself sitting in the waiting area, which was a small room with lavender-colored walls. Brochures detailing information and history of the organization were neatly stacked on end tables by the rows of vinyl-padded chairs, along with other related pamphlets. Paintings of flowers hung from the walls with framed, handwritten poetry. The air smelled of faint traces of rosemary and jasmine. Classical piano from the local radio station was softly playing in the background.  
  
P  
  
Obviously, the environment was designed in order to comfort anxious individuals such as herself. As Jubilee continued to wait for her appointment, she felt anything but relaxed. The preliminary background history form she completed was already at the receptionist's desk. She bit her lower lip, searching for something to occupy her time. Her eyes caught a glimpse of an old issue of ITime;/I. She snatched up, not feeling guilty about doing so since she was the only person in the waiting room.  
  
P  
  
Tried as she did, Jubilee was unable to focus on the articles in the magazine. Instead, her mind wandered. She proceeded to convince herself that she had made the wise decision of not talking to Hank, Cecilia, or even Annie. Life at the mansion would most definitely be uncomfortable after such a discussion with any of those individuals. Every time she and Bobby would be together in public, any of those three would be certain to throw a strange look their way. Not that they would intentionally try to make things tense or worse, squeal to Scott and Logan, but it would be from the sheer fact of knowing. Jubilee decided that was something she could definitely live without.  
  
P  
  
Bobby. Her heart skipped a beat as she recalled the events from the night they spent together. While she was terribly self-conscious at the time, she was also moved. Even days later, she could still feel the intensity from his kisses and his words affect her. The expression on his face was nothing she had ever seen before. The ardent want and desperation in his eyes was seared into her memory. The encounter made her realize that their relationship, like everything else in this world, was changing and evolving. She was now in a regular relationship like other people. Why were his statements a complete surprise to her?  
  
P  
  
IBecause I never had to think about it before, ;/I she mused, flipping through the magazine. ;II could act like Peter Pan and leave that kind of complicated, grown-up stuff to the likes of Paige or Jono. Now, I can't get away with that crap anymore. I won't let myself get away with that crap anymore. ;/I  
  
P  
  
For his part, Bobby tried to assure her that he didn't think any less of her because of her inexperience. He repeated his declarations that he would wait for her as long as needed. As much as he wanted her that night, he was willing to wait as necessary. He was genuine about his position about wanting for both of them to ready. There were no arguments about this person was ready after this amount of dates. He simply wanted things to be right with her. Nothing more. After all, he told her, this was the first functional relationship he had been in that last beyond two months. In his words, "There's no way I'm gonna screw this up."  
  
P  
  
Deep down, Jubilee was afraid she had been the one to let him down.  
  
P  
  
Bobby was her first in every aspect---first kiss, first date, and first boyfriend. Even after dating for several months, there were times when she often felt embarrassed or inadequate due to her inexperience and youth. She couldn't help but make mental comparisons between herself and the women who came before her. Ultimately, she would often find herself coming off as a scared idiot who didn't know much of anything. That night with Bobby highlighted to a tee those insecurities. Looking back, she wished she had handled things better instead of acting on instinct.  
  
P  
  
In other words, not seizing up and acting like some sort of terrified child.  
  
P  
  
Having sex would certainly introduce an entirely new variable to their relationship. While she was aware that she was not facing any pressure from him to take things to the next level, she continued to ruminate. It was hard not to. Jubilee cared about Bobby deeply. She wanted to do everything she could to make him happy. P  
  
In the meantime, she needed to take some necessary preparations for that day. By doing so, she felt as if she were slowly confronting and dealing with her fears and insecurities. At least, that was how she justified forcing herself into coming here in the first place.  
  
P  
  
"Miss Lee?" a soothing, gravelly voice drawled.  
  
P  
  
Rising from her seat, Jubilee tossed the magazine back on the coffee table. Her palms began to sweat profusely. She smiled nervously as she made her way towards the doorway.  
  
P  
  
The owner of the voice was a woman who was about Jubilee's height, but a little heavier. Her narrow, dark eyes were mild and curious behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Wavy, copper-red hair framed a rather young, ruddy face with an upturned nose and a cheery mouth. Her teeth were slightly crooked, but very white. She wore a yellow, cable, turtleneck sweater over a denim skirt and brown, knee-high boots.  
  
P  
  
She extended a chubby, well-manicured hand. "Hi, I'm Virginia Tate, one of the nurses here."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee shook her hand firmly, following her through the door and down a long corridor. "Nice to meet you," she said, her voice cracking slightly. ICan it be any more obvious how uncomfortable I am right now? /I She could not help but peek into a few of the vacant exam rooms. The sight of the chairs with stirrups and diagrams of the female reproductive system were quite startling sight. Quickly, she admonished herself for being so naïve in being surprised about seeing such equipment.  
  
P  
  
"Here we are," Virginia announced, opening the door to the last office at the end of the hall and motioning for Jubilee to step inside. "Come on in. Take a seat wherever."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee sauntered inside, clutching her messenger bag to her side. The office was light and airy with butter-colored walls and white trim. An L- shaped desk, painted in antique white wrapped around one of the walls. Matching file cabinets, which were evocative of vintage bank furniture, supported the long desktop. A pharmacy table lamp provided a soft, subtly amplified glow to the room. Framed diplomas and informational articles on planned parenthood hung from the walls. Files and spiral notebooks shared space on the desktop along with a Sony VAIO computer, metal tin of pens and pencils, a phone, and a nameplate, which read: VIRGINIA TATE, RN, MPH.  
  
P  
  
She sank into an over-stuffed, moss green armchair. Her fingers continued to fiddle with the strap of her book bag. Watching the redhead nurse close the door gently, she willed her knees not to tremble. IBe cool. You've dealt with way more scarier things.../I  
  
P  
  
Virginia settled behind her desk, clipboard and pen in hand. "So, this is your first time here," she mused.  
  
P  
  
"That was quick reading," Jubilee managed, relieved that she did not stutter.  
  
P  
  
"Actually, your face gives it away." The nurse's eyes twinkled with amusement. Then she gave the young woman a comforting smile. "Relax, Miss Lee. Take a deep breath... This whole process isn't meant to be scary or anything. You have to give yourself points for coming in the first place. It shows how responsible you are."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee gave her a quizzical look. "Really?"  
  
P  
  
"Really," Virginia affirmed empathically, adjusting her glasses. "Sex is a serious part of any relationship. There are many things to consider once that comes into the picture."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee quickly nodded solemnly. The nurse's words seemed to sum up her current state of mind regarding the subject. "Yeah, that's why I'm here, I guess."  
  
P  
  
Virginia gave her a kind smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling warmly. "Good to hear you're aware." Then she straightened in her chair. "Well, let's get started. First off, anything you say here is confidential. What's said here stays in this room. Do you understand?"  
  
P  
  
Jubilee nodded.  
  
P  
  
The nurse continued. "I'm going to ask you some questions from our intake questionnaire. They're all standard questions we ask of all our clients. While some of them might be personal in nature, they're important to ask. This is so that we know of any complications, whether physical or psychological. The interview should take no more than 45 minutes at the most. At the end, I'll be providing you with some educational information about the clinic as well as some samples. Then we can make another appointment to meet... Do you have any questions?"  
  
P  
  
Jubilee's eyes widened. For some reason, she felt as if she had been presented with a great deal of information. Her mind managed to process the nurse's cookie-cutter speech. Then she shook her head, raven locks with midnight-blue streaks rippling down her graceful shoulders. "No, none."  
  
P  
  
"OK, then... First question, are you currently sexually active?" Virginia read from the protocol in front of her.  
  
P  
  
"No," Jubilee replied, feeling her cheeks suddenly burn. "Um, not yet..."  
  
P  
  
The nurse scribbled a note before continuing. "Alright. Have you ever been sexually active?"  
  
P  
  
The blush intensified. "No," Jubilee answered. She nervously tucked a lock of hair behind a delicate ear.  
  
P  
  
"To clarify what I mean by sexually active, I'm talking about---" The nurse began.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee cut her off, not wanting to hear her complete that sentence. "I know what you're talking about. Other than kissing and holding hands, nothing's been going on." For a moment there, she felt as if the nurse was talking down to her.  
  
P  
  
Virginia's dark eyes widened, caught off guard by that reaction. Then she nodded nonchalantly. "Are you currently in a relationship?" she pressed.  
  
P  
  
The young girl nodded. "Yes," she said, her voice cracking slightly. Then she added, "Totally monogamous."  
  
P  
  
"Good," Virginia intoned, making additional scribbles. "How long have you been seeing one another?"  
  
P  
  
"Almost six months." Jubilee replied, almost startled by the duration. Time had really flown by.  
  
P  
  
"Now, has your partner been sexually active? I mean, prior to your relationship." The nurse continued writing furiously.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee inhaled sharply, nodding. Bobby didn't advertise the details of his escapades like certain people (Gambit or Logan). She had overheard a comment from Lorna Dane about how sleeping with him was akin to babysitting. Then there was also the way he looked at her that night. That burning and intensity in his gray eyes relayed that he was no stranger to such feelings---and acting upon them.  
  
P  
  
"Do you know how many partners he's been with?" Virginia's raspy voice broke into her thoughts.  
  
P  
  
Startled, Jubilee tried to focus. She had no idea on that one, either. It wasn't like it was a topic of conversation between them. The night she spent with him in his bed was the only time where they started talking about sex. They did not discuss anything regarding that night or the topic after that. Off the top of her head, she knew there was Lorna. Reading between the lines of the conversation she witnessed between Bobby and that Opal person, she assumed they probably did the deed as well. As for anyone else, she wasn't sure. Bobby had dated a lot of women before her, but that didn't mean he slept with all of them... Did it?  
  
P  
  
Suddenly, those insecurities and inadequacies she carried with her crept back into her consciousness. Combined with her increasing anxiety, Jubilee was not all that comfortable. "Two?" She winced when heard the question mark punctuating her answer.  
  
P  
  
Pencil-thin eyebrows shot up. "You're sure?" Virginia inquired, pausing in her writing. "It didn't sound like you really know the answer. Do you, Miss Lee?"  
  
P  
  
Jubilee started wiping her sweaty palms on her denim-clad thighs. "Well," she began, chewing on her lower lip. She desperately searched her mind for composure as well as a reasonable response. Instead, she mumbled, "No."  
  
P  
  
"Oh." The redhead sat back in her swivel chair. Her forehead was creased with a concerned frown. "I take it the two of you haven't discussed sleeping together?"  
  
P  
  
"Not exactly," Jubilee protested weakly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear again. "I mean we have talked about...it. But nothing too detailed, really."  
  
P  
  
"Don't you think you should?" Virginia suggested gently, leaning forward in her chair. "Knowing your partner's sexual history is an important part of making this decision, Miss Lee. I don't need to tell you about the risk of contracting some form of STD. Young people around your age are the highest..."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee half-heartedly listened to the nurse as she rambled on statistics regarding the epidemiology of venereal diseases in the US. She was tempted to inform Virginia that the issue was something she didn't have to think about. Thanks to the X-gene, mutants did not fall ill to such diseases. Her primary reason for being here was to prevent any little Bobbys or Jubilees from being produced. However, she thought better of it, and kept her mouth shut. The whole session was proving to be awkward already. There was no need to complicate things any further.  
  
P  
  
While there were no health-related concerns about Bobby's history, Jubilee was uncertain as to whether or not it was an irrelevant issue now. Part of her was curious. Bobby was older and much more experienced than her. There was no need to query him about that. When she was much younger, she used to observe him flirt with her headmistress and bring back dates back to the mansion during her visits. For someone who had been so wary of dating, Bobby certainly played the field.  
  
P  
  
Yet, there were other unanswered questions that floated about in her mind. When they were finally ready, would he be comparing to other women he had been with? How would she stack up against those before her? Would he regret his decision to be with her?  
  
P  
  
Jubilee tried to reconsider the other available evidence. The night he first kissed her and confessed his feelings, Bobby had assured her that he only wanted her. Since they began dating, nothing he had done implied otherwise. He was kind and patient. His actions reflected how much he cared about her.  
  
P  
  
I Then why can't I let go of my issues? Why am I making myself miserable? /I she wondered, frustrated with herself.  
  
P  
  
Chewing on her lower lip, Jubilee peered up at Virginia who appeared to be concluding her speech. Quickly, she nodded and acted as if she had been attentive the entire time. "That makes sense."  
  
P  
  
The nurse eyed the young girl sitting across from her cautiously. Gauging how preoccupied Jubilee seemed, Virginia was not convinced her words had that much of an effect. As she stared at the anxious expression on her face, it became apparent that the girl probably had not been listening at all. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" she asked, hiding the skepticism in her voice.  
  
P  
  
"Absolutely," Jubilee responded immediately, meeting the nurse's gaze. From the tone of voice she used, she sounded as if she were attempting to convince herself more than the nurse.  
  
P  
  
Virginia put down her pen and folded her hands. "Listen, this decision is an important one. As I informed you earlier, having sex introduces new issues to the relationship."  
  
P  
  
"I know that."  
  
P  
  
"Really?"  
  
P  
  
"Believe me, I've thought about it. Many times. More than you know."  
  
P  
  
"You should also realize that open communication between yourself and your boyfriend makes things easier."  
  
P  
  
"I know. It's not like we don't talk or anything."  
  
P  
  
"Not about this subject specifically. At least, not in this kind of detail."  
  
;P  
  
"No, but..."  
  
P  
  
"Miss Lee, I'm not going to lie to you. We're not even halfway through the interview protocol here. I've observed your body language and the nature of your responses. If you're uncomfortable now, you're going to be even more so as we proceed. The questions tend to get more and more personal."  
  
P  
  
"That's alright."  
  
P  
  
Virginia slipped off her glasses. Finally, she sighed, "I suppose I'm concerned about you."  
  
P  
  
"I'm OK," Jubilee assured her. "Really. I'm fine."  
  
P  
  
"Are you?" Virginia countered quietly, putting on her glasses again. "We can always reschedule a time to meet when you're feeling more at ease with the question. Maybe after talking with your boyfriend in more detail about the subject..."  
  
P  
  
Jubilee's cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink. After all the trouble she had gone through to make it here, there was no way she was considering backing out now. She had invested too much time and effort into planning her trip here. To backpedal and put it off for another time was not option for her. It would be like regressing to the child she did not want to be anymore.  
  
P  
  
There was something else as well. It seemed to override Jubilee's fear of being immature and irresponsible. For her, it was a source of strength, pushing her to continue.  
  
P  
  
In the back of her mind, she knew that she would overcome that self- consciousness and fear. One day soon, she would be ready. She would show him that his want and yearning were not unrequited. Someday, he would know how much she wanted him as well. She couldn't imagine giving herself to anyone else but him. Bobby was that special.  
  
P  
  
"That won't be necessary," she said, cutting off the nurse. Her sapphire eyes were steely and determined as she provided her response. She leaned forward in her chair. Her facial expression held an ethereal calm quality. "I'm here and I'm ready to answer anything you throw at me. Let's go on with the interview."  
  
P  
  
Surprised, the nurse studied the solemn-faced girl in front of her. For a moment, she considered terminating the interview---an action she rarely performed. It was still evident that Jubilee was still perturbed. At the same time, she appeared unwavering and dogged in her commitment to be here.  
  
P  
  
"If that's what you want," Virginia drawled after a brief pause. She picked up her pen and raised her clipboard. "Alright, now... Let's see, where were we?"  
  
P  
  
An hour later, Jubilee found herself leaving the office. She had managed to complete the interview with Virginia in spite of recurring bouts of embarrassment and self-consciousness. The questions that followed were quite personal and tended to examine her health. While she was used to talking about such things with either Hank or Cecilia, doing so with a stranger and someone who didn't know about her background proved to be somewhat more difficult. She had to choose her words carefully. However, it was easier for her to answer them than the other ones that involved Bobby and his history.  
  
P  
  
When the interview was finally over, Virginia provided her with birth control pills and condoms in addition to a bevy of brochures and booklets. She had stressed the importance of a follow-up appointment for an examination. While Jubilee said she would consider it, she knew there was no way she would be coming back. In addition to the anxiety-provocation, there was another deterrent: being persecuted. As understanding as Virginia seemed, Jubilee wasn't sure how she would react knowing her latest client was a mutant.  
  
P  
  
Walking out of the reception area and towards the front doors that led outside, Jubilee's gaze soaked the materials she carried in her hands. Overall, it seemed so surreal. There was a slight sensation of relief. The prospect of being with Bobby "in that way" was not as daunting. To her, it was as if she were steps closer to being ready.  
  
P  
  
But not today.  
  
P  
  
Her black messenger bag was already filled to capacity with spiral notebooks, textbooks, and paperbacks. Between classes, she had had a hard time zipping the bag closed. However, there was no way she was going to be carrying out all the samples out in the open. After some furious manipulation of various items, she finally crammed the materials into her bag. Then she shoved open the front doors and made her way outside.  
  
P  
  
The late afternoon sun was slowly disappearing behind the floating clouds, darkening the skies overhead. Jubilee's steps were brisk in response to the dropping temperatures. Swearing under her breath, she wondered why she parked her Beetle so far away. Her Californian constitution did not deal well with such frigid conditions. This was clearly evident from her constantly chattering teeth.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee was consumed by thoughts surrounding her increasingly freezing extremities. These thoughts acted as a distraction, taking her mind away from her afternoon and her surroundings. Unfortunately, they also diverted her attention from walking. This explained the soft, but firm wall she collided into. The force of the impact sent her bag from her shoulder to the ground, scattering the lighter contents on the ground below. Startled, she immediately dropped to her knees to collect the displaced brochures and prophylactics. Usually, she would have had something smart and sardonic to say to the offending party. But today, her focus was on getting these samples put away without any delay.  
  
P  
  
"I'm so sorry," a deep, male voice drawled from above her. "Here, let me help you."  
  
P  
  
She was still on knees as she gathered the condoms and the birth control package on the ground. "That's OK," she replied, her face burning with embarrassment. Determined to quickly collect the items in a dignified manner, she kept her head down. I Great, this person thinks I'm a klutz and a whore. /I  
  
P  
  
"I want to help." The voice was strangely familiar.  
  
P  
  
Jubilee was unable to place the voice, but was sure she knew it. "You know, I've almost got everything." Her hands were now shaking as her eyes noted faded jeans and brown hiking boots. I Anyone wears that nowadays... It's almost winter. Doesn't mean I know who this is. Just keep moving. /I  
  
P  
  
A pair of tanned, calloused hands extended themselves. They picked up the last of the condoms from the concrete sidewalk. "Here."  
  
P  
  
"Thanks," she mumbled, taking them and hurriedly shoving them into her messenger bag. Briefly, she lifted her head to scan her path of escape. When she did, her eyes caught the face of the other person. Suddenly, her face drained of all color.  
  
P  
  
Facing her was none other than Alex Summers.  
  
P  
  
His blue-green eyes widened in surprise. "Jubilee?" he gasped. Then he peered over her shoulder. Several yards away, he saw the Planned Parenthood building. Instantly, he pieced things together mentally from the evidence present.  
  
P  
  
She rose to her feet, gripping the strap to her book bag tightly. I What the hell is he doing here? /I Her mouth went dry as she stumbled backwards slowly.  
  
P  
  
While Alex was nothing like the overly protective Scott, he was still concerned. He straightened, now towering over her. Confused, he edged towards her. The last thing on his mind was some sort of confrontation. It was more than apparent that she was frightened at this moment. There was no need exacerbate things any further.  
  
P  
  
"Jubilee?" he repeated, the shock somewhat subdued in his voice. Instinctively, his hand reached out for her.  
  
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She shook her head, dark hair spilling over her slim shoulders. "I..." she began, her voice cracking slightly. Possible explanations regarding the situation escaped her. The rational portion of her mind crumbled as she attempted to formulate a cogent statement from her mouth.  
  
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Instead, she simply blurted out, "I've got to go."  
  
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Before she could think of doing or saying anything else, she swiftly darted away, leaving Alex to simply stare after her. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen Outta mind Outta sight

Chapter Fourteen: Outta mind (Outta sight)  
  
Here's the latest chapter. I like not working and worrying about school. I have oodles of time to write. Anyway, sorry it's long. I couldn't find a good point to end it. Also, I haven't been too thrilled with the way Bobby's been portrayed lately. I wanted to convey my opinion that he's not the immature, whiny brat he comes off as sometimes.  
  
The characters are Marvel's, but the story, fortunately or unfortunately, is mine.  
  
Feedback is really appreciated!!!  
  
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Autumn finally made an exit, paving the way for winter to arrive in Westchester. Barren trees with rough, black bark lined the streets of the small town. Snow had yet to fall from the perpetually gray skies. However, the air was cold enough to produce frost, which graced the grass every morning. The cooler and cooler temperatures encouraged people to seek refuge, indulging in indoor-friendly activities.  
  
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At the mansion, this trend was being followed as well. Many of the students were preparing for end of semester exams and projects. Some were in the midst of planning return trips home for the holidays, which were coming up soon. As for the instructors, a few like Kurt and Logan were holding special sessions in the training areas downstairs in order to assist the students in alleviating stress during this busy time of the year.  
  
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Meanwhile, a serious card game was being played in one of the rec rooms. Involved were the usual suspects---Gambit, Sam Guthrie, Bishop, Roberto, and Jono. Joining them was a new member, Dr. Hank McCoy, who was quickly learning the nuances of cards. Given Scott's wariness of gambling in front of the students, the players made sure there were few of them in the room. The group also decided not to play a game that involved any serious exchanges of any kind. This was much to the chagrin of the Cajun thief, who liked both the challenge and the promise of any profit to be made.  
  
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The group sat around one of the available tables. Each individual was intently concentrating on his game. In addition to cards, there were opened bags of chips and bottles of soda and water littering the area around them. Swearing was kept to a minimum, although Jono would utter a psionic 'Bloody 'ell' here and there.  
  
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"Two threes," Sam announced, as he placed two cards facedown in the middle of the table.  
  
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"Bullshit," Bishop declared, eyeing the fresh-faced country boy smugly.  
  
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Sam flipped them over, and sure enough, there were two threes.  
  
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"Mothafa!" the time traveler snorted as he gathered up the pile of cards and added them to his hand. He cursed himself again for underestimating his teammate. The coal miner's son was shrewder than he initially thought.  
  
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"One four," Gambit drawled huskily. He placed a card in the middle of the table.  
  
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Hank pushed his glasses up his nose as he tossed his cards in the middle of the pile. "Three fives."  
  
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I Two sixes, /I Jono intoned, brown eyes solemn.  
  
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Roberto threw in a couple of cards on the table. "Three sevens," he announced, dark eyes flicking over at the impatient and tattooed countenance of Bishop on his right. "Your turn, man."  
  
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"One eight," Bishop said, attempting to be casual in his tossing of his card.  
  
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Sam raised a brow at him. Having spent the last couple of months with the time traveler on various missions, he was able to discern when the man was lying. "Bullshit."  
  
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Bishop reluctantly flipped the card over, revealing that it was actually a two. "Mothafa!" he growled, gathering up the cards yet again. He added them to his ever-growing hand.  
  
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At that moment, the public phone outside of the foyer rang shrilly. After two rings, it became evident no one else was present to answer immediately. Sighing, Hank turned to peer over at his compatriots. None of them appeared especially inclined to rush out their seats in order to pick up the phone.  
  
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"I'm it then," he concluded, blue eyes amused behind his glasses. When it came to field missions or training, the same men would be ready to be on the front line. However, the situation seemed quite different for something more mundane. He rose out of his chair and began to saunter out of the rec room, towards the foyer.  
  
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"Hurry up," Roberto called after him. Then he added, "Swing by the kitchen on your way back. I'm running low on Diet Coke here."  
  
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Hank waved a hand at him cheerily. "Will do," he replied in his kindly voice, which deeply contrasted against his imposing stature. "My supply of Twinkies has been depleted as well."  
  
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When the large man disappeared, Roberto turned to the rest of the men at the table. "He still eats that junk? You'd think he'd know better and all. That stuff has a longer shelf-life than some forms of carbon."  
  
P  
  
"Why does Beast do any of de t'ings he does?" Gambit mused, crimson eyes locked on his cards.  
  
P  
  
"Beast is as Beast does," Sam added thoughtfully. "He's winning, by the way." He gestured at the two cards in front of Hank's vacant spot.  
  
P  
  
"Again?" Bishop rolled his eyes in disbelief. "I told you we should've played Euchre instead!"  
  
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Roberto raked his free hand through his glossy, black curls. "So what cards does he have left, Jono?" he asked with a sly grin. "C'mon, Mr. All- Knowing-Telepath."  
  
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II would never use my powers to cheat, /I Jono retorted, brown eyes widening in mock anguish.  
  
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Bishop looked him in the eye and smiled for the first time that afternoon. "Bullshit."  
  
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For someone who had to carry excess body weight, Hank McCoy moved with the speed and grace of lighter creatures. He managed to pick up the phone before the third ring. Clearing his throat, he answered, "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."  
  
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"Hank?" a familiar female voice inquired softly.  
  
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His furry, blue brows furrowed together. "Yes, speaking," he replied cautiously. In addition to the stressor of the school being exposed as an institution for mutants, there was his decision to take on the guise of an openly gay mutant. Needless to say, the number of unwanted and sometimes, harassing phone calls were on the rise from both strangers and former friends and colleagues.  
  
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Before he could investigate the intentions or pinpoint the identity of the caller, she said, "Hank, dear, it's Mrs. Drake."  
  
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Hank almost slapped himself on the forehead for not being able to recognize the voice immediately. A wave of relief washed over him as he grinned. "Of course... I'm sorry, Mrs. Drake. For a moment, I failed to identify your voice. How are you?"  
  
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"I'm fine, Hank. How are things with you? I've heard some...things. Is everything alright?" Her voice wavered slightly as she made her inquiry.  
  
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He frowned for a moment, puzzled at the strange tone in her voice. After a brief moment, he was able to figure out what was behind her wariness. Other than the Professor and a few select friends in the mansion, no one else knew that his statements about being a homosexual were made in order to challenge stereotypes society held. Given how traditional Mrs. Drake seemed to be, she might have a hard time accepting the news. After all, this was the woman who continued to be torn over her son's mutant status and his decision to fight for those like him.  
  
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For a moment, Hank considered explaining the situation. He liked and cared for Mrs. Drake. While his own family had turned their backs on him upon discovering his abilities, she embraced him as a second son. Deceiving her ate away at him. However, telling her the truth might be more complicated. In the end, he decided to allow the lie to live on.  
  
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Finally, Hank responded, "I'm fine. And you?"  
  
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"I'm alright, just a little busy. Then again, that's what the holidays are all about, aren't they?" She laughed nervously. It was possibly an attempt on her part to dissipate the tension.  
  
P  
  
He decided to placate her by playing along with the small talk. "Yes, I suppose it is," he echoed cheerily. Then his feline features drew themselves into a serious expression as he mulled over another question to pose. "How is Mr. Drake?"  
  
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Her laughter on the other line stopped, reflecting her contemplation regarding the topic. Compared to Bobby's father, Mrs. Drake was a liberal, freethinker. William Drake was more vociferous in his wariness of mutants and anyone else who did not fit into his definition of normal. During his limited interactions with his son and a few of his friends, Bobby's father demonstrated himself to be clearly intolerant. Hank had heard stories about the way the man would express his disdain towards he considered different. Bobby seemed to imply that his father was ashamed of who and what he was. After putting up with his father's prejudice for so many years, he finally stood up to him. Since then, the dysfunctional dynamic often played out between the two men. This often left his mother trapped in the middle, trying to play peacemaker.  
  
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However, his attitude and belief system appeared to have changed over time. While at a rally for presidential candidate Graydon Creed, Mr. Drake spoke out against the other man's message of intolerance towards mutants. As a result, he was attacked and severely injured at the hands of Creed's people. It was a surprise move, shocking Bobby and forcing him to reevaluate his feelings and his relationship with the elder Drake.  
  
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"He's good," Mrs. Drake finally said, exhaling quietly. The hesitancy in her voice gradually dissipated as she went on. "For the most part, he's recovered. Thank you for asking."  
  
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"I heard he an excellent physical therapist," Hank mused, referring to Bobby's leave of absence after the assault where he acted as a pseudo-nurse to his convalescing father.  
  
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Mrs. Drake chuckled. "Yes, he did. He has quite the bedside manner. He had Bill working out from morning to early evening every day."  
  
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This time, it was Hank's turn to laugh. It was a low, rumbling sound that emanated from deep within his massive chest. "I'm not sure if I can even imagine that, but I will certainly take your word for it."  
  
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After the laughter on both ends of the phone line subsided, Mrs. Drake cleared her throat. "Hank," she began quietly, "I'm calling because I've been having some problems getting in touch with Bobby."  
  
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"Oh?" Hank was confused. Despite the friction Bobby experienced with his father, Hank never knew his friend to be upset with his mother. Granted, he did complain every once in a while about her smothering. However, it did not necessarily mean that Bobby had a reason to avoid her.  
  
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"Yes," Mrs. Drake affirmed. The tone of voice she used was permeated with worry and concern. "I wanted to talk to him about plans for Thanksgiving. I've been calling his private line at the mansion and his cell phone. Is anything wrong?"  
  
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"No, not that I'm aware of."  
  
P  
  
"Oh. Are you sure, dear?"  
  
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"Absolutely."  
  
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"I've been trying to call him all day."  
  
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"Have you tried leaving a message?"  
  
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"Yes, I have. Several. Why hasn't he gotten back to me? There must be something wrong."  
  
P  
  
"Mrs. Drake, I can assure all is well with Bobby. I am also sure that there must be a reasonable explanation for what's going on. The semester is almost over. Speaking for myself, I've become quite busy preparing for exams and projects for my students."  
  
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"I hope so..."  
  
P  
  
"Have you known me to be wrong before?"  
  
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"No..."  
  
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"See then? All is right with the world."  
  
P  
  
"Still, Hank... I thought I would be able to catch him if I called the main line. Do you know if he's around? I'd really like to speak with him."  
  
P  
  
"I'm not sure." Hank frowned thoughtfully. He had been in the lab for the most of the day prior to his involvement in the card game. His isolation prevented him from knowing whether or not his friend was here. He supposed he could race upstairs in order to search for Bobby.  
  
P  
  
As he was about to ask Mrs. Drake to hold the line, he saw Rogue descending down the spiral staircase. Placing his thick fingers over the mouth piece, he called out, "Rogue, do you know if Bobby's home?"  
  
P  
  
The Southern Belle played with the zipper to her purple, hooded sweatshirt she wore over her black jeans and Doc Martens. She shook her head. "No, Ah haven't seen him since this mornin'."  
  
P  
  
"Do you think he would be with Jubilation? Perhaps at the house?" Hank ventured hopefully. He hated to be the one to let down Mrs. Drake.  
  
P  
  
Rogue sauntered towards him, tucking a streak of white hair behind her ear. "The lovebirds are probably together, but not over at Jean and Scott's. Scott has a cold. Ya know how grumpy he gets when he's sick."  
  
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Hank nodded. As one of the resident medical experts at the mansion, he was aware of certain patients' dispositions. Scott Summers, a fearless leader on and off the field, proved to be quite different when he fell ill. Bad- tempered and cantankerous were a few words that immediately came to mind. Anyone who was of sound mind knew better than to be near him when he was not healthy.  
  
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"Oh well," he sighed, returning to the phone call. "Mrs. Drake, I'm afraid Bobby's not home right now."  
  
P  
  
Tried as she did, Mrs. Drake could not hide her disappointment. "I see."  
  
P  
  
"I could leave him a message to give you call back." Hank proposed, taking out a pen from the pocket of his white lab coat. "I will mark it as urgent so that he knows to get in touch with you quickly."  
  
P  
  
She sighed. "I suppose so." Then she paused. "Hank?"  
  
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He was searching for a pad of paper or a blank of post-it notes by the telephone. "Yes, Mrs. Drake?"  
  
P  
  
A confused tone colored her voice as she inquired, "Who is Jubilation?"  
  
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Without thinking, he promptly answered, "His girlfriend."  
  
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Rogue's green eyes widened in disbelief. Then she glared at him fiercely. I Is he crazy? /I she wondered inwardly. Then she reached over and slapped him on the shoulder, shaking her head vigorously.  
  
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Initially confused, Hank wanted to demand why he was being physically accosted. When he noted the reproving expression across her face, he surmised he had erred in some way. It took him a matter of seconds to realize his faux pas. At that moment, he could feel his stomach begin to sink. He then wondered about joining the witness protection program.  
  
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I Oh dear. /I  
  
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"Hank?" Mrs. Drake's genteel voice shattered his ruminations. "Hank?"  
  
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He shut his eyes tightly, wishing he had some psychic manipulation abilities. It was either that, or a time machine to transport him to ten minutes earlier. When it was evident that none of these options were available, he forced himself to return to reality. "Yes, Mrs. Drake?" he said rather meekly, avoiding Rogue's pointed gaze.  
  
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"You said girlfriend?" she inquired.  
  
P  
  
Hank was quite close to pulling some blue fur out. "Well, I meant... She's a female and she's a friend." He frowned at Rogue, who was now standing next to him and rolling her eyes.  
  
P  
  
"Hank, are you sure you don't mean a girlfriend?" Mrs. Drake asked reproachfully.  
  
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He desperately racked his brain to search for a way out. "I guess..."  
  
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She cut him off, her excitement over the conclusion building as she spoke. "I think that's what I heard. Why, this would explain Bobby not immediately calling me back. He was probably spending time with her, doing something romantic. Not that that excuses things, but it does puts things into perspective. Is she a nice girl?"  
  
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"Well, Mrs. Drake, I have to say---"  
  
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"Of course, she is. Bobby wouldn't be with someone who wasn't nice. What is she like? What does she do?"  
  
P  
  
"She's---"  
  
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"I'm sure she's a wonderful, special girl. Anything less wouldn't do for my son."  
  
P  
  
"I suppose you're right---"  
  
P  
  
"Of course, I'm right. A mother knows these things. How long have they been dating?"  
  
P  
  
"I'm not at liberty to comment."  
  
P  
  
"Do you think it's serious?"  
  
P  
  
"Well, I don't know."  
  
P  
  
"Hank..."  
  
P  
  
"I really don't know."  
  
P  
  
"But it's been awhile hasn't it? Why didn't he tell me in the first place?"  
  
P  
  
Hank rubbed his temples with his fingers wearily. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Rogue make frantic motions for him to get off the phone. There had to be a way to quickly, but politely end the conversation before he got himself into any further trouble. Alas, his brilliant, keen neurons were firing blanks. He could feel the skin beneath his thick, blue coat begin to burn with embarrassment. Turning to Rogue, he gave her a helpless look, imploring her to bail him out.  
  
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Her green eyes narrowed. Part of her was tempted to leave him twisting in the wind for blabbing. By spilling the beans about Jubilee, Hank had actually left Bobby in an unenviable predicament. Yes, Hank had a hard time being secretive, but he really should have known better. That was simply a recipe for disaster. The woman had been on his case about settling down with a nice girl for quite some time. It was often a source of angst and irritation for Bobby whenever he was faced with the prospect of visiting his family.  
  
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Instead, she allowed her sympathy for her good friend and teammate win out. She mouthed to him, "Tell her you have an emergency in the lab to take care of."  
  
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Hank nodded, grateful. "Mrs. Drake, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this call short. There's an issue in the laboratory I must attend to. Immediately."  
  
P  
  
"But, Hank, you didn't answer my question---" Bobby's mother began, indicating there was no way she was going to drop the subject.  
  
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It was his turn to interrupt her. "Perhaps Bobby can relay that information to you once he gets in touch with you. I really must be going now. It was good talking with you again."  
  
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"Yes, Hank. I hope we can speak again." Mrs. Drake said sweetly.  
  
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He grimaced; relieved she could not see his discomfort with the idea. While he was no betting man, he was almost certain Bobby was going to see to it that he would never be able to speak again. "Perhaps," he managed through gritted teeth. "Good-bye, Mrs. Drake."  
  
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"Good-bye, Hank." Click.  
  
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Hank's hulking shoulders were hunched over as he hung up the phone. He could feel Rogue's gaze sear a hole into his back. By not facing her immediately, he almost hoped he could avoid the confrontation that awaited him. Taking a deep breath, he realized there was no use delaying the inevitable. He only hoped that she had calmed down since she overheard him leaking the news.  
  
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A gloved hand quickly grasped his arm with a death-like grip.  
  
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No such luck.  
  
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"What in the hell is wrong with ya?" she hissed, making sure her voice was low enough so that others would not hear. Since the admission of some younger students, the Southern Belle became more conscious of the way she expressed her anger and dissatisfaction. During her time away from the team, she and Remy had settled in a small town in California, where many of the residents were bikers who talked rather freely about everything and anything.  
  
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He winced. Gingerly, he took his hand and removed hers from his arm. Then he motioned for her to follow him to the kitchen, away from the other rooms. With a weary shake of his head, he flicked the lights on. Cook would usually be in a flurry of activity to prepare for the evening meal. The kitchen was quiet and empty, much to their surprises. The Englishwoman was probably in town, still searching for ingredients for dinner that night.  
  
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Hank made his way to the kitchen counter and leaned against it, sighing. "I'm sorry."  
  
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Rogue shook her head ruefully. "Ah ain't the one ya owe an apology to. What are on earth were ya thinkin', Beast?"  
  
P  
  
"I don't believe I was," he admitted grimly. He rubbed his large hands over his stunned face. "Before I could stop myself, the words seemed to leap from my tongue. By the time I realized what I did, it was too late."  
  
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She nodded empathically. "Ah know," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
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"Bobby is going to be furious," Hank surmised, exhaling loudly. "I don't blame him."  
  
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"Why? Was his momma real upset about not knowin'?" Rogue asked, frowning. Having met Bobby's overprotective and anxious mother, she could actually picture that scenario. Hell, any mother would be disconcerted upon finding out her son had deceived her after some time.  
  
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The larger man shook his head. "No, she didn't seem angry, although I am sure she will ask him about that."  
  
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The Southern Belle's wide, green eyes were quizzical. "Then what?" she inquired, not sure why Bobby would harbor any animosity.  
  
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"It's just that..." he began, his voice wavering slightly. Pressing his lips together, he summoned his available and functioning brain cells to work collectively so that he could finish the rest of his sentence. He stared down at the countertop. "It's just that she's going to be excited."  
  
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"Ah'd be kinda disappointed otherwise." From what Rogue remembered from her visit to the Drake home, Mrs. Drake was a loving mother who wanted nothing more than her son to find his happiness. That, and grant her a longstanding wish of becoming a grandmother.  
  
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"She sounded thrilled about Bobby dating someone new," he continued, implicitly reminding Rogue of their friend's romantic problems in the past. The two of them had spent many times consoling Bobby about his failed relationships. "I could detect nothing but optimism in her voice. She has not met our young firecracker and she is already pleased."  
  
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"Then what's the problem?" Rogue demanded. She was fiddling with one of the silver hoops dangling from her earlobe. "If ya say his momma is happy about Bobby bein' with Sweet Pea, then Ah don't get why yer still upset. Yeah, it's gonna be uncomfortable for Bobby to tell her about everything, but it ain't gonna be the end of the world."  
  
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"Depends on your view," Hank mumbled, blue eyes wary.  
  
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She sighed impatiently. "OK, tell me. Can't be that bad."  
  
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"As I told you before, Mrs. Drake is quite excited over the prospect of Bobby dating."  
  
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"Right."  
  
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"This means she will have a great deal of questions to ask about Jubilee and the relationship in general."  
  
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"Ah still ain't followin' ya. What are ya tryin' to get at, Beast?"  
  
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His cat-like features were grave as he faced her again. "What I'm trying to say is that she will want more," he said quietly. "More meaning actually meeting Jubilee. While I believe Mrs. Drake would be embracing of the girl, I do not think I can necessarily say the same for Iher husband/I."  
  
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Rogue's mauve-colored lips formed an O, the words sinking in. His neurotic reaction to the situation was suddenly making sense. In addition to hearing stories from Bobby, she had witnessed first-hand Mr. Drake's intolerance. During their visit to Bobby's home, his father had mistaken her for another girlfriend. It was then that he lashed out, raving about his son's failure to find anyone "normal". She learned that his bigotry was not solely focused on mutants but anyone who was not of Northern European descent. He fumed about an Italian girl Bobby had brought home (Zelda) and the Japanese one (Opal) for minutes on end. Finally, Bobby had had enough, standing up to his father for the first time.  
  
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Unfortunately, from this knowledge, she had the feeling that the joy over Bobby's new girlfriend would not be universally shared. Looking back upon the experience, Rogue theorized Jubilee did not stand a chance in hell with Mr. Drake. Who knew how this situation was going to affect the already strained relations between father and son.  
  
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She placed a soothing, gloved hand over Hank's fur-covered one. "Ya got any friends ya can visit overseas for the next year or so?"  
  
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Bobby's Volkswagen Jetta slowly pulled into the mansion's garage, where many of the instructors' vehicles were housed. He found a vacant spot next to Logan's Harley-Davidson. As he parked his car, he took special precautions to keep enough space between their vehicles. The loner was intensely protective of his prized motorcycle. Even breathing on the handlebars earned one a fierce glare from the man known as the Wolverine.  
  
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He took the key out of the ignition and turned to the passenger's side. His brows furrowed with concern as he stole a glance at the young girl sitting next to him. He couldn't help but notice something very off about her behavior as they shopped for Hank's birthday present. Throughout the excursion, she had been uncharacteristically withdrawn and quiet. This was in spite of his jokes and plans for ambitious future pranks---both guaranteed to elicit some sort of response from her. Instead, she seemed rather preoccupied, easily distracted and occasionally jumpy. Her delicate features, usually cheery and bright, were constantly arranged in an anxious expression. The entire presentation was the complete antithesis of the image Jubilee projected to the world.  
  
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Needless to say, Bobby was quite concerned. It was unnerving and strange to see her act this way. He racked his brain for some possible explanations. Perhaps it was school that was getting to her, causing some stress. That idea was quickly struck down. Jubilee was on top of her academic commitments at school, having gotten into a routine with her classes.  
  
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Then he mulled over the possibility of residual anxieties from the other night. However, this lead was brushed aside when he remembered her repeated assurances that she was fine. There was also the fact that she had spent another night in his room that same week with no problems. In fact, her odd behavior did not start until they left that day.  
  
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One last reason was left: she was mad at him. Bobby racked his brain for any possible disagreements or slights that might have been made. Perhaps his teasing had gone too far at one point. After careful consideration, he was unable to come up with anything from that end as well.  
  
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His gray eyes flicked over at her, studying her exquisite profile. He had tried asking her directly while they were browsing through the various stores they visited. He had also tried being subtle in his approach. However, both attempts were met with gentle, but distant dismissals from Jubilee. While some people might have been more persistent to the point of badgering, Bobby Drake was not comfortable with that style. He decided to back off for a while in order to give her some space.  
  
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Unbuckling his seatbelt, Bobby leaned over and brushed her silky hair from her face. "We're home," he said quietly.  
  
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She didn't respond right away. Instead, she continued to stare out the window blankly. Her brilliant sapphire eyes had a far away look that clouded their typical sparkle. It was as if she were mulling over something to say to him, but furiously holding herself back.  
  
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Confused, he tried getting her attention once again. "Jubes?" He squeezed her shoulder slightly. "Earth to Jubilee. Come in, Jubilee."  
  
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Startled, she flinched. Then she turned to face him with an apologetic smile as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Sorry, Bobby. Guess I've spaced out."  
  
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"Yeah, it's OK," he told her, still concerned. After a brief pause, he said, "You've been kind of out of it all day."  
  
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Jubilee sighed, pulling at the sleeves of her camel pea coat. "I know. I'm really sorry."  
  
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"I didn't point it out to make you feel bad or anything," he said, stroking her hair gently. "Besides, you don't have to apologize. It's just that I'm worried about you."  
  
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She shook her head. "You don't have to be."  
  
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"I want to," he replied softly, his face filled with unease for her. "If the tables were turned, you would be for me."  
  
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"Yeah," she admitted with a small smile. He was certainly right about that one. "I guess that's true."  
  
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Bobby raised his brows at her. "You've been distracted ever since we left the mansion. I mean something's definitely wrong when Jubilee is not focused on one of her favorite pastimes. I couldn't even get you to make a committed answer when it came to picking out the present."  
  
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"I know."  
  
P  
  
"So what gives?"  
  
P  
  
"Nothing."  
  
P  
  
"Nothing?"  
  
P  
  
"Yeah, nothing. I'm fine, really."  
  
P  
  
"Nice try. That's not going to work this time."  
  
P  
  
"Even if it's the truth?"  
  
P  
  
"We both know it's not. You're also aware that I'm not going to let this drop. I'm not that much of a pushover."  
  
P  
  
"I never thought you were."  
  
P  
  
"Then you don't mind telling me what's been bugging you for these last few hours."  
  
P  
  
"Bobby..."  
  
P  
  
Before she could attempt to brush him off again, he took her head between his hands. He stared deeply into those shining, bright eyes he had come to associate with such warmth and tenderness. All he wanted to do was to return those feelings by taking away whatever worries were plaguing her mind then. Seeing anything her but content ate away at him inside. He had to do something.  
  
P  
  
"You can say anything when you're with me," Bobby told her gently. "No matter what."  
  
P  
  
He watched Jubilee bite her lower lip. This was not new information to her. She learned this over the course of many afternoons and nights in his company. The exchange of confessions of fears and personally held secrets between them were also testaments to this. It was one of the aspects of their relationship both of them cherished dearly. The ability to be comfortable in one's own skin in front of another person was a rare find for many, but seemed to come so easily to the young couple. As her crystalline gaze studied his boyish face, he could tell she was thinking about his words and finding the truth and sincerity in them. It was at that point her resistance began to melt.  
  
P  
  
"I want to," she finally whispered, her cheeks flushing pink. Her expression became more and more self-conscious as she continued to speak. "It's kind of hard... I mean it's kind of embarrassing. I just don't want you to think I'm weird or some kind of baby."  
  
P  
  
His fingertips were cool as they brushed against her soft skin. "Whatever it is," he said, "you know you can tell me. I would never hold anything against you or make you feel awkward. I would never think you were weird or childish, either. You're safe with me. Always."  
  
P  
  
She nodded, placing her small hands over his. "I know," she replied, giving him a sheepish smile. "Sometimes, I need for you to remind me every now and then."  
  
P  
  
Bobby pulled her to his chest, placing his chin on the top of her head. "As long as you'll have me, I'll keep doing it," he murmured against her fragrant locks. There was no way he could be any more sincere.  
  
P  
  
Part of him was relieved she had opened up this much so far, but he knew there was more. His hand rubbed soothing circles on her back while he held her close. Waiting for her to completely confide in him was the only option now. A couple of years ago, Bobby would have questioned her to no end, which would have ultimately driven her away. Fortunately, he became a more patient man with age.  
  
P  
  
After several minutes, Jubilee lifted her head and met his tender gaze with one of her own. She took a shaky breath as if in preparation for her statement. Then she swallowed hard. "Bobby?"  
  
P  
  
"Yeah?" His gray eyes swept over her lovely face affectionately.  
  
P  
  
She sighed, tucking a lock of dark hair behind a delicate ear. "I... I was wondering---" she began.  
  
P  
  
Her sentence was quickly cut short as the garage door slid open with a low groan from the motor that operated it. The glare of car headlights shone in the dimness. Both Bobby and Jubilee were startled, squinting in order to figure out who was pulling inside. As the vehicle ventured further and turned a corner, they were able to identify it as a beat-up, red Jeep Cherokee with mud-caked tires. On the car's bumper were worn stickers for the Sierra Club and Greenpeace.  
  
P  
  
There was only one person who owned such a car.  
  
P  
  
Alex Summers.  
  
P  
  
It was at that point, Jubilee felt her face drain of all color.  
  
P  
  
Two days had passed since she accidentally ran into Alex outside of the clinic. Since then, she had done her best to avoid him around the mansion. His attempts to communicate via phone calls and emails with her were ignored. Her continued anxiety and embarrassment---the same things that held her back from confiding initially in Bobby---stopped her from reciprocating Alex's efforts.  
  
P  
  
She watched with wide eyes as the jeep parked into a space on the other side of the garage. Sinking slightly in her seat, she hoped that he did not see her. The young girl was dismayed when the blond Summers brother hopped out of his car, his aqua eyes locked onto hers. Her stomach quaking with fear, Jubilee pulled away from Bobby's embrace. She felt her chest tighten as Alex quickly walked towards the car.  
  
P  
  
Surprised, Bobby stared at her. "What's wrong?" he asked, reaching to touch her shoulder. Her sudden shift into hypervigilance was disconcerting. The only other times he had seen her in such a mode was when she was facing off against other students in the Danger Room. Watching her tense up in front of him took him by surprise since he had no idea where this change stemmed from.  
  
P  
  
She shook her head, black hair with midnight blue streaks spilling down her slim shoulders. "I'm not feeling so great," she replied weakly, noticing that Alex was edging closer and closer. Gripping the door handle, she pulled the passenger's side door open.  
  
P  
  
Bobby followed her gaze, a frown wrinkling his smooth forehead. He grimaced upon seeing Alex Summers. His brain racked for an explanation as to why Jubilee would be so uncomfortable now. The two of them were not all that close, having no connection or reason to interact. Even when Alex was staying at the Summers' home, there was little indication that they had anything to do with another.  
  
P  
  
Yet, here was Jubilee, visibly upset and Alex, striding towards the car with intentions to confront her.  
  
P  
  
Before he could ask her what was going on, she was already out of the car. Bobby quickly followed suit. "Jubes?" he called out to her.  
  
P  
  
She did not respond. Instead, she simply stared ahead at Alex. Her lower lip trembled as she inwardly prayed for the ability to teleport at that moment. Unfortunately, no one was listening.  
  
P  
  
"Jubilee," Alex drawled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his brown suede jacket. He was already in front of Bobby's Jetta. His face was serious as he motioned for her to remain where she was. "We need to talk... I've been trying---"  
  
P  
  
"I can't," she said hoarsely, cutting him off. Slowly, she sauntered backwards towards the far door that connected the garage with the laundry room. There was no way she could stay here any longer. It was simply too uncomfortable. Anything else would have to wait. "I've got to go."  
  
P  
  
"Wait," Alex cried, lunging towards her. It was clear that he, too, had been thinking about their run-in outside of the clinic. "Don't go. I want to talk to you."  
  
P  
  
"I can't," she repeated. Frightened, Jubilee turned on her heel and raced to the door.  
  
P  
  
Alex tried to pursue her, but he was thwarted when Bobby grabbed his arm and held him back. He watched Jubilee disappear into the main building of the mansion. He groaned with disappointment and heaved a sigh. Then he turned to Bobby, who was scowling furiously at him. For more than obvious reasons, Alex wished he were in a different place at that moment.  
  
P  
  
"What the hell is going on?" Bobby demanded hotly, gray eyes steely. Given the evidence in front of him, he surmised that Jubilee's strange behavior involved some dealing with Alex Summers. A flood of possibilities washed through his brain, most of them not very pleasant. "What did you do to her?"  
  
P  
  
Alex jerked his arm away when he felt a sudden chill. No doubt Drake had something to do with that. He backed away from the other man, blue-green eyes narrowing. "I should be asking you the same thing," he snapped, rubbing his arm.  
  
P  
  
Bobby's scowl deepened across his boyish face. "What are you talking about?"  
  
P  
  
"Don't play innocent with me," Alex spat out, running a hand through his wavy, blond hair.  
  
P  
  
Unfamiliar feelings of protectiveness pulsed through his veins. The image of a nervous Jubilee with the prophylactic samples was deeply ingrained into his memory. Her eyes, so brilliant in their sparkle and color, had been colored with fear that day. It seemed as if she did not want to be there in the first place. The conclusions he immediately came to instilled a sense of rage on her behalf towards Bobby. He might have been able to placate his brother and Logan, but Alex wasn't about to give him the benefit of the doubt. At least, not anymore.  
  
P  
  
Jaw clenched, Alex continued. "I know what you're up to. You should be ashamed of yourself. What are you thinking? For God's sakes, Bobby, she's so young---"  
  
P  
  
"If you think I'm going to listen to a lecture from you, you're sorely mistaken." Bobby barked indignantly. The fact that Alex was attempting to pontificate about his personal life was almost too much. This was the same guy who had no qualms stealing away Lorna and Annie. He was going to tell Bobby how to act like a gentleman? A smirk touched his lips as he considered the situation.  
  
P  
  
As he faced off against his former romantic rival, he could not help but be somewhat confused. Scott had come to terms with and accepted the relationship. Why would Alex care either way? What right did he think he had, especially since it was apparent that he was the one upsetting Jubilee? Bobby's nostrils flared with anger as he recalled the terrified expression on her face upon seeing Alex. The thought of Alex posing any kind of harm towards her made Bobby's blood boil.  
  
P  
  
Finally, he drawled, "Besides, I should be the one taking you to task. You scared the crap out of her. Did you see the way she ran out of here? It's like she couldn't get away from you fast enough."  
  
P  
  
"What?" Alex's breath swirled from his lips in the cool air. "Are you saying that I---"  
  
P  
  
"Listen, she's been acting nervous and jumpy all day. It only worsened when you showed up. I can't really help but notice the correlation between the two events."  
  
P  
  
"So you're implying I'm responsible?"  
  
P  
  
"I'm not implying, Alex."  
  
P  
  
"Oh no?"  
  
P  
  
"No. I'm telling you that you are responsible."  
  
P  
  
"You've got a lot of nerve..."  
  
P  
  
"I have that and more. If you don't want to find out what I mean by 'more', and I suggest you don't, you'd best tell me what the hell you did to my girlfriend."  
  
P  
  
"Are you kidding? Seriously, are you kidding me? I I /I did something to Jubilee?"  
  
P  
  
"Looks that way to me."  
  
P  
  
"Oh come on, Bobby. If anyone's responsible, you should start with yourself."  
  
P  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
P  
  
Just as Alex was about to respond, the garage door opened. A worried Hank McCoy burst into the garage. He was dressed in his standard uniform, which was composed of black leather pants, boots, and a black leather jacket with gold lining and gold Xs stitched on the shoulders. His movements were quick and purposeful as he made his way towards Bobby. Wringing his hands nervously, he reached his friend's side by the car.  
  
P  
  
"Bobby," he said, voice trembling slightly. "Bobby, we need to talk."  
  
P  
  
The younger man held his hand up. "Not right now, Hank. I'm in the middle of something." His gray eyes flashed as they peered over at a frowning Alex. He wasn't going anywhere until he got the answers he wanted. Obviously, the other man sincerely believed Bobby had done something traumatic to Jubilee. While Alex was a lot of things, he was not a person who tended to overreact easily.  
  
P  
  
Hank adjusted his glasses. "It's important."  
  
P  
  
"So is this," Bobby countered flatly, nodding in Alex's direction. His gray eyes narrowed. All he could think about was figuring out what exactly was going on between Alex and Jubilee.  
  
P  
  
Hank pressed his lips together, frustrated. Then he said, "I mean it, Bobby."  
  
P  
  
"Can't it wait?" Bobby asked impatiently, his gaze still locked on Alex. He noticed that the other man's hands had formed into two fists. In the dimness of the garage, they glowed with a radiating intensity. Bobby held up his own fist, which was already covered with a thin layer of ice. He raised a brow at Alex, almost daring him to strike him first.  
  
P  
  
"No, it can't," Hank replied quietly, placing a hand on Bobby's shoulder. Having known Bobby as long as he did, the former biochemist was aware when his friend was close to losing his temper. He also knew of Bobby's continuing resentment towards Alex Summers. Combining the two was a guaranteed way of bringing about an unnecessary commotion.  
  
P  
  
I Besides, /I he told himself inwardly, I there are other things that are a little more pressing, such as the possible ending to our friendship after you find out what I did.... /I  
  
P  
  
"We have to talk now, Bobby." His voice was more forceful this time.  
  
P  
  
Bobby turned to his good friend. The unusually grave face that met his stare forced him to lower his fist. He could tell from Hank's tone and his expression that whatever the issue was, it could not wait. There was no way he was going to relent unless Bobby complied with his demands to talk. As much as he hated to, Bobby decided to reorganize his priorities. Finding out what was vexing Jubilee would simply have to wait on the backburner.  
  
P  
  
He sighed. "Fine. Let's go." Before he turned towards the door to follow the hulking figure of Hank McCoy, he threw Alex a withering glare. It communicated his determination to investigate what caused this situation to come about in the first place.  
  
P  
  
In response, Alex crossed his arms over his chest and defiantly stared back.  
  
P  
  
"Say something."  
  
P  
  
"What?"  
  
P  
  
"Say something."  
  
P  
  
"What should I say?"  
  
P  
  
"Say anything. I'm not sure I can take all this quiet air, especially when you're involved. It's not natural." Hank's feline features were imploring as he attempted to gauge his best friend's reaction.  
  
P  
  
Bobby's gray eyes were wide with disbelief as he leaned back in his black swivel chair. The two of them were in his bedroom. He tried to stop his head from spinning. Unfortunately, it was not willing to cooperate. Instead, his mind chose to focus on Hank's confession and the gory details.  
  
P  
  
I "...I told your mother about Jubilee. I told your mother that Jubilee was your girlfriend..." /I  
  
P  
  
At first, he thought Hank was trying to play some kind of sadistic joke on him. Hank had a big mouth, but there was no way he would ever disclose something like this to his mother. As Bobby's closest friend, he should have known better. He should have thought about what he was saying to her and what the consequences were. After all these years, this should have been automatic information in Hank's brain.  
  
P  
  
Bobby found himself snickering as the older man glumly described the phone conversation. However, as soon as he noticed how his laughter was one- sided, Bobby realized this was no joke. A pall drifted into his bedroom while he listened with mortified ears to his friend. When the larger, but poised man finished admitting his faux pas, Bobby was left reeling. Usually, he would have some kind of wisecrack to make. It was one of those few occasions where he was left speechless and at a loss.  
  
P  
  
Suddenly, he said, "I guess it was going to have to come out eventually. No sense putting off the inevitable."  
  
P  
  
Hank frowned at him quizzically, playing with the zipper to his jacket and revealing a white, V-neck T-shirt underneath. "That's it?"  
  
P  
  
"Why? What else do you want me to say?" Bobby inquired. He rubbed his temples gingerly in order to combat the impending stress that threatened to overwhelm him. At this point, he was simply mentally exhausted from the events of the evening.  
  
P  
  
"Not that I was looking for it, but I expected you to be upset," Hank pointed out. He leaned against the wall next to Bobby's entertainment unit. "I mean given the implications..."  
  
P  
  
Bobby shrugged nonchalantly. "I could be," he admitted quietly, watching his friend eye his copy of 'Spies Like Us' warily. "But at the end of the day, what's that going to accomplish? Nothing's going to change. My mother will still know and I'll be expected to bring Jubes by for parental inspection. It's just not worth the trouble and ultimate headache."  
  
P  
  
His friend was taken aback. This was most certainly a pleasant surprise. While Bobby had earned a reputation for being the resident prankster, the young man was also known to be somewhat of a hothead, who lost his temper quite easily. This new rational version of Bobby Drake was refreshing. Hank almost considered throwing in the adjective mature into this description, but thought better of it when he saw a whoopee cushion lying on Bobby's bureau.  
  
P  
  
Like Hank, Bobby was also quite amazed with this newfound sense of composure. The prospect of fielding questions about his relationship from his mother would have instilled feelings of panic. At least, that was what used to happen with previous girlfriends. Constant, intrusive queries delivered in that saccharine-sweet, refined voice were already ringing in his ears. He knew that he would be expected to detail everything about his new girlfriend. He was also aware that he would be asked to parade Jubilee at the home for inspection. As irritating as these things were, they would be quite easy for the young couple to deal with.  
  
P  
  
There was another obstacle to worry about.  
  
P  
  
"Well, I have to say that I'm relieved," Hank commented, grinning nervously.  
  
P  
  
Bobby smirked. "You should be," he told him wryly. "For a moment there, I was thinking about freezing your lips shut."  
  
P  
  
Unconsciously, thick, fur-covered fingers grazed Hank's lips. He cleared his throat and asked, "So, what are you going to do? Are you going to call your mother back?"  
  
P  
  
"You basically left me no choice with that one," Bobby said, slipping off his purple-tinted sunglasses. "After all, you told her you were going to leave me a message about her call. Now, I can't really blow her off now. It's one thing to claim that her calls went to voicemail, which they did. But this, I can't really get out of."  
  
P  
  
Hank hung his head, blue eyes staring at the hardwood floors beneath his mammoth feet. "I am sorry."  
  
P  
  
"You've said that a million times already," Bobby pointed out, swinging back and forth in his chair. "It's not going to change anything, either."  
  
P  
  
"I know," Hank admitted, raising his head back up. His guilt seemed to be magnified given the younger man's calm response to the situation. "I just don't know what else to say, Bobby."  
  
P  
  
His friend nodded empathically. "I understand. I know you didn't knowingly let the cat out of the bag."  
  
P  
  
"That's a given," Hank agreed. Furrowing his brows together, he asked, "Out of curiosity, when were you planning on telling your mother about you and Jubilee?"  
  
P  
  
Bobby sat still in chair. He looked thoughtful as he formulated his response. "Soon," he finally replied, "it was just that it was never the right time."  
  
P  
  
His friend gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"  
  
P  
  
"I was trying to see where things were going," Bobby answered, stretching out his legs. "I didn't want to inflict any unnecessary trauma on the poor girl."  
  
P  
  
Hank raised a brow at him. "Bobby..."  
  
P  
  
"Seriously, things are going really well," the younger man said, shaking his head. "The last time I brought a girl to meet the folks, it ended in disaster. I see it as the point where things went downhill between me and Opal."  
  
P  
  
Hank groaned. "It was Opal. Things were bound to go downhill. She wasn't exactly the best thing for you. What happened after she met your parents had nothing to do with the way things turned out. Surely, you know that."  
  
P  
  
"I do, but it's hard not to make the association," Bobby said in a low voice. "After she met my dad, she was ticked with me. She told me I didn't do a sufficient job of defending her against some of the comments he made. According to her, I should have stopped him sooner. I just don't want Jubes to be hurt the way Opal was. I don't think I could put up with even the possibility of that happening."  
  
P  
  
"Things are different now," Hank pointed out gently, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "First of all, you're a stronger person now. I'm certain you would intervene as soon as possible should something like that happen again. You're also with someone who would never hold the actions of other people against you. Unlike Opal, Jubilee is open-minded enough to see beyond remarks your father might make. I doubt she would ever hold you accountable for him."  
  
P  
  
"She's a good egg like that." Bobby smiled fondly at the thought of his girlfriend. He had to admit that Hank had a point. Jubilee was not the type to displace her anger at other people. She would directly deal with the source itself.  
  
P  
  
His good friend peered at him with kind eyes. "Sounds like there's nothing to angst about from that end."  
  
P  
  
Bobby pressed his lips together firmly. "Still," he said, "my father---"  
  
P  
  
"Has changed more than you might give him credit for." His friend's shoulders sank slightly, not quite believing that he was about to provide the following argument. "I'm more than aware of his prejudices against those who are different. However, you have to admit that he has made some efforts to modify those beliefs. Why, look at what he said at the rally..."  
  
P  
  
Bobby sighed. "Yeah, I hear you. It's just hard to believe that someone with life-long attitudes could change overnight. I can't help but think it was an isolated incident. I didn't know what to think since we never really talked about it."  
  
P  
  
"Have you tried?" Hank inquired, settling into one of the beanbag chairs in the room. He grunted as he adjusted his rear. "You might be surprised."  
  
P  
  
"It's hard to talk to him in general," Bobby replied, boyish face clouded with worry. "I don't know how I would broach this subject. 'Hey, Dad, are you still a racist? I'd like to know because I'm bringing my new girlfriend by. Here's the thing, she's an ethnic minority and a mutant.' Call me a pessimistic, Hank, but I'd bet my John Belushi video collection that I'd get a familiar reaction."  
  
P  
  
Hank folded his hands together, his blue eyes perplexed. "It's hard to argue against that, I suppose. You won't know for sure until they meet."  
  
P  
  
Bobby made a deadpan face. "That's something my mom would say. Just how long were you guys talking?"  
  
P  
  
Hank waved his broad hand dismissively. "That's not relevant. All you need to concern yourself with is getting through the interrogation."  
  
P  
  
Bobby took a long, hard look at the phone on his desk. The red light, indicating recorded messages, was blinking furiously. He sighed. As much as he dreaded the eventual meeting, he could not help but feel some glimmer of hope from Hank's comforting words.


	15. Chapter Fifteen Harder to Breathe

Chapter Fifteen: Harder to Breathe  
  
I'm back! Here's the latest chapter. Thanks to everyone for the feedback (both on the review page and through emails). You guys rock!! Please keep the reviews coming.  
  
The characters are Marvel's, but the story is all mine.  
  
Early winter snow drifted from the darkening sky onto the grounds of the mansion. Each flake cascaded down like a small parachute, blanketing the earth below in white. As the hours passed, the accumulation on the ground steadily grew by inches. The lake behind the mansion once used for swimming and sailing, was now frozen solid. Promises of ice-skating and impromptu hockey games beckoned the excited students to study the glassy surface from their windows. The more mischievous students and instructors were already planning where to build snow forts for the traditional winter battles.  
  
Inside the mansion, the change in season was also being celebrated. Every available fireplace displayed a warm, glowing fire. The aroma of pine and spices hung in the air, reminding the residents of the upcoming holidays. Keeping in the tradition of previous winters, Cook prepared a menu that warmed a person inside and out. Such menus included her special tart apple and creamy pumpkin pies, meals of stews and roasts with robust red wines, and pots of her trademark chicken soup. The Englishwoman's most beloved specialty was her hot chocolate. Her secret was blending powdered cocoa, whole milk, sugar and a bit of salt and vanilla while simmering it slowly. As a result, the precious, warm liquid seemed to disappear as soon as it was made.  
  
Students and instructors were looking forward to the end of the school term and the prospect of returning home for the holidays. There was a subdued, but busy atmosphere that permeated throughout the halls of the mansion. It was a time to focus on the tasks at hand, whether it was looking up new sources for various papers or training vigorously in the Danger Room. Despite this unspoken pressure to become serious about the concluding term, many managed to keep things light. For example, Professor Xavier and Hank McCoy's shared penchant for soft, classical standards was demonstrated through continuous loops playing from the speakers, much to the chagrin of most of the students and some of the younger instructors.  
  
The early evening hours found Alex sitting in the living room of the mansion. He was accompanied by a few of the older students, but did not talk much with them. They were involved in an intensive study group session for Jean-Paul's economic final exam. The young, but anxious souls were huddled on a well-worn leather sofa and corduroy chairs with pillows of shearing, mohair, and luxe touches of coyote.  
  
Across the generous library table crowned with an abundant spray of pussy willows, was the blond Summers brother, seated on a clubby sofa in a tone- on-tone loden stripe mixes tweedy pillows with a glamorous coyote throw. The furniture complemented the palette of muted jewel tones–teal and amethyst, plum and garnet, loden and amber-colored mohair plaids and velvet paisleys, fringed tattersalls and Harris tweeds. Timeworn velvets, faded damasks and vintage leathers, which took their cues from the walls' antique patina to create a well-worn setting, accented the room's well-worn plank floors. The room was finished off by the curves of intimately scaled leather chairs, emphasized by nailhead trim.  
  
For the last hour, Alex had been attempting to finish the novel he had been working on for a month. In spite of his best intentions, he kept scanning the same page of Joseph Heller's work over and over again. Annoyed, he closed the paperback and placed it in his lap. Something was on his mind. It refused to leave him in peace. Instead, it gnawed away at him, forcing him to lie awake at night.  
  
Something was actually someone.  
  
Jubilee.  
  
He sighed, trying to collect his thoughts on the situation that was the source of his troubled musings. The awkward tension between the two of them was still quite palpable. Even passing each other in the hallway instilled a sense of apprehension from both ends. Initially, the interactions had gone largely unnoticed to other people. However, as the days passed, the other residents were beginning to notice things were awry. Late last night, Annie questioned him as to what was going on.  
  
As uncomfortable as he was, Alex wanted to talk to Jubilee. By not discussing their run-in, it allowed the tension to grow even more. As a child who grew up in a household where important issues were always shelved, he witnessed what kind of dysfunction could result. He had an incentive to make sure this would not be repeated. However, his continued attempts to sort things out with her were repeatedly rebuffed. The young girl actively avoided him, refusing to reply to his emails and voicemail messages or ducking out whenever she saw that he was nearby. At the rate things were going, this lack of communication was probably going to go on forever.  
  
Looking back on the day itself, things had started out innocently enough. Alex received a phone call from one of his professors, Dr. Alpern-Strauss. It turned out that Dr. Alpern-Strauss had relocated and was now teaching in the physics department at one of the local universities. She wanted Alex to come in order to talk about a vacant adjunct instructor position. The idea of teaching at the college-level always piqued Alex's interest. Starting off at the most basic level would prove to be interesting.  
  
As he drove towards the campus, he recognized it. However, he was not able to discern how he knew of it. After several minutes of trying to find a parking space, he was able to identify it. He had been here months ago with Jubilee for her freshman orientation. The association soon slipped his mind as he continued driving.  
  
Noticing that he had some minutes to spare prior to his meeting, Alex decided to pick up a cup of coffee. On his way, he recalled seeing a Starbucks past campus. Eager for some caffeine stimulation, he steered his jeep towards that direction. The thought of a tall, white mocha almost made him start drooling on the spot. His strides were brisk across the cold, hard pavement. Edging closer to the coffeehouse, Alex could only think of seeking refuge from the bitter winds. He could already feel his ears and nose tingling.  
  
He had been so involved in his own preoccupation of being cold at that moment. If his head had been focused on his surroundings, he would have seen where he was going. He would have observed who was coming his way. Maybe he would have avoided disaster.  
  
Alex first thought he simply collided with just another co-ed from the nearby campus. The girl's head was bent down as she dropped to a kneeling position to collect her things. A curtain of thick, dark hair further concealed her face. Consumed with guilt, he failed to make out features that would have alerted him to the identity of the girl. Features such as the cascading ebony tresses with midnight blue streaks, the faint scent of bubble-gum and cinnamon that emanated from her, or the familiar girlish voice.  
  
Instead, he followed suit in order to collect her things. He suppressed a knowing grin and an accompanying comment when he noticed the items on the ground. Either the girl had just come from a health fair or was on her way to see her man du jour. Oh, to be a young adult in the world. It almost made him miss his college years. To decrease the likelihood of further embarrassment, Alex decided to keep his mouth shut. He quickly gathered the condoms scattered on the sidewalk. Then he handed them over to the co- ed. The younger Summers was satisfied that he had atoned for his clumsiness for that day.  
  
Then she raised her face for the first time. Alex could still feel his jaw drop at the realization. The girl carrying all those prophylactics was Jubilee. Young Jubilee who was to him, still a child. When he noticed their surroundings, things suddenly fell into place.  
  
_"Just... Just be careful, OK?"_  
  
His own words from the summer regarding the relationship rang in his ears as he stared at her. Alex felt paralyzed with astonishment at that moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the clinic nearby. There were a million thoughts acing through his head while he continued to gape at her. _What are you doing here? Why do you have all...this? Are you._..When he saw how frightened she was, he decided to refrain from interrogating her.  
  
However, that did not keep him from formulating possible explanations in his mind. Almost instantly, he was able to paint a complete picture of what brought her to this point. His insides hardened when he narrowed down the details. There was only one plausible reason, one person ultimately responsible.  
  
Bobby. He made her come here. He pressured her into doing something she clearly was not ready for. He wanted her to...  
  
So much for being a good guy.  
  
Rather than immediately fire a round of questions, Alex wanted to tell her whatever she was feeling now that she had a choice. There was no need to buckle under the pressure from someone else. Alex also wanted to let her know that if Bobby really did care about her, he would never coerce her into doing something like...this. Before he could communicate any of this to her, she ran away from him.  
  
When it became evident that Jubilee did not want to discuss things any further, Alex was tempted to find Bobby and demand to know what he thought he was doing. However, he was unable to do so immediately. Two consecutive field missions away from the mansion had seen to that. That evening in the garage was the first time he had seen Bobby, let alone attempt to talk to him about Jubilee. The feelings of anger that flowed through his entire body as he squared off against Bobby were almost overwhelming. Yet, he managed to keep his composure.  
  
Until Bobby accused him of harming Jubilee.  
  
For Alex, that was the last straw. He was ready to blast the other man against the wall. How dare Bobby accuse him? It was quite evident who was responsible for the young girl's distress. Then again, why should he have been surprised? Bobby always blamed others for his personal missteps. Specifically, others meaning Alex Summers. According to Bobby, it was Alex who had "stolen" Lorna away, and it was Alex who had "stolen" Annie. If something was wrong in Bobby Drake's love life, then Alex Summers must be involved, right?  
  
In spite of his irritation, Alex kept his angry outbursts on the verbal plane. He had every intention of haranguing Bobby over Jubilee. Had Hank McCoy not interrupted them, he would have accomplished that task. He wanted to chastise the other man for trying to take advantage of the young girl. The fact that Bobby was using her youth and inexperience, not to mention her self-consciousness, as means to get her to sleep with him was too much. The terrified expression on her face that day told him that her visit to the clinic was not her idea at all.  
  
In the days that followed, Alex wanted to finish the conversation, or confrontation, with Bobby. Given that his brother and Logan decided to let down their collective guard, he felt it was up to him to deal with the situation. After all, there was no way the other man should get away with what he was doing. It just wasn't right. Jubilee was too young, too naïve about these things.  
  
As fate would have it, Bobby was sent on a field mission the following day with Logan and Warren. It was unknown when the trio would be returning to the mansion. Alex was left to plan his approach with Bobby, in terms of how to deal with the situation without wanting to strangle him. During the week that passed, he found that his mind was clouded. He wondered if Jubilee had really thought through her decision to sleep with Bobby. Or, did she blindly crumble under his persistent arguments? Alex never got the impression from the young girl that she would do something like that. However, when it came to emotions, no one in the history of mankind had ever acted rationally. He only hoped that she decided to hold out---at least until he got the chance to talk with her first.  
  
_From the way she's been hiding from me, that's not likely going to happen,_ Alex mused bitterly, playing with the collar of his blue-and- white microgingham shirt. His aqua eyes peered out the window. A strong, brisk wind moved the falling flakes and barren branches of the trees in several directions. Despite this activity, there was an eerie calm about the scene. The grounds were now covered in white, erasing any memory of color that once graced there. The wind soon died down and all on the other side of the windowpane was still.  
  
However, Alex was able to make out a lone figure trudging in the deep snow. In spite of the bulky winter gear that obscured specific features, he was able to tell that the person was female. Her long hair streamed from the wool cap over her head. The legs that protruded from the heavy down coat were lean and slender. The hurried strides through the thickening carpet of snow on the ground were familiar. His eyes widened as he deducted the identity of the individual.  
  
Jubilee.  
  
Jumping to his feet, Alex decided to seize this opportunity to pursue her. He raced to the coat closet in the front hall. Quickly, he grabbed his gray pea coat and his red-and-gray, striped scarf. As he pulled them on, adrenaline pulsed through his veins. This was his chance to talk with Jubilee about what happened without any distractions, without any interference from outside parties. Bobby was on mission, and Scott and Jean were presently involved in a meeting with the Professor. Alex narrowed his eyes in determination, strolling towards the front door. He had to do this.  
  
Just as he was yanking the front door open, Kurt was lightly walking down the spiral staircase. His golden eyes were amused when he noticed the frantic movements of the younger Summers brother. The German stuffed his hands into the pockets of his faded, brown leather jacket. "Vell, someone seems to be in a hurry," he observed.  
  
Alex shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, Kurt," he said brusquely in greeting. Then he burst outside, the cold wind bitterly slapping him in the face. He called over his shoulder, "I'll see ya later."  
  
With a curious and pensive gaze, Kurt watched him scurry away from the mansion.  
  
Alex cursed under his breath for not having the presence of mind to grab a cap. His scalp was already going numb from the frosty temperatures and layer of snow on his head. Yet, he was undeterred. This might be his only chance to talk with Jubilee in private and clear the air between them. As he plowed on, he noticed that her figure was several yards ahead of him. She was edging closer to the house. His eyes strained as he continued to focus on her. The wind had picked up again, scattering the snow and cloaking the horizon in white.  
  
He tried calling out to her in order to get her attention. Unfortunately, his voice was thin in the howling, winter wind. Sighing, he decided to press on. After all, the house wasn't all that much farther.  
  
Alex could feel his lungs nearly ready to burst when he finally reached his brother's farm-style, white clapboard house. Had his mind been more distracted, he would have missed the building entirely. The snow was acting as some sort of camouflage that evening.  
  
A frown creased his brow when he noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open. "Jubilee?" he called out, noting the lights in the foyer were on. Her black messenger bag was tossed next to the staircase, along with her cap and scarf. A small glove was lying on one of the steps.  
  
When he did not receive a reply, Alex quietly closed the door behind him. He was silent as he attempted to listen for any activity. Quiet. Alarmed, he reconnoitered the rest of his surroundings. Given what happened within the past few months, he learned one could never be too careful. He scanned the rooms on the first floor. Nothing seemed out of place; no sign of any intruders. Satisfied, he climbed the staircase, searching and bracing himself for any surprises. As he wandered down the hallway, he noticed that Jubilee's door was open. A soft glow from the lamps inside shone from the end of the hall. Edging closer and closer, Alex wondered why there was no music blaring from the stereo, no chatter from a telephone call, or the sound of tapping from typing on the computer. Instead, it was strangely quiet and still.  
  
"Jubilee?" Alex drawled once again. He was about to rap on the door, but stopped himself. His aqua eyes widened in surprise. Instinctively, he darted from the doorway and inside the room.  
  
Jubilee was slumped at the foot of her bed. She was still wearing her winter coat in spite of the warmth that radiated from the heater. Her second glove was carelessly tossed several inches from where she sat. The young girl's creamy, porcelain complexion was now stained with a pink blush. Her head was resting back against the bed. Jubilee's sapphire eyes were wide and dazed, pupils dilated. She sounded as if she were gasping for air, her shoulders and chest heaving. A light sheen of sweet glistened her skin. Tendrils of ebony hair clung to her forehead and cheeks as she balled her tiny hands into fists.  
  
"Jubilee?" Alex dropped to his knees by her side. He pulled off his gloves and cupped face in his hands. Then he rested one of his hands against her forehead. Her skin was hot under his fingertips. "You're burning up."  
  
In response, she tried to jerk away from him. "Tell me something I don't know, Sherlock," she breathed, trying to slap away his hands from her. She was already feeling lousy to begin with, now _he_ had to show up. The day was just getting better and better. "Get off of me."  
  
Alex drew back slightly. While he had no medical training whatsoever, he certainly knew a fever when he saw one. He was relieved to see that she was not demonstrating any of the severe symptoms that would warrant emergency attention. However, he did not like the fact that she was warm and struggling for air.  
  
"How long has this been going on?" he inquired, brushing her hair from her face. He had briefly seen her in passing the day before and she seemed to be healthy then.  
  
She stared at him crossly. "Why do you want to know? Wait, I get it, so you can add that to your list of things to rat me out on to Scott and Jean?"  
  
"I'm not..." Alex began impatiently, frowning. Then he stopped himself, realizing it would futile to have this kind of conversation with someone who was obviously not well. He sighed loudly and began to tug at her coat. "Let's not talk about that right now. We need to get you out of this."  
  
Jubilee snorted, extracting her coat from his grasp. "You don't want to talk about _that_?" she mocked, cheeks flushing a light shade of red. "Obviously, that's what you want to talk about. I mean that's why you followed me home, huh? You're just dying to tell me give me some pompous speech about how I'm too young for sex. Or wait, are you going to badmouth Bobby and tell me how he's trouble because he got pissed at you for being a sneaky, self-righteous jackass? I guess the other alternative is that you want to complete the pattern, Alex."  
  
He could feel his own face burning. However, this stemmed from his embarrassment and indignation, rather than from illness. "I didn't---what do you mean complete the pattern?"  
  
"Since I'm his new girlfriend, I suppose you going to try to seduce me next," she snapped, eyelids fluttering. "Not that I even see the appeal in the first place, but if you think that I'm going to leave Bobby, you've got another thing coming. He's a good, decent man and you are just..."  
  
"That's enough," Alex cut her off, his lower lip quivering with rage. The acidic words she had just used against him were familiar. It should have been no surprise that Bobby was filling her head with such ideas. He shook his head firmly, trying to tell himself that Jubilee was feverish and that she did not mean what she said. There was no need to take things personally. Yet, for some reason, they hurt more coming from someone who was less involved in their history.  
  
For her part, Jubilee fell silent. She blinked rapidly. Then she closed her eyes. Alarmed, Alex grabbed her shoulder, shaking her gently.  
  
"Come on, Jubilee," he urged firmly, his other hand brushing her hair from cheeks. "Wake up. Don't fall asleep now."  
  
She attempted to swat his hand away from her face, but missed. "Go away," she mumbled, eyelids fluttering. "I'm doing you a favor by not talking. Isn't that what you want?"  
  
"No," he told her grimly, lifting her into his arms. "I want you out of this coat so we can take care of your fever. The other stuff can wait."  
  
This time, she did not fight him. She simply sighed against him. Her arms hung limply at her sides as he wrapped his arms around her waist and torso. It was either her guilt for hurting him or the fever that ravaged her body that held her back. To Alex, it didn't matter the reasoning. He was glad to have a cooperative Jubilee with him now.  
  
Quickly but gingerly, he began to remove her coat. He tossed it on her canopy bed. As he held her against him, he could feel her sweat-drenched clothing. Alex stared down at her, watching her eyelids continue to flutter. She was not quite passed out, but seemed to be on the verge. Her head bobbed up and down as she struggled to maintain consciousness.  
  
He lowered her onto the bed, rubbing her cheek gently with his hand. For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating. She seemed much warmer than when he first touched her. "Jubilee?"  
  
"You're still here?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why don't you just leave? I can take care of myself. I was about to when you barged right in."  
  
"And that's why you were almost passed out on the floor?"  
  
"I was resting, you jerk."  
  
Sighing, Alex racked his brain. Besides trying to get her to stay awake and drink some fluids, he was unsure as to what to do. He certainly did not like how warm she was getting. There was no need for a thermometer to gauge her high temperature. She seemed to be progressively getting worse. As much as he wanted to take her to the mansion with him, he wasn't sure if he really could afford to expose her to extreme conditions outside. All he knew was that he could sit around and do nothing.  
  
His blue-green eyes brightened when he came up with an idea. He almost slapped himself on the forehead for not coming up with it sooner. Racing to the cordless phone on Jubilee's desk, he quickly dialed a familiar extension. Inwardly, he prayed someone would pick up.  
  
The phone was answered on the second ring. "Med lab, Annie speaking."  
  
He breathed a sigh of relief, sauntering to Jubilee's bed and sitting next to her. "Hey, it's Alex."  
  
The smile his girlfriend was probably wearing radiated through her voice. "Hi... How are you? I haven't seen you all day." Her voice became softer and more breathy.  
  
Alex placed a hand over Jubilee's forehead, concerned. "I'm OK... Listen, is Hank around?" he asked, shaking his head as he felt the heat from the young girl's skin. He watched her grimace in discomfort.  
  
"No, he isn't. I think he's away all this week at some convention."  
  
"Dammit."  
  
"Why? What's wrong?"  
  
"I'm over here at Scott and Jean's. Jubilee's come down with a fever. She's really burning up here."  
  
"Oh no... What's her temperature?"  
  
"I don't know, but she's not doing so great. She's sweating like a horse and right through her clothes."  
  
Jubilee frowned darkly at him, slapping his hand away from her face. "You're worse, bub," she snapped. "You smell like old meat after Danger Room sessions. Oh, and you can also stop talking about me like I'm six, too."  
  
Alex placed a finger to her lips, signaling for her to be quiet. Then he returned to the phone call. "Could you come over here? I don't want to drag her outside..."  
  
Annie sighed wearily. "I'm the only one here," she told him apologetically, "I'm on call for three more hours."  
  
"Wait," he said, not ready to completely give up. "Listen, Kurt's around. See if you can ask him to teleport you right here. He could probably do it in no time. I just need your help to treat her and see what else needs to be done. I'll stay with her for the rest of the night. I swear it won't be long."  
  
"Well..." Annie sounded reluctant at first. Then she said, "Fine. We'll get over there as soon as we can. From what you're telling me she sounds really bad. Other than the fever, is there anything else? Vomiting? Coughing? Has she lost consciousness?"  
  
Alex's gaze fell upon Jubilee's face. She appeared awake, but barely. "No," he replied finally, "none of that."  
  
Annie sighed. "Well, that's good. OK, in the meantime, what I want you to do is to draw a lukewarm bath. Not cold. Lukewarm. Get her in as soon as possible. The bath should lower her temperature a little bit and get her comfortable. I bet she's really uncomfortable and angry about that."  
  
_That's an understatement if I ever heard one_, he mused. "Yeah, OK," he said slowly, not sure if he was entirely at ease with the idea of putting Jubilee in the bath. He could imagine her throwing a fit about being treated like a child once again.  
  
"Good," Annie said, not noticing his unease. "I'll be over when I can. Bye, sweetie."  
  
"Goodbye." Alex hit the OFF button to the phone and placed it on Jubilee's nightstand. He turned to Jubilee, who was seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep. "Jubilee?"  
  
She blinked as she peered up at him. "I'm so hot, Alex," she whispered weakly. Her face was now a deeper shade of pink. "I'm so hot."  
  
He leaned over her, placing his hand on her forehead again. "I know. I'm going to run a bath for you, OK? I just need for you to get out of your clothes, so you'll be all set to get in."  
  
Nodding, Jubilee began to push herself up on the bed into a sitting position. When she was unable to do this, Alex reached over to provide some assistance. "I'll be OK," she assured him, slurring her words somewhat. Her hands were already at the hem of her pink T-shirt, which she wore over an orange, long-sleeved shirt. If she had any reservations about being undressed in front of him, she certainly was not showing it. Come to think of it, it was becoming clear that she was not entirely conscious of much of anything.  
  
Alex was hesitant to leave her, but knew he had to start running the water. "OK," he said, sauntering towards the bathroom. "Just holler if you need me. I'll be back with a towel for you."  
  
She nodded, pulling the T-shirt over her head with a sleepy look in those brilliant eyes.  
  
Alex placed the drain stopper in the tub. Then he turned on the water, making sure it was lukewarm as Annie instructed. He shook his head and stripped out of his own coat and scarf, tossing them outside the door. Opening the towel closet in the bathroom, he began to search for a large towel.  
  
This was definitely not the way he had planned for things to go.  
  
Alex winced as he recalled her stinging words. They were like a shocking blow to the stomach. Granted, they had never been close. The only occasion he recalled spending any significant time with her was during that orientation. Still, the outburst from her was quite surprising. He never thought she was even capable of even being that cold. She was always the smiling, cheery girl who put on a pleasant face even in the most dire of times. To hear her utter such angry, bitter words was so out of character. There was no way she could have formulated such opinions on her own. She wasn't privy to the history. Hell, she was a child when most of this started. And yet, from the way she was speaking, it was as if she had taken on Bobby's feelings of being wronged and hurt as her own.  
  
Finally, he grabbed a soft, blue terrycloth towel from the shelf. "Jubilee?" he drawled before entering the room. He held out the towel in offering. There was no need to create another awkward moment. "How far along are you?"  
  
There was a brief pause before her muffled voice expressed, "Mmmph."  
  
The sound of the running water in the tub was palpable in the air. Cautiously, Alex entered the bedroom. He slung the towel over his shoulder, discovering that she was still on the bed and still clothed. Her T-shirt had been removed along with her boots and socks. This left her with her jeans and her long-sleeved, orange T-shirt.  
  
"Hey," he drawled, kneeling down in front of her. His hand pushed away the curtain of hair that hid her face. He could see her sapphire eyes were now heavy-lidded. "Wake up. Don't fall asleep now."  
  
"I'm not," she protested in a soft voice. Her shoulders were hunched as she exhaled. "I'm just resting. Give me a minute."  
  
When Jubilee did not immediately move, Alex sighed wearily. He was slowly coming to the realization that she was not going to be able to finish disrobing. He pressed his lips together. The bath would be ready soon and Annie stipulated Jubilee needed to go in as soon as possible. He could tell that the tub was filling up rather quickly. Already he could hear the water splashing.  
  
There was another way.  
  
He cupped her face and held a steady gaze. "We've got to get you into the water soon," he told her quietly. "Look, I know you're not going to like this..."  
  
Kurt took a step back, crossing his arms over his wiry chest. He whistled. "Hank is one lucky freund," he observed. "I have to say, you've outdone yourself, Bobby. Vell done."  
  
"Yeah, he's definitely going to flip over this," Bobby agreed proudly, placing the wrench on his desk. He stood next to Kurt with an admiring gaze.  
  
"I take it you had help vit picking this out?" Kurt's golden eyes were amused. His friend had a notorious reputation for choosing terrible presents. Last year, Kurt received season one of the Hercules DVD set from Bobby as a birthday present. This would have been a great present had Kurt even liked the show.  
  
Bobby placed a hand over his heart. "That hurts me right here, man," he pretended to gasp.  
  
The two men were referring to the telescope Bobby had just assembled. It was a DS-2114 ATS, which had an aperture of 114mm (4.5 inches) with 1000mm focal length, and an optical tube 18" x 5.7" in diameter. He and Jubilee had specially ordered the piece during their excursion to the mall. Fortunately, the gift had arrived just as he and his team arrived from their latest mission. Aware that his best friend's birthday was just two days away, he quickly hurried to his room to put together the instrument. Kurt was passing by his room during the process, and invited himself inside to watch.  
  
Bobby originally wanted to have someone else here, taking in the stunning telescope.  
  
Jubilee.  
  
He hadn't been able to get a hold of her that day. It was quite comfortable for him to chalk it up to the insane schedule of a college student facing the end of the semester. At least that was he had done with various conversations they had while he was away. The usual cheerfulness and spirit in her voice was missing during their phone calls. Instead, she sounded distracted, preoccupied, and nervous. It was disconcerting to notice this striking change in Jubilee's personality. If he were a paranoid person, he suspected she had some bad news she was hesitant to share with him.  
  
Of course, he had tried to call her on it. Still concerned from that afternoon in the garage, Bobby cajoled her in an attempt to find out what was troubling her. He recalled she was on the verge of telling him something when they were so rudely interrupted. When she was confronted with this, Jubilee was dismissive again and repeatedly informed him that things were fine. She had simply told him that things were hectic. Then Jubilee had tried to change the subject by asking him when he would be returning. She had claimed that she was bored and missed his company terribly.  
  
Right.  
  
Did she really think he was going to fall for that?  
  
Well, he hoped the last part was true.  
  
Still, it was abundantly clear that she did not want to discuss it over the phone. The more he had tried to raise the issue, the more nervous and tense she sounded. Instead of continuing to press the issue, Bobby had used a different approach. He had told her he would relent for now. However, upon his return, he was expecting to talk about whatever it was--- in person. While showing that he was not going to bend on this issue, he was careful not to be forceful. The last thing he wanted to do was to bully her. Reluctantly, she agreed to his terms.  
  
_"You know I wouldn't hound you if I wasn't worried, you know," he had told her.  
  
Jubilee had sighed wearily. "You shouldn't be."_  
  
_"Again, I want to be. You can't tell me not to."_  
  
_"You are stubborn like that, Drake."  
  
"But that's why you're crazy about me."  
  
"I thought it was because of those silly Hawaiian shirts..."  
  
"Hilarious, Jubes."   
_  
He had failed to mention there were _other items_ on the agenda.  
  
Bobby almost cringed as memories of the conversation between himself and his mother flooded his brain. Even though several days had passed since then, it was still fresh in mind. Looking back on it, perhaps Bobby should have been the one reluctant to talk, not Jubilee. His mother had been naturally distraught about not being informed Jubilee's existence. She had demanded to know when exactly he was going to tell her about his girlfriend. Bobby had tried to tell her that he wanted to wait to see where things were going first before introducing the family to his girlfriend. Unfortunately, this did nothing to placate the maternal scolding from the other end of the line. As a last resort, Bobby had suggested that he and Jubilee visit for a getting-to-know-you dinner---a move he would soon question his sanity over.  
  
Next, Mrs. Drake had quizzed him. His head was still spinning from the firing of questions. What's her name? What kind of name is Jubilation? Where did you two meet? How old is she? Where is she from originally? What does she look like? What does she do? What does she want to do after she graduates from school? Is she a nice girl? What's her family like? Does she know about you? Bobby noticed that for all these queries, his mother did not ask one.  
  
_Is she a mutant?_  
  
Bobby had decided to take care of the unspoken question. After all, he provided upfront and candid answers to her other questions. Why skirt this issue? He then informed his mother that not only was Jubilee aware of his mutant status, but that she was one herself.  
  
For the first time since they started their phone conversation, there was silence.  
  
Then Mrs. Drake had managed a worried and distressed, "Oh."  
  
Individuals outside of the Drake household would find her reaction rather ambiguous. Some might even go as far as to read into it as a negative response. However, Bobby knew better. He was all too aware what was the source of his mother's ambivalence.  
  
Mr. Drake.  
  
Crap.  
  
He had to agree with Hank, who had managed to point out some positive aspects. Granted, the elder Drake had made some leaps and strides in terms of developing more tolerant attitudes towards mutants. His actions at the Creed rally all those years were evidence of this. Following the assault, he also stopped making disparaging remarks about the Costa Rican couple that moved down the street. The fact that he did not utter Professor Xavier's name without wanting to spit was another sign of his softening views.  
  
However, that did not imply Mr. Drake would be accepting of an ethnic minority who was also a mutant dating his son. That might be too much for the old man to understand. Sure, that kind of thing would be fine for some people---people who weren't related. When it came to that sort of activity within the Drake household, the perception would be entirely different to say the least. The young man knew all too well his father's response to the impending meeting.  
  
Bobby bitterly remembered how boorish his father was toward previous girlfriends and friends, who happened to be considered minorities of some sort. That Italian girl Zelda wasn't good for Bobby because she probably had ties with organized crime. She was going to drag his son into that environment and that was simply was not going to happen on his watch. Then there was Opal. Apparently, she was shifty and suspicious because she was Japanese. After all, he had lost some war buddies to "those kinds of people". Mr. Drake again postulated that her family was affiliated with some mob or illegal activities (Who knew that he would be proven to be right later on?). Rogue, whom the elder Drake had mistaken for another of Bobby's girlfriends, was simply one more mutant who was an embarrassment to humanity. Even kind Hank, a friend the family had known for years, was a convenient target for William Drake's bigotry.  
  
"_Why do you persist on associating yourself with these freaks? Why do you want to bring any unnecessary attention to us? What you're doing is embarrassing, Bobby..."_   
  
The young man's gray eyes were steely as his father's stony voice echoed in his head. Mr. Drake had uttered those words while Bobby and Rogue were staying over at the house during their road trip. That was years ago, but the malevolence that underlined the statements was still fresh. So were the hurt and shocked expressions on the faces of the recipients.  
  
In spite of his mother's innocuous assurances of his father's changed outlook, Bobby decided he would never allow Jubilee to be subjected to that kind of treatment. He would rather die first than to see her hurt by his father's ignorance. While he was bound to attend this staged meeting with his new girlfriend, he could always be hypervigilant for any potential threat.  
  
"There you are," a high voice chirped from the doorway, shattering his thoughts. "I've been looking all over for you."  
  
Bobby and Kurt turned around. Leaning against the doorframe was Annie. The young nurse was out of her standard white uniform. Instead, she wore a pair of brown cargo pants and a white utility jacket with brown hiking boots. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back in her usual ponytail with heavy bangs covering her forehead.  
  
"Who are you looking for exactly?" Bobby asked, raising a brow at her. While he did not hold anything against Annie for turning to Alex, there was still a sense of awkwardness. They had shared a brief kiss and attended the wedding that never was, giving Bobby a glimmer of hope of a new relationship. However, he was soon let down once again. Since then, the two had done their best to avoid one another.  
  
She blushed, eyes downcast. "I was actually looking for Kurt," she confessed. She did not move from her spot in the doorway.  
  
"Really?" Kurt was surprised. He was always under the impression that the young woman was rather afraid of him. His long tail, fang-like teeth, and piercing yellow eyes invoked comparisons to the devil or other demon-like creatures. Unlike most humans and other mutants, Kurt only had three fingers on each hand instead of the usual five. His hair was black and cropped, which seemed to blend in with his dark blue skin. Upon his face were tattoos, symbols derived from an ancient, angelic language. According to him, each marking was for every sin committed. With the exception of Logan and Bobby, no one ever commented regarding the number of markings.  
  
Annie nodded emphatically. "Yes, I need your help with something," she explained, shifting from foot to foot. "You see, Alex called and he..."  
  
Even though Kurt was not looking directly at his friend and teammate, he could instantly detect the young man's annoyance. While he was on good terms with both men, he was also sensitive to Bobby's feelings. He knew of his continued resentment towards Alex. It was hardly a secret in spite of Bobby's efforts to be civil. Sensing the growing tension that exuded from Bobby, he decided to diffuse things.  
  
Finally, Kurt said, "Ja, I can help you. Ve can talk about it outside."  
  
Annie briefly glanced at Bobby, who was grimacing. "Uh, great. Thanks so much, Kurt." Her voice almost cracked from her present discomfort. There was nothing more she wanted to do than to flee the situation immediately. A part of her still felt badly for Bobby.  
  
The German nodded at Bobby before exiting the room. He motioned for Annie to follow him away from the door. Bobby turned his back to the door, tuning out the muffled whispers from the hallway.  
  
_That wasn't incredibly weird or anything_,he mused, turning to the telescope that stood in front of his window. While the instrument appeared well assembled, its ability to function was still questionable. He leaned over the eyepiece, placing his eye directly over it. Then he began to turn it in an effort to focus.  
  
Bobby was surprised to find how clear and crisp the night sky was from the lens. He was able to see individual snowflake in brilliant detail. The stars that peeked from the wispy clouds overhead shone brightly. Raising his head from the telescope, he gave himself a pat on the back. His friend was definitely going to love this present.  
  
Yet, there was one drawback to this moment. He only wished that Jubilee, the person who actually came up with the idea in the first place, was here to admire the craftsmanship of the piece. She would share Bobby's awe and wonder of the telescope's power. He could picture her lovely face and those sparkling, sapphire eyes. Just imagining her by his side made him yearn to be close to her now.  
  
He wondered if she was home yet from classes. It was almost dinnertime, and she always made it a point to be home then. The trip from campus to the mansion was a headache due to the construction on the main roads. Curious, he turned the telescope in the direction of the Summers' home across from the mansion.  
  
Peering through the lens, Bobby almost fell backwards.  
  
Jubilee's bedroom was alight from the soft glow of various lamps. The flowing curtains were pulled back slightly. It was a familiar and welcoming picture for Bobby, who still paid evening visits to his girlfriend. He often associated it with the warmth and deep affection he felt for her.  
  
This time, there was something in this scene that was very unfamiliar.  
  
Or _someone_ unfamiliar.  
  
Standing in the middle of the room was a tall, tanned blond man with blue- green eyes and a distinctive scar over the right side of his face. Immediately, Bobby identified the individual as Alex Summers. Before Bobby could wonder why the hell Alex would be in Jubilee's bedroom, he noticed something else. It was something that made him clench his ice-covered fists tightly at his sides.  
  
Alex was holding a nude Jubilee.  
  
Bobby couldn't see her face since her back was turned towards him. Her head rested against Alex's broad shoulder, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. He watched in disbelief as the other man scooped her up into his arms, carrying her away from the window and out of the telescope's view.  
  
Son of a bitch.  
  
Furious, Bobby yanked open his bedroom window. He quickly climbed on the ledge, holding out his hands to create a slide. Millions of thoughts were racing through his head, most of them centering on harming Alex in some way. As the ice streamed from his hands, he realized that his suspicions regarding Alex being involved in the change in Jubilee's mood were now correct. Overcome with murderous rage, Bobby was unable to piece things completely at the moment. The only rational thought that pulsed through his brain was stop the cycle of Alex Summers denying him the happiness he had longed for. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen Trouble

Chapter Sixteen: Trouble

I'm back. Sorry about the delay, but I just started this internship for the summer and have been struggling with really bad writer's block. Also, I'm not all that familiar with Alex, and the tension between him and Bobby. I'm basing my characterizations from whatever information I could find.

To everyone who's reviewed, thanks for the feedback. Please keep it coming. I really like hearing from all of you.

As usual, the characters belong to Marvel, but the story is mine.

Unaware that he was being watched from the mansion, Alex carefully draped the terrycloth towel over the half-sleeping girl in his arms. He knew he had to get her into the water soon. Already he could feel her heat and sweat start to permeate into his clothes and body. It was almost as if there was a series of flames that burned from inside of her, the warmth emanating through her skin. Despite this, she was surprisingly light as he held her in his arms.  
  
His aqua eyes stared down at her fluttering eyelids set in that delicate face. Even though she was growing increasingly feverish, Jubilee appeared quite peaceful. It was quite remarkable how ethereal and angelic she was at that moment. No wonder Scott and Logan were so protective of her.  
  
He caught himself and turned away, embarassed. Part of him want to rouse her to prepare for being submerged into the cool water, while the other part of him wanted to leave her alone. The latter would guarantee to lessen the awkwardness he was already experiencing. Perhaps, the existing tension between them would be abated. Alex shook his head, wanting to snicker at his attempts to delude himself.  
  
_Who the hell am I kidding?_ he scoffed at himself, carrying her to the private bathroom. _It's not going to get any more uncomfortable than this. First, there's running into her outside of Planned Parenthood. Sure, I find out that she's got enough condoms and birth control pills to hold her own health fair. Then there's the fact I had to help her undress for a bath. Yeah, Alex, she's really going to want to talk to you now. There's absolutely nothing weird between you guys now. This kind of thing happens all the time.._.  
  
Pushing on the light switch with his elbow, Alex was almost blinded by the brightness of the lemon-colored walls and the white trim and matching hardwood floor. At the far end of the bathroom was a gleaming, porcelain pedestal tub on cast iron. The fittings were made from fine solid brass with porcelain accents. The vintage bathtub was modernized with a chrome overhead shower converter. Sighing, he sauntered towards the tub, pushing back the white Oxford, nylon curtain.  
  
Thankfully, Jubilee had been slightly dazed while he was helping her out of her clothes. She seemed almost oblivious to the fact that she was going to be naked in front of him. Instead, she appeared to be observing events independent of her own body. Even as the pile of clothes next to her was growing in size, she remained somewhat cooperative and compliant. Usually one to talk in even in the most tense of situations, she was uncharacteristically quiet. No scathing remarks, no threats to inform Scott, Logan, or Bobby, and no wisecracks.  
  
She stirred slightly against him when he reached the tub. "Mmmph..." she mumbled, burying her face into his shoulder.  
  
Alex brushed a sweat-soaked strand of hair from her cheek. He was about to pull the towel away and lower her into the tub when he heard a BAMF! The smell of brimstone and sulfur reached his nostrils. Turning to the bathroom doorway, he saw a cloud of gold smoke swirling. Quickly, the wisps dissipated, revealing two huddled figures. A relieved smile spread over his face when he recognized the individuals as Kurt and Annie.  
  
Annie coughed, fanning her face. "That was interesting," she commented. Having never teleported before, she was not quite sure as to what to think. She had been queasy after riding on the Ferris wheel with Carter at the fair last summer. The thought of riding on the X-Jet alone made her stomach flip. She didn't know how Alex and Paige managed to do it on a regular basis.  
  
Shaking her head, she turned to Kurt. Her deep-set eyes roved over his frightening, but intriguing features. No longer intimidated, she reached to touch his wrist gently. "Thank you."  
  
He nodded graciously, noticing that she did not seem to hold herself as tightly as she did before. The fear that clouded her eyes prior to their trip was still there, but not as intense. _That's a start, I suppose_, he mused to himself.  
  
An amateur student of human behavior, Kurt observed the young nurse's wariness around many of the mansion's residents. Initially, the wariness often bordered on fear. He was impressed with the fact that Annie was making an effort to understand and accept. It was a rare thing for Homo sapiens, who often treated mutants with revulsion, something to be afraid of and hated. He soon discovered her motivation stemmed not only from her relationship with Alex, but also with her son, Carter.  
  
Annie strode towards the bathroom, gazing upon Alex and Jubilee. "How's she doing?" Her eyes flicked from the face of her boyfriend to the half- awake and flushed girl in his arms.  
  
"She's kind of out of it," he replied. He watched Annie place a hand against her forehead, then taking her pulse. "As you'll probably find out, she's really warm."  
  
As if on cue, Jubilee whimpered slightly.  
  
Annie pressed her lips together. She did not like what she was feeling against the girl's skin. There was no need for a thermometer to gauge the fact that her temperature was high. Then Annie began to remove the towel that blanketed the young girl's body. "Let's get her into the water," she told Alex crisply, a tone she often used when she was in the Med-Lab. "Carefully. Jubilee, it's Annie, can you hear me?"  
  
"Mmmph..." Jubilee murmured, her sapphire eyes heavy-lidded. "I'm tired."  
  
Alex began lowering her lithe form into the lukewarm water in the tub. The young girl's crystalline eyes widened when she was completely in the water. Instinctively, she began to yelp in protest and shock. Then her slender limbs began to move wildly as she attempted to jump out of the bathtub. Alex placed his hands on her shoulders, gently forcing her back down. In response, Jubilee jerked away from his grasp. Angrily, she splashed water at his face.  
  
"Get the hell away from me!" Jubilee screeched, fury blazing from her sapphire eyes. She then turned her back to him, facing the wall.  
  
Annie used her firmest tone as she spoke to the young girl. "Jubilee, you've got a high fever right now. We've put you in some water to lower your temperature. It's going to be cold at first, but you've got to stay in for a little bit." Detecting the indignation mixed with embarrassment in the girl's eyes, she realized the source. Annie eyed Alex, giving him a silent command to leave. "_I'll_ be with you the whole time."  
  
Sighing, Alex nodded and backed away from the bathtub. He felt slighted, but understood. There was no reason to take things personally, just as with the biting comments the girl made earlier this evening. This was a medical situation and Jubilee was sick. The fact that he was standing over her while she was naked certainly did not help the matter. There was enough tension between them to last weeks and weeks. His hands calmly wiped the water from his face. The younger Summers brother turned on his heel. He then made his way to the door that connected the bathroom to Jubilee's room, closing the door behind him.  
  
Meanwhile, Kurt was staring at a framed photograph of Bobby sitting on Jubilee's desk. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he inquired, studying the picture. The young man the German considered one of his good friends appeared quite thoughtful and introspective as he posed for the camera. It was a side to Drake he never considered existed before.  
  
"Could you bring up a glass of cold water?" Annie called over her shoulder, taking a damp rag from the chrome tub valet and wiping it over Jubilee's brow. Given how warm Jubilee was, Annie wanted to decrease the likelihood of dehydration. She was relieved to find that the young girl was now subdued and less belligerent.  
  
Alex was just entering Jubilee's bedroom when Kurt left. He flinched and coughed from the stench of the smoke left in the wake of Kurt's departure. Waving his hand in the air, he tried to clear the air of the smell. No matter how many times Alex observed Kurt's teleporting abilities, he could not become accustomed to the smell that wafted in the air as a result of an entrance or an exit.  
  
Alex walked over to Jubilee's canopy bed, pausing in front of her nightstand. His eyes glossed over the necklace he had removed from Jubilee's neck. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore. He recalled Jubilee saying in passing that she had received it as a Christmas present last year from Bobby. Fascinated, Alex ran his fingers over the delicate pink beads that surrounded the single silver flower.  
  
_Maybe this was part of your campaign to reel her in, Bobby_, Alex mused cynically. This passing inward remark only reminded him that he had some unfinished business with the other man. His blue-green eyes narrowed.  
  
While he knew that he and Bobby could never be friends, Alex tried to put their acrimonious history behind them. He had wanted to believe that Bobby was the good guy Jean espoused him to be---the guy who was always there for the fight, the guy who was a kind soul under the juvenile humor. He willed himself to stomach the starry-eyed comments from Jubilee about Bobby being her knight in shining armor. The young girl seemed to gush about him for an extensive period of time. As Alex stood by her bedside, he could not help but picture that dreamy smile she wore.  
  
Bobby Drake was none of those things.  
  
The younger Summers brother clenched his jaw tightly. The idea of Bobby pushing Jubilee into sleeping with him made Alex's scowl deeply. His mind was immediately filled with images of Bobby cajoling and chiding her. He probably threatened their relationship if she did not give in to him. The anxiety that exuded from her face and actions when he bumped into her was very clear. Going to Planned Parenthood was not her idea at all; she had been pressured to go. It was the only plausible explanation.  
  
Contrary to what the feverish Jubilee thought, there was never a moment where Alex contemplated talking to either Scott or Logan about the situation. He knew exactly how both men would have reacted to the information. Their adjustments to the idea of the couple dating in the first place was bad enough. As disgusted as he was with Bobby, Alex did not see the need for the young man to lose parts of his appendages at the moment. No, he wanted to handle things in a more low-key, subtle manner--- without involving any violence.  
  
At least, any violence inflicted by Scott or Logan.  
  
Alex supposed what infuriated him the most was the fact that Bobby was a hypocrite. He remembered the tirades (in between the schemes hatched) he endured shortly after he and Lorna started dating. According to these unsolicited lectures, Alex was to blame for Lorna leaving him. Alex was responsible for the demise of the relationship. Alex stole her away from Bobby. Later on, Alex was the one who took Annie away, leaving Bobby alone once again. Again, Alex was the one who ruined and continued to ruin things in Bobby's personal life.  
  
And Bobby? Alex smirked as he recalled how the other man portrayed himself to anyone who would have listened at the time. Bobby was the victim. Bobby was someone who was hurt from Alex's romantic, predatory ways. Using trite comparisons, Bobby once claimed he was the little man battling against a larger force in Alex, who flaunted the fact that he was a leader, and a Summers brother. How could he have a chance at any kind of happiness with someone as destructive as Alex constantly standing in his way?  
  
With Jubilee, Bobby alone was accountable. This time, there was no competition from Alex for her affections. No, this time, Bobby was the bully, trying to impose his will upon her. Bobby was the one who be responsible for any unhappiness that would result.  
  
In the darkness that fell across the mansion's grounds, a large, shining structure could be seen jutting from one of the windows. The moon was now peeking from behind the hazy winter clouds. Its light illuminated the formation, which resembled a roller coaster ride with intricate curves and high peaks. Upon closer inspection, one could discern several other things about this structure as well. First, it was composed of ice. Second, the structure was growing, directed away from the mansion. Third, there was someone moving along the slide and facilitating its growth.  
  
Bobby's breaths were sharp and hurried as he made the trip to the Summers' home. He cursed himself in the bitter, cold air. For some reason, the ice from his hands formed at a slower rate than usual. As a result, the travel time seemed to take eons rather than the usual minutes. He tried to will the speedier production of the frozen water molecules. Unfortunately, his body was not complying with his wishes.  
  
His eyes narrowed, the brisk wind slapping his boyish face harshly. It was a soft caress compared to the stinging pain inside his chest. He fought the urge to release the strangled cry that was trapped in his throat. His mind continued to replay images over and over again. These were the same images that acted as a powerful force, sending a virtual blow to his midsection and knocking the wind and all rational thought out of him. They were now driving him to travel this night.  
  
Bobby shuddered as he imagined the scene that played out in front of him only minutes before. It was so vivid and so tangible, almost as if it occurred right in front of him. The pain caused from recalling the images was entirely too much for him.  
  
Alex Summers standing in Jubilee's room, clasping her naked form against his body.  
  
Years ago, Bobby would have ruminated as to why this was happening again. He would have speculated Alex still resented him for various things--- having a closer relationship with Scott or being on the team for a longer period of time. The list could go on forever and forever in Bobby's mind. But tonight, none of this was important.  
  
He closed his eyes tightly for a minute, continuing the trip to the Summers home. Bobby rarely cried. It was not that he viewed himself as overly masculine man who could not afford to. Rather, it stemmed from the fact that he was afraid to experience the emotions associated with crying. Sadness and grief were not exactly the most pleasant sensations. As the resident clown of the team, it was expected that Bobby put on a cheery front all the time. Anything that strayed from that expectation was a cause for concern.  
  
This was not made explicit to him from others around him. He merely inferred from an early age that this was his part to play. Very soon, he bought into this notion of himself. So much so that he became wary of feelings that caused pain or anxiety. Gradually, psychological defense mechanisms were developed in order to assist his ego to cope. They were often manifested through avoidance measures via playing jokes or providing amusing fodder.  
  
However, tonight was the first time that he felt the urge to break down.  
  
There was a part of him that was enraged because it was Alex. While Bobby would have taken the time think before reacting with anyone else, his instincts were simply switched on when it came to Alex. Bobby likened it learning from previous mistakes. To him, it was hardly a coincidence that his last two love interests were ultimately lost to the other man. It was as if Alex was deliberately going out of his way to make Bobby's life a lonely hell.  
  
Looking back, he should have put the pieces together. Jubilee's nervous and distracted behavior and Alex's insistence to talk to her---signs that something indeed was going on between them. Perhaps Alex had made attempts towards Jubilee before... That had to be the answer. Jubilee would never willingly betray him.  
  
Yet, it should not have been much of a shock to Bobby to witness what he had seen---Alex in the midst of forcing himself on another one of Bobby's girlfriends. It was, after all, part of an oh-so-familiar pattern, right? He should have been used to it.  
  
Wrong.  
  
The thought of someone else touching her and holding her close was too much. Bobby found himself teetering over the line between the rational and the extreme. There was no other way to describe the pain and anguish he was experiencing.  
  
He supposed it was because this time, he thought things were going to be different. With Lorna and other women that followed, Bobby realized that they only had a fleeting interest in him and what he could offer. Tried as he did to deny this was the case, deep down he knew this was true. Throughout these experiences, he felt he was the lucky one. He was the one who had the pressure on his shoulders to make things work.  
  
But with Jubilee, things were not like that. Granted, Bobby still felt incredibly lucky. He saw himself as fortunate to be the one to hold her close, to tell her how crazy he was about her, and to kiss that wonderful mouth. However, unlike previous girlfriends, she never dangled the threat of leaving him to instill such feelings. Instead, she expressed that she was lucky to have him in her life. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. It was foreign and strange experience to him at first, but one that he embraced totally. For the first time, Bobby Drake was in a functional relationship, where affections were reciprocal between both parties.  
  
Tonight, all of that was going to be taken away.  
  
But not if he could help it.  
  
Alex was startled from his thoughts by an insistent rapping at the windowpane. Curious, he sauntered to the window. He frowned when he realized who the person was. With some trepidation, he yanked open the window.  
  
Bobby stood effortlessly on the ice-slide he constructed. He was still wearing his field uniform, which was composed of black leather pants, one of his Hawaiian shirts, boots, and a long, black leather coat. In the darkness of the winter night, his gray eyes flashed with a furious intensity Alex had never seen before. There was nothing petty or miniscule behind this glowering gaze. It was as if he were struggling to contain his outrage over something.  
  
Before Alex could say anything, Bobby drew back a gloved fist and slammed into his jaw. "You son of a bitch!" he yelled, watching the other man stumble backwards. If he were less angry, he would have been smug. Catching Alex off guard by suppressing how truly angry he was a strategic triumph.  
  
Alex fell on his back in front of Jubilee's canopy bed. _What is his problem?_ He stared up at Bobby with confused and angry eyes. He would have expected a hit like that from the likes of Logan or Bishop, but never from Drake. Bobby usually handled confrontation verbally or using his powers, which utilized less direct, physical contact. While he and Bobby had their share of disagreements, Alex could never recall a time when the conflicts called for violence. There was something definitely amiss with this situation.  
  
Rubbing his sore and throbbing jaw, Alex attempted to push himself back up into a standing position. He quickly scurried to his feet, slightly leaning against one of the bedposts. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded.  
  
Quickly, Bobby hopped inside the room over and stormed over to Jubilee's bed. Usually, he would have used his powers to subdue his opponent. However, he found actual physical contact more satisfying. All his rage was absorbed and released through his initial blow.  
  
"Me?" he snapped, cornering Alex. It took all his self-restraint not to tear the other man apart---at least, not right away. The fact that the other man was acting innocent was sickening to Bobby. Then again, it was no surprise. Alex never took culpability for anything. "I saw you..."  
  
"Saw me what?" Alex barked back, his gait unsteady. The entire side of his face was beginning to swell already. "I don't know what... What are you talking about?"  
  
Bobby did not answer him right away. He scanned the bedroom he came to associate with feelings of euphoria and affection. Jubilee was nowhere in sight. The thudding from his racing heart blocked out the sound of water splashing and murmured voices coming from the bathroom. At this point, he was operating under pure instinct. Any semblance of lucid thoughts was a distant memory. What remained were the images of Alex and Jubilee intermingled with frantic, desperate thoughts of finding his girlfriend.  
  
"Where is she?" he shouted, giving Alex a hard shove onto Jubilee's empty bed. He stood over him, chest heaving. "Where is she?"  
  
Alex glared at Bobby, perplexed and frustrated. In all his confrontations with Drake, Alex had never seen him so crazed before. It was almost frightening the way Bobby stared at him with murderous daggers in his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked, noticing Bobby's face turning a deep shade of red. "Who? Where is whom?"  
  
"Jubilee."  
  
"Jubilee?"  
  
"Jubilee. Where is she?"  
  
"She's here... Listen, she's---"  
  
"I saw you two together," Bobby retorted sharply, grabbing Alex by his shirt. He pulled him up and shoved him against the wall. His face was inches from the other man's as he hissed, "I saw you..."  
  
Impatient with Bobby's cryptic and vague ramblings, Alex pushed Bobby off of him. Obviously, Bobby had no idea what he was talking about either. "What did you think you saw?" he spat out. He slid himself along the wall until he was a safe distance away.  
  
Bobby had enough of Alex's innocent façade. Who the hell did he think he was acting like that? How dare he behave as if he did nothing wrong? Then again, why was it surprise? Alex Summers and an inflated sense of entitlement seemed to go hand in hand. Apparently, he saw no problems with manipulating poor Jubilee into doing whatever he wanted.  
  
Disgusted, he lunged at Alex and grabbed him by his shirt collar. "Stop playing dumb with me," he snapped, his head filled with possible scenarios as to what happened. None of them were good. "Where is she? What did you do to her?"  
  
Alex was finally through with being Bobby's rag doll. He struck the other man in the stomach, sending him backwards onto the floor. Gasping for air, he staggered to where Bobby landed. "I don't know what you think you saw," he managed through gritted teeth, "but I can assure you it's not whatever you're thinking... Jubilee's...right here, Bobby. I was trying to...tell you that she's..."  
  
Bobby clutched his midsection. The blow knocked the wind out of him momentarily. He was now struggling to breathe, but managed to stumble to his feet. Alex's pathetic attempts to spin the situation incited Bobby's ever-growing fury. When the dull pain around his middle began to subside, he launched himself at Alex, tackling him to the floor. Stunned, Alex fell with a loud thump. Within seconds, he composed himself and brought his fist back to deliver another blow to Bobby, who was now sitting on top of him. This time, he aimed for the other man's face to return the favor from earlier. Unfortunately, he missed only assailing air. Grunting fiercely, Bobby grabbed Alex's wrist with an ice-covered hand.  
  
The two men were so consumed and so occupied with their physical altercation, neither one noticed the BAMF sound nor the smell of brimstone and sulfur that suddenly filled the room.  
  
Kurt stepped from the cloud of swirling smoke around him. "I've got the vater," he announced, holding a pitcher and a cobalt-blue glass. Then his golden eyes widened in disbelief as he watched Alex and Bobby wrestling each other. "Mein Gott!"  
  
Quickly, he placed the pitcher and glass on Jubilee's desk. Then he hurried over to the two men on the floor. He knew things were tense between Bobby and Alex, but he never thought it would come to blows. At first, he tried to gently pry Bobby off of Alex. However, Bobby made it clear nonverbally that he was not going anywhere easily.  
  
"Vhy are you fighting?" he asked, using his most placating tone of voice. He tugged at Bobby's shoulder in an attempt to bring him back to reality. "Come now, Bobby. Do not do this..."  
  
Instead, his friend firmly held onto his rage, swinging his fist towards Alex's face. Alex was now coughing and gasping for air from Bobby's weight on his chest. He could feel the other man's knees begin to dig into his ribs. As a result, it was increasingly difficult for him to breathe. Desperately, he raised his own hand and tried to summon some plasma energy. A faint glowing red emanating from his fingertips was all he could manage at the moment.  
  
"Bobby, please," he croaked, blue-green eyes pleading.  
  
Bobby hesitated for a moment. His gray eyes studied the beaten man who lay beneath him. As he stared into the tanned face of Alex Summers, he considered relenting. This change of heart soon faded. Flashes of the other man trying to manipulate Jubilee flooded his brain.  
  
Just as Bobby was about to bring his fist down Kurt decided to intervene. He grabbed his arm imploringly. His demon-like features were fixed into a kindly expression. "Bobby, no..." he whispered.  
  
BAMF!  
  
Bobby choked on the pungent air that surrounded him. His gray eyes began to water as he discovered he was now standing. He soon became alarmed. Where was Alex? More importantly, where was he now? Fanning his hand in front of his face, he peered around. He continued to cough and wheeze. Then he blinked several times through the wisps of smoke to find himself in the Summers' living room.  
  
"What? How did...?" Bobby kept himself from completing his query when he saw the glowing warmth from Kurt's golden eyes. A surge of annoyance pumped through his veins as he stared at his friend. He knew Kurt had a tendency to embrace his pacifist tendencies, but that gave him no right to impose his views on this situation. "What did you think you were doing?"  
  
Kurt shook his head empathically. "Bobby, I only vanted to help. I did not vant you to do something you vould regret." He patted Bobby's shoulder.  
  
Bobby frowned at him bitterly and pulled away from Kurt. "Do something I would regret?" he repeated. "You have no idea what was going on. You had no right to do what you did. It was strictly between me and Alex."  
  
"Perhaps, mein freund," Kurt agreed quietly, folding his hands together. "But you had no right to attack Alex the vay you did, no matter the history between the two of you."  
  
Bobby scowled at the German standing next to the mantel. Usually, Kurt's compassion and empathy for others was a refreshing outlook. He was the first one to provide perspectives of others who fought against the team. According to the former priest-in-training, differences on both sides should be understood, not feared or resented. Bobby often found himself humoring the somewhat idealistic Kurt, but tonight he was not in the mood.  
  
"You weren't there," he informed him flatly. His eyes fell over a framed, black-and-white photograph of Jubilee sitting on the mantle. He picked up the picture, his fingers gently tracing her delicate, youthful features. His breathing became slower and less ragged. A strange calm drifted over his tensed body.  
  
"You didn't see what Alex was doing to Jubes," Bobby continued, gazing at the stunning countenance in the picture. His voice was noticeably less edgy. Abruptly, he placed the photograph back on the mantle and turned away. He could feel his insides hardening as he remembered the scene he witnessed moments earlier. The thought of losing Jubilee now tore away at him mercilessly. He hunched his shoulders slightly in response.  
  
Kurt gave him a quizzical look, tail swinging behind him. "Vat did you see him doing to the child?" he inquired gently.  
  
Bobby shook his head, the clarity of the images still crisp in his mind. "I... I can't even talk about it," he spat out. His stomach churned with anger and disgust for Alex.  
  
"Vat is it, mein freund?" Kurt prodded, still perplexed. He circled Bobby so that he would be facing the young man. "I know that Alex is no doctor, but he did the best he could."  
  
Horrified, Bobby stared at Kurt. He could not quite believe his own hearing. Kurt was empathic, but there was no way he could ever find what Alex was doing commendable. "What?" he asked, his mouth drying out. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Alex did vat he could, but he really needed Annie's help in the end." Kurt continued. As he observed his friend's incredulous expression, he realized it was his turn to be confused. "Bobby? You did know Jubilee was sick, ja?"  
  
Bobby's steely gray eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. _Sick? Annie was there?_ His forehead wrinkled as his brain processed the information. "No...I didn't know," he mumbled, leaning against the wall.  
  
"The child vas running a high fever," Kurt explained, eyeing his friend carefully. From the way Bobby was grimacing, Kurt surmised this was news. Minding his friend's reaction, he decided to proceed slowly. "Alex had to get her into a bath to cool her down. She vasn't vell enough to get undressed, so he helped her."  
  
Bobby stared at Kurt, who was wearing a guileless expression. "Are you serious?" he finally asked, guilt and shame hovering over him. Interspersed with these emotions was a high concentration of embarrassment. Unfortunately, these feelings were old companions of his from what he thought was a lifetime ago. Immediately, he felt the color drain from his face.  
  
"Annie told me vat vas going on before I teleported. That's vhy she needed to talk to me. She vas coming here to take care of Jubilee." Kurt placed a three-fingered hand on Bobby's upper arm. He was concerned that his friend was about to pass out. "Bobby, vat's vrong? Come, sit down." He motioned to one of the overstuffed armchairs.  
  
Bobby shook his head. He remembered Alex trying to tell him something about Jubilee, which probably involved the story Kurt just relayed. It all made sense. It was all very innocent, just as Alex implied during their confrontation. When Bobby saw the other man hold a naked Jubilee in his arms, he had probably caught them as they were heading to the bathroom. There was nothing duplicitous about Alex's actions. He was not there to seduce Jubilee and take her away from Bobby. He was not there to ruin Bobby's chance at happiness. He was simply there to care for an ailing Jubilee; he was simply there with good intentions. Nothing more.  
  
Because he read something entirely different about the situation, Bobby tried to beat the hell out of Alex for it.  
  
There was also the realization of how his inner demons played a role in what transpired. These fears and insecurities that welled up inside were unfounded. The negative sentiments, hidden to him deep beneath his consciousness, drove him into a crazed state of mind. The past was not going to repeat itself as he postulated earlier that night. Losing what he considered the best thing that ever happened to him was never a possibility. He was not going to be alone again. There was no threat to what he held most dear in this world.  
  
Except for Bobby himself.  
  
Finally, Bobby stirred from where he was standing. He raked his gloved hands through his sandy hair. "No, thanks. I... I'm..." His voice trailed off momentarily. "I'm an asshole."  
  
"Vhy vould you say that, Bobby?"  
  
"Because, Kurt, I am. You can't argue with that kind of logic."  
  
"I beg to differ. I have known you to be nothing to be a good, fair man. Although tonight, your actions might illustrate a different story."  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
"So, vhy, Bobby? Vat happened tonight? Vat made you act this vay? I have never seen you like this. I know that you and Alex are not the best of friends, but..."  
  
"I don't want to talk about now."  
  
"Fine, Bobby. But you'll have to soon."  
  
"At any rate, it's not important now."  
  
"It vill be important ven you apologize to Alex."  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
"You also should know that he's going to ask vhy as well. He deserves the truth behind your actions."  
  
Bobby mulled over Kurt's words briefly. As much of an asshole Alex truly was, Bobby had to admit he did owe him something. An explanation as to what compelled his behavior tonight would certainly be expected as part of the atonement process. He knew that he felt quite humiliated about the experience as it stood. He was also aware that he was going to be cross- examined by Alex about jumping to conclusions. Finally, he recognized the fact that the other man would be justified should he reject it all.  
  
Then he exhaled loudly, a subtle act of frustration that was directed towards himself. Peering over at the blue-faced Kurt, he nodded in agreement. "You're right," he admitted reluctantly, wincing.  
  
Kurt's sharp teeth protruded from his mouth via a sympathetic smile. He inferred Bobby's contorted features were from not only mental discomfort, but from physical pain as well. His golden eyes traveled to Bobby's hands, which had been used to pummel Alex Summers moments earlier. He noticed that one of them was now swollen. The glove that encased it was nearly bursting at the seams.  
  
"Ve should look at your hand first," Kurt suggested gently, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. He hoped by treating Bobby's wounds, the other man would be more open to talking about what drove him to attack Alex in the first place.  
  
Bobby nodded reluctantly. "Sure, I'm game for that." Then his brows furrowed together. "No offense, man, but isn't Annie here? Maybe she can take a look at it."  
  
Kurt motioned him towards the kitchen. "I doubt she'd have the time for you given she already has two patients upstairs to take care of."  
  
"That and you tried to beat up my boyfriend," a soft voice drawled wryly.  
  
Bobby sheepishly peered over at the entrance to the living room. Looking beleaguered from the evening, Annie shook her head at him. The dark-haired nurse had a hand towel draped over a shoulder from wiping Jubilee's fevered face earlier. Then she sauntered towards the two men. Her dark-blue eyes bore deeply into Bobby's boyish face.  
  
Bobby cradled his throbbing hand with care. From the way she was glaring at him, he thought she was contemplating hurting his other hand. "Hey," he greeted weakly. Then after a brief moment of silence, he asked, "How's the patient?"  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Which one?" she responded sarcastically, eyeing his hand. "The one with the fever or the one who has swollen jaw?"  
  
He hung his head, pressing his lips together. He definitely deserved that one. "Both?"  
  
"Jubilee is upstairs, resting. Her fever's gone done a little bit. I have to go to check on her soon."  
  
"I should go---"  
  
"No, Bobby. I'll do it."  
  
"And the other one? I mean Alex."  
  
Annie sighed. "I'm not going to shriek bloody murder at you," she told him quietly, ponytail swinging. "Because I've had a long night. Sure, I was scared when I heard what was going on. A fight breaking out while I'm trying to care for a patient isn't my idea of great working conditions... And yes, I was ticked to find out what you did. However, I also know you well enough now to know that you wouldn't act like you had your head up your ass without what you believe to be a valid reason. So, I'm just going to save my lecturing for another time. Until then, I'll take a look at your hand."  
  
Surprised, Bobby slowly nodded. "That's very big of you," he remarked, his voice cracking slightly.  
  
She wrinkled her pert nose at him. "Well, I need to get some ice for Alex's jaw," she informed him brusquely, heading towards the kitchen.  
  
Bobby's eyes soaked the floor in front of him as he and Kurt followed her. "Listen, I feel badly about that," he began glumly.  
  
She inhaled sharply, flicking on the lights to the spacious and bright kitchen. "I'm not the one you owe an apology to," she replied as she stood over the sink. She motioned for him to join her. "From the way I see it, you've got two people to talk to."  
  
Bobby grimaced as she proceeded to gingerly remove his glove. "Two?" he asked, grinding his teeth. Besides Alex, Bobby wasn't aware there was someone else who was owed an explanation.  
  
Kurt opened the refrigerator. He was delighted to find a bottle of his favorite beer and some leftover steak with truffle butter. His stomach rumbled inside his wiry frame. Eagerly, he gathered the items from their respective shelves and closed the door with his tail. He gracefully glided along the hardwood floor and pulled up a chair from the kitchen table.  
  
"Two," Annie affirmed, taking his wrist and studying his hand. "There's Alex, and then there's Jubilee."  
  
Bobby frowned at her, perplexed. "Jubes?" He could not remember saying anything derogatory about her during the fight.  
  
Kurt opened the bottle of Red Stripe. "She probably heard you two going at it," he piped up, taking a swig. "_I _could from down here." He jumped up from his chair to search for some silverware.  
  
"Thanks, Wagner," Bobby groused, scowling at his friend who gave him a cheeky grin in return. Then he yelped as Annie ran her fingers over his knuckles. "What happened to a nurse's tender touch?"  
  
She raised a brow at him. "Where did you hear that one?" Before he could respond with quip, she said, "Kurt's right. Jubilee heard what was going on and started to react. The fact that she had a fever didn't help any, either. All she wanted to do was to run out of the tub. I swear, I had to practically sit on her to keep her in. She's a lot stronger than she looks."  
  
Unconsciously, Bobby smiled. He always liked that aspect of Jubilee. As protective as those around her were, she was fiercely determined to deal with any threat she came across. She was a far cry from the damsel in distress some men around the mansion seemed to go after.  
  
Annie continued, turning his hand over and fanning out his fingers. "She's nuts about you though," she commented thoughtfully. "Given your behavior tonight, I can't imagine why."  
  
"I feel badly about what I did," Bobby pointed out through gritted teeth. He was slightly annoyed that the nurse was dredging up his actions after dismissing his apology. As for his pain, his hand felt like it was throbbing wildly. He couldn't remember the last time he hit anyone with such intensity. Sighing, he stuck out his other hand and generated several cubes of ice into the kitchen sink. Silently, he watched the nurse collect them into a plastic bag to create a makeshift icepack.  
  
Annie began to search for a dishrag to wrap the icepack in. She then stopped herself, remembering who her patient was. Placing the bag over Bobby's injured hand, she said, "Nothing's seems broken. Looks like you've gotten off easy. Just keep this on you for a little bit. That should take care of some of the swelling and discomfort."  
  
"Thanks, Annie." He noticed that she was not looking directly at him, but merely focusing her gaze on his hand. Like Kurt, Bobby, too, was aware of the nurse's wariness of mutants. His aggression towards someone she cared about did not help matters. Gently, he reached for her shoulder. "I'm sorry if I scared you tonight... I'm just... I..."  
  
She stepped away from him and nodded. "Could you make some more ice? I need to take care of Alex, too."  
  
Upstairs, the two patients were sharing quarters following the aftermath of this evening's altercation. Alex dimmed the light radiating from the bedside lamp in Jubilee's room. He feared the glare would rouse her from slumber. When he saw that she was still asleep, he sank back into the chair he had pulled up alongside her bed.  
  
His placed his tanned fingertips against his temples and massaged them tenderly. In addition to his wounded jaw, he found himself developing a headache as well. He inwardly prayed the Advil he ingested after rummaging through Jubilee's medicine cabinet would begin to work soon. He wasn't sure how much more pain he was willing to experience for one night.  
  
His head pounded as he recalled the events that transpired. After Kurt had teleported himself and Bobby out of the room; Annie had poked her head between the doorframe and the door. Of course, she was upset, but she calmed down when she remembered she had someone else to care for. She had efficiently assisted Jubilee out of the bathtub, dried her off, and helped her into a pair of white, cotton pajamas with blue and green stripes. If Jubilee had been aware of the raucous outside of the bathroom, she did not demonstrate it. The young girl had been rather sleepy once she was dressed. Alex remembered her body being weightless in his arms as he and Annie helped her into bed.  
  
Much to his relief, the lukewarm bath had done a great deal. Jubilee had seemed more comfortable than she was earlier that evening, which was evident from her immediate drift into sleep. Annie then took her temperature to discover it was near normal. After making sure Jubilee was settled in, she focused her attentions on him and his swollen jaw. Tired and simply hurting way too much, Alex had quickly dismissed her fussing, asking for an icepack for his aching mandible.  
  
Alex's tanned fingers gingerly brushed against the side of his face. This gesture was met with a cringe. The surrounding nerves emitted a sharp pain. It was similar to a fire that raged, but this sensation moved up and down his face. The only silver lining was that his jaw had not been fractured.  
  
His blue-green eyes narrowed, the memory of how he received the injury seeping into his mind. For a moment, he contemplated storming out of the room in order to seek out his attacker. He vacillated between demanding an explanation and exacting retribution. Each option had their merits, but he was more inclined to indulge the latter. Unfortunately, his battered and sore body refused to cooperate. In the end, he found himself relegated to watching over Jubilee for the moment.  
  
Alex decided to settle on pondering upon the possible reasons for the unprovoked assault. He racked his brain, tracing back events prior to tonight. Since his return to the mansion, he had done his best to extend the proverbial live branch to Bobby, only to have his attempts rejected. If they could not be courteous to one another, Alex figured they could simply exist in the same environment. There were no rules dictating that because they were teammates they automatically had to be friends. After all, his brother and Logan continued to have their differences, but managed to work together. Why couldn't the same apply to this situation?  
  
Initially, the approach worked. In fact, it worked so well that Alex forgot about Bobby and the feelings of awkwardness altogether. He honestly thought he could continue about his business without dealing extensively with Bobby. He honestly thought he could move past it all.  
  
Then there was the run-in in the garage. Bobby seemed so confident that Alex had done something to Jubilee. He knew the other man had a lot of gall, but he never imagined that it would compel Bobby act so irrationally. The conviction he displayed then was just as strong tonight. He was hell- bent on operating under whatever theory he decided to apply to the situation. Despite Alex's denials, Bobby was determined to hold him. Bobby's insistent, fuming voice stating that he had actually seen Alex do something to Jubilee echoed in his head. But what exactly did Bobby think he saw?  
  
Alex shook his head, somewhat incredulous by Bobby's behavior. The way he perceived the situation; Bobby should have been the one to be pummeled. He was the one who possessed less than honorable intentions toward Jubilee. Alex had wanted to relay that during the mêlée. He had been waiting to confront Bobby over the issue. However, he remembered Jubilee was nearby. He decided there was no need to embarrass the young girl in his efforts to deal with Bobby. Looking back, he wondered if he had made the right decision.  
  
He was roused from his musings by slight creaking of bedsprings. Leaning forward in his seat, he noticed Jubilee was lying on her side, facing him. The glow from the bedside lamp cast a soft light across her angelic features. Her long, thick lashes began to flutter to reveal her cerulean eyes. A slender hand absently brushed a lock of dark hair from her forehead.  
  
"Hey," he greeted, blue-green eyes uneasy. He wasn't sure how she was going to react to seeing him upon waking. Anything would be better than the belligerent young woman he had to deal with earlier this evening. After a brief pause, he asked, "How are you feeling?"  
  
She yawned. "Better," she replied, still heavy-lidded. "Not as hot."  
  
"Good," he said lightly. He noticed her face was not pink anymore and her eyes lost that glazed and lost look. "I'm glad you're feeling better. You scared me for a little bit there."  
  
Jubilee chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. "Listen," she began, taking a deep breath. Her sapphire gaze fell across her lap. "Things are still kinda fuzzy to me, but I remember... I remember saying some things... Some terrible things that I didn't mean..."  
  
Alex shook his head. He winced, discovering the movement caused some pain. Despite the physical discomfort, there was a sense of relief he received from her words. However, he could discern how uncomfortable she was discussing it. "Don't worry about it," he sighed wearily. "It's no big deal."  
  
She slowly scooted herself up into a sitting position. Propping the pillows behind her, she said, "No, it is. I know I mouth off every once in a while, and some of the stuff I say is kind of annoying and juvenile at times. Even I know. But those things I said... They were hurtful... I just want you to know that that's not my style."  
  
"It's okay, really." He reached to pat her hand, but thought better of it and drew his hand back. There was still some unresolved tension between them. The simple gesture might exacerbate things even more.  
  
Then raised her face to meet his. Her expression suddenly became more pensive, which was evident from her wide eyes. "Alex?"  
  
He could see the wheels turning inside her skull. Immediately, he knew what was weighing her mind. Embarrassment soon washed over him, forcing him to turn away from her. A part of him was bargaining with God to wipe her memory clean of tonight's events.  
  
Regrettably, none of that was going to happen.  
  
Jubilee cleared her throat to break the silence that blanketed the room. She placed a hand on her forehead, willing herself to keep a collected front. Granted, the pieces of the night she was beginning to remember were still sketchy at best, but they were there. She could vaguely remember his hands pulling off her shirt, unzipping her jeans, and unclasping her bra... Her stomach began to do somersaults and her lower lip quivered slightly.  
  
"Um, I know I was kind of out of it," she began, trying her best not to look at him. "It's just that... I seem to recall...things. Like the nasty things I said and..." Her voice trailed off, showing her ambivalence to even complete her sentence or face what she already knew.  
  
Alex was tempted to finish the thought for her since he often did so for other people. However, he realized that now was not the appropriate time. He simply sat in his seat and waited for her. His sense of dread kept him glued there.  
  
"So you saw...everything?" she asked, a part of her hoping he would deny it all and tell her no. Deep down, she was aware that was not the case. It was hard enough for her just sitting across from him right now. Her embarrassment over their run-in the other day was still fresh in her mind. Now, there was this...incident that seemed to add to the pile of awkward tension. Her sapphire eyes focused on him, begging.  
  
He looked away from her, blushing. He nodded silently. Then he moved away from her slightly. "I..." he began, then he stopped himself from finishing his sentence.  
  
That was definitely not the response she wanted. Jubilee grabbed a pillow and buried her face deeply against it. "As if my life couldn't get much worse," she moaned. The first time she was nude in front of someone else did not occur under the circumstances she anticipated.  
  
"Jubilee," he drawled and edged closer to her side. He gently pried the pillow from her arms. Then he leaned towards her, his face close to hers. "It's OK. I mean what happened tonight... Consider it all forgotten. I haven't really thought about it. Why should you?"  
  
She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, please," she answered with a twinge of sarcasm. "That's so easy for you to say. You weren't the one naked and delusional."  
  
"That's true," he replied, tossing the pillow on the other side of the bed. "But there's nothing to be ashamed of, considering the circumstances and all. You were sick and you needed to get into the bath. Given the condition you were in, there was no way you could make it by yourself. So, you had some help...unless you wanted to stay feverish, which I wasn't going to let happen."  
  
He sighed before continuing, "When I was in the hospital, this kind of thing happened all the time. Who knows how many people saw me in my birthday suit? And I wasn't even awake for those times. Thinking about it is kind of embarrassing at first, but then you forget..."  
  
She gave him a skeptical look. "Well, consider yourself luckier than me," she muttered. "You don't have to see those people on a daily basis---"  
  
"Annie." He smoothed a tendril of black hair from her cheek.  
  
"Yeah, but that's different. She wants to see you like that now..." Even thinking about the intimate activities of the person sitting across from her was quite disconcerting. She shook her head, avoiding his aqua eyes. "This is different and you know it. There's no argument you can formulate to make me change my mind. Besides..."  
  
When she did not finish her thought, Alex frowned at her. "Besides what?" he asked, prodding her to go on.  
  
Jubilee tried to draw back from him, but found her back sliding against the pillows. She sighed. "Besides, this just adds to the other crap that we haven't talked about yet. So much for being born under a lucky Chinese zodiac sign..." Then she cleared her throat. "Anyway, I know you want to. You've been stalking me and I've been avoiding you like the plague."  
  
"Well, I---" he began, and then he stopped himself. "Stalking you?"  
  
She raised a finely arched brow at him. "What else would you call it?" she asked, folding her hands together. "I saw more of you this week than I have the first two years you were here."  
  
He pressed his lips together, not bothering to acknowledge how perceptive she was. Over the course of the past few days, he had attempted to stage 'convenient' run-ins so that they could talk. It sounded as if Jubilee completely saw through these transparent plans. Peering over at her sheepishly, he nodded.  
  
She was about to quip about his strange covert tactics when she noticed the right side of his face was swollen. Her fingers hovered over his jaw as she inquired, "What happened to you?"  
  
He pulled away from her and leaned back in his seat. "Bobby happened," he replied flatly, irritated with the memory. He winced from the throbbing pain. "That's what you probably heard while you were in the bathroom with Annie."  
  
She stared at him, dubious. Bobby? She had never known him to be violent ever. The idea of him striking someone else was so out of character for him. Here, was the guy who often relied on his humor and wits to defuse volatile situations. Bobby would never engage in such behavior. He tended to rely on his abilities, which involved more indirect, distant means. Typically, the pugilistic behavior was left to the likes of Logan. But Bobby? No, she could never imagine him doing something like that.  
  
Just as she was about to scoff at Alex's claim, she stared deeply into his blue-green eyes. Anger mixed with candor in his gaze, which relayed the conviction he had in his assertion. Either he was a damn good liar or Bobby truly decked him. Given Alex's own reputation of being somewhat of a Boy Scout, the former would be highly unlikely. Yet, she was reluctant to ever believe that Bobby was capable of exacting such violence.  
  
"Why?" she finally asked, her forehead wrinkling with a concerned and confused frown. "Why would he hit you?"  
  
Alex snorted, rolling his eyes in disdain. "Does he ever need a reason?" he countered. "He just went after me."  
  
Her frown deepened. "But he wouldn't... I know him. Bobby doesn't fly off the handle like that."  
  
_Apparently, you don't know a damn thing about him then_, the younger Summers brother observed inwardly. Instead of voicing his dissent, he decided to attend to the matter at hand. He cleared his throat, his level f discomfort rising with each passing second. "About the other day---"  
  
"Before you say anything else, I'm asking for you to please don't turn my life into some lame, mutant version of an after school special," Jubilee said, turning her face towards the window. "The thought of receiving a lecture on the birds and bees from you or Scott leaves much to be desired. Then there's the threat of Wolvie shredding Bobby into a million pieces."  
  
Alex shook his head and narrowed his blue-green eyes into razor thin slits. "As if he doesn't deserve it," he muttered bitterly.  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means the guy you're dating is a jerk."  
  
"Listen, I know you're ticked about your fight, but I---"  
  
"It's not only about that, Jubilee, and you know it."  
  
"What? What else is there?"  
  
"Come on, you can tell me. I kind of figured it out anyway."  
  
"Figured what out? I don't get it."  
  
"Please. Obviously, you didn't want to go to Planned Parenthood. It was written all over your face when I ran into you. Bobby forced you to go so he could get you into bed with him. That's it, isn't it? Listen, do not make the mistake of letting ---" Alex stopped in mid-sentence when he noticed her wide eyes were now as round as saucers. Her mouth was set into a grim, expressionless line. His eyes then traveled lower to her hands, which gripped the comforter so tightly her knuckles were turning white.  
  
A deafening silence descended upon the room. The two of them simply sat across from one another, staring. Every muscle in both their bodies ached from the tension exerted. Each individual was bracing for that next move, the next words in their informal dialogue. Finally, after what seemed like a century, Jubilee broke the silence.  
  
"You must have a pretty shitty picture of me in your mind," she told him flatly, eyes flashing under stony brows. "Your words speak volumes of what you must think of me."  
  
He shook his head emphatically. "No, that's not the case at all," he protested. "I respect and care about you. I just don't want you making a huge mistake."  
  
It was her turn to shake her head, raven locks rippling down her slim shoulders. "A mistake?" she repeated, her voice squeaking. "A mistake? You're calling the best thing that's happened to me a mistake?"  
  
"You might think that now," Alex informed her coolly, "but you have to think about this with your brain, not with your feelings. What Bobby is--- "  
  
Jubilee cut him off. "Is a total gentleman." She scooted away from Alex, placing more distance between them before continuing to speak. A graceful hand brushed through her long, dark hair. "I can't believe this. First, I'm a child who can't make rational, competent decisions and now, I have severe neurological deficiencies. Gee, thanks, Alex. What other labels would you like to affix to my forehead?"  
  
He frowned at her. "That's not fair and you know it."  
  
"You're not the one being fair."  
  
"I would have to argue with you on that one."  
  
"Who the hell do you think you are, trying to tell me what to do and think?"  
  
"Someone who's looking out for your best interests."  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"I think I've exercised a great deal of restraint here. Despite what you think, I would never run to Logan or Scott about something like this. There were times when I second-guessed myself, but I never did it. I wanted to talk to Bobby to work things out. You know, handle things like adults. Unfortunately, Romeo wouldn't have any part of it. Surprise, surprise."  
  
"Listen, I'm not going to speak for what Bobby did. I have no idea what's going on there. However, I can say that Bobby.... Bobby didn't know."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He didn't know about me going. He doesn't know still. I haven't told him."  
  
"Then you two..."  
  
"Not yet," she explained, her face burning with embarrassment. Then she threw her hands into the air. "Why the hell am I telling you this? It really is none of your business."  
  
Secretly, Alex was pleased, but he nodded to show his feigned agreement. He watched her grimace slightly. She appeared to be less irate than she was moments earlier. Perhaps she would be receptive to answer the question that was now eating away at him. "Why?"  
  
Jubilee turned to him, her expression softened, but grave nonetheless. "Because I wanted to be ready," she replied quietly. Her crystalline eyes were shining as she spoke, punctuating the sincerity in her words.  
  
He sighed and pressed his lips together. The verbal and nonverbal cues--- the apprehensive mannerisms and the defensive stance---she provided implicitly told him that this would be her first time. In spite of the new information she relayed to him, he wanted to make sure that she was not being pressured into anything. Then he said, "It's a serious decision."  
  
"I know," she whispered, leaning back against the pillows. From the way she sounded, he assumed that the issue had been on her mind for a while. "I know it is. Believe me, after tonight, I'm going to talk to him about everything." There was a part of her that wondered whether or not Bobby's sudden burst of violence had something to do with this.  
  
He studied her serious countenance carefully. "If you guys decide---" he began.  
  
"_When_ we decide," the young girl corrected him, shifting in the bed. She almost laughed when she observed Alex's stunned expression. Instead, she decided to execute a subtler, mature approach to dealing with him. "Oh, don't look so shocked. It's going to happen... Just not any time soon."  
  
Alex tried his best not to give her the reaction he knew she wanted. It took every ounce of mental strength to remain as neutral as possible. If he thought his sense of awkwardness was high prior to this conversation, it was practically off the charts at this moment. "Okay, then," he said, beginning to rise from his chair. "I think I'm going to see where Annie is with my icepack."  
  
Jubilee maintained her own straight face. "Sounds like a plan."  
  
He pushed the swivel chair back to her desk and then headed towards the door. Then he paused in his footsteps to turn towards her again. "Listen, I'm sorry I just made all those assumptions... I didn't mean to hurt you. I only wanted to make sure you were fine and not getting into something you weren't ready for. You know that, right?"  
  
She studied his swollen, earnest face thoughtfully from her bed. There was a part of her that desired to hold his wrongs against him after tonight. As much as she wanted to continue attributing negative aspects to him, hearing his apology made her consider otherwise. "I do," she finally said, hiding her hesitancy.  
  
He looked pleased---well, as pleased as a man with a puffy face could appear. "Goodnight, Jubilee," he said quietly, striding to the door with his hand on the knob. "Get some rest."  
  
"'Kay." She began to burrow beneath the modern floral prints and rosy solids of her comforter and blankets. Before her head hit the pillow, she drawled, "Alex?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Nodding, Alex exited the bedroom. He realized that Jubilee did not specify as to why she was thanking him. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that there was no need.


	17. Chapter Seventeen I'm With You

Here's the latest installment. Please enjoy.

Thanks again for the review and feedback. Please keep them coming.

Chapter Seventeen: I'm With You  
  
The winter sun radiated with a blinding intensity the following morning. In spite of this, the snow that had fallen the night before remained a fixture upon the landscape in Westchester. The grass and surrounding shrubbery were now covered in a lush blanket of white. The snow provided a stark contrast of the unusually azure sky that hovered above. Winds that swirled the dead branches on the property's many trees had long since died down.  
  
Inside the Summers' farm-style, white clapboard house, a young man with a boyish face and sandy hair was dozing. Instead of reclining in the queen- sized bed nearby, he had chosen to sleep in a chair next to the bed. As sunlight streamed through flowing, cream-colored curtains, he stirred ever so slowly. Opening his gray eyes, he cringed. However, he was careful not to groan or make any other noises to break the early morning silence. His neck was stiff and tight, and his legs were slightly cramped. Apparently, there was a reason why sleeping in the sedentary position was not popular.  
  
Bobby shifted slightly in the swivel chair he had slept in. Stretching his arms over his head, he blinked several times and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His mind buzzed as it reeled from the events of the night before. For a brief moment, he almost believed they were part of some strange dream. He winced when he realized he had a physical souvenir. In addition to his stiff extremities, his hand was still sore from last night's melee. Fortunately, the swelling had considerably lessened over the course of the night. Initially, he was not sure what was worse---the physical discomfort thanks to the altercation with Alex combined with sleeping in a chair, or the embarrassment from his misreading of, well, everything. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. Either way, Bobby was not feeling all that good about himself.  
  
He raked his uninjured hand through his sandy hair. Memories of what transpired following his conversation with Annie suddenly became crisp in his head. After she finished examining his hand, Bobby wanted to see Jubilee to see how she was doing. His concern for her well being had been overwhelming. He wanted to explain what happened and to apologize for scaring her. All he could think of was that sweet face that made him feel like all was right in the world.  
  
Before he could leave the kitchen, Alex had entered the room. Bobby felt a twinge of guilt when the other man turned his head, revealing a side of his face. Puffy and swollen, Alex appeared as if he were chewing tobacco. There was a part of Bobby that wanted to roll around on the floor, laughing. If anyone deserved to look battered and beaten, it was definitely Alex Summers. However, Bobby's culpability refrained him from being overly amused. Instead, he grimaced, painfully aware of his own faux pas.  
  
Just as he was about to apologize for the incident, Bobby had found himself cut off by Alex. The other man had waved off Annie's attempts to attend to his injuries. Instead, he had simply stood in front of Bobby, expressionless. There was no anger or righteous indignation. It had appeared as if he were studying Bobby very carefully. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Bobby stepped back, his back pressed against the refrigerator door. The first thing he noticed was how the other man was in so much pain. Before he could attempt to apologize to Alex again, the younger Summers brother interrupted him again and demanded to know why Bobby had attacked him in the first place.  
  
_ Bobby had suppressed the urge to scowl at the other man, but inhaled sharply to soothe his quickly fraying nerves. "Listen, I thought I saw something tonight... Something that made me believe that Jubes was being hurt."_  
  
_An incredulous look flashed across Alex's swollen face. "Are you serious?" he had cried. "You thought I was doing something to hurt Jubilee? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard. I would never, ever hurt that girl. For God's sakes, Bobby, I was trying to care for her because she was sick!"_  
  
_Bobby had groaned inwardly, wondering why Alex was making things much more difficult than they needed to be. There was a part of him that sympathized with Logan, who probably had more dealings like this with Scott. Perhaps it was something genetic in the Summers' blood. "I know that now," Bobby had sighed._  
  
_"Now? What the hell did you think I was doing to her?" Alex had been clearly in pain as he continued his interrogation. Every once in a while, his eyes would squeeze shut as if to block out the pain. Yet, he decided to press on. "I mean I know we've had our differences over the years, but I would never harm someone just to get to you. Despite what you think of me, that is totally not in my nature."_  
  
_Bobby had pressed his lips together firmly. He had wanted to say that he was aware of all that. However, that was not the truth and he knew it. To fully disclose everything meant admitting that none of that ever crossed his mind. After several moments, he had nodded empathically._  
  
_Apparently, this was not a satisfactory response for Alex. "That's it?" he had demanded, nearly rubbing his sore jaw.  
_  
_"That, and I'm sorry," Bobby had informed him, gray eyes sincere, "for thinking that you would hurt Jubes and everything else. I was wrong. Again, I am sorry."_  
  
_Alex had stared at him following the apology. It was as if he were absorbing Bobby's words, dissecting them carefully in his head. Then he leaned towards him, giving the other man a closer view of his puffy face. "You never answered my other question."_  
  
_"Alex," Annie had pleaded from her seat at the kitchen table. She appeared as if she was going to rise from her seat to intervene. It was apparent that she had been educated as to the history of the feud between the two men. The young nurse felt she had witnessed violence for one night. "Alex, Bobby apologized. The rest of it isn't important. He's sorry and that's the end of it."_  
  
_He had turned to her, glaring. "It's not the end for me," he had replied flatly. Then he had peered back at Bobby, who was studying him. "Come on, Bobby. Tell me what you think I was doing to Jubilee. I mean it must have been really bad for you to do this to me." He pointed to his face angrily._  
  
_Just as Bobby was about to provide his reluctant response, Alex had cried out in pain and gestured to his jaw. Alarmed, Annie and Kurt jumped from their seats. Bobby stood as an observer as Annie scolded her boyfriend for not allowing her to examine him sooner. After a brief once-over, she announced that nothing was broken, but that Alex would need to take some codeine tablets for the discomfort and not talk for the rest of the evening._  
  
_Then she looked to Bobby plaintively. "Bobby, do you think---" she had began, her request for ice cubes all too clear. She soon censored herself when she received a withering look from Alex. The young nurse quickly patted her boyfriend's shoulder and said, "You know what? We should really get you back to the mansion anyway. I have all my equipment there."_  
  
_Bobby had breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had not been looking forward to informing Alex of what set him off in the first place. His gray eyes conveyed his gratitude to Kurt, who had offered the speedy exit. His friend simply winked back at him._  
  
_Oblivious to the covert communication, Annie then turned to Bobby. "How's your hand? Do you think you can stay with Jubilee until Scott and Jean get home?"_  
  
_Bobby had nodded, tearing his eyes from the sulking Alex Summers. "Yeah," he finally replied, his gaze falling upon the dark-haired nurse. "My hand's not as bad as it once was..."  
_  
_"You'll forgive me if I'm not jumping for joy," Annie had remarked wryly, pulling a card from her jacket pocket. "When she wakes up, try to get her to drink some liquids---water or juice. If she's hungry, I'd be careful. Better stick to soup or something. This has my pager number. In the event that something is terribly wrong, you can page me." Cautiously, she peered over her shoulder at Alex and Kurt. She looked as if she were afraid of being harangued for offering this act of kindness. Fortunately, Alex was listening to an overly chatty Kurt._  
  
_Bobby had nodded in gratitude, stuffing the card into the pocket of his leather pants. "Thanks, Annie," he said, sheepish. "I don't deserve it."  
_  
_"You don't," she agreed frankly, "but Jubilee does and more. Listen, this whole thing with Alex... That's going to blow over in a couple of days. He'll forget. Besides, he's not the one you have to worry about."_  
  
_"What do you mean?"_  
  
_"Well, in case she remembers any of it when she wakes up, you owe her an explanation, more so than Alex."_  
  
_"I know."_  
  
_"Bobby, I mean an explanation for everything. Not just about the fight itself, but also the irrational reason as to why it happened in the first place."_   
  
Bobby turned his gaze to Jubilee's sleeping form, Annie's voice echoing inside his head. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her slender chest, edging closer to her bedside. While he had shared a bed with her before, he continued to be quite amazed as to how peaceful she looked as she slept. He envied her, wishing that he could experience that kind of tranquility now.  
  
True to his word, he had stayed with her the entire night, waiting for her to awaken. Fortunately, she had managed to sleep soundly throughout the night. He was thankful, deciding it would be better for her to rest. As his gray eyes swept over her angelic face in repose, he also noted that he was relieved for another reason as well. He was not sure if he really wanted to trouble her with his attempts to explain what had happened that night. She had already been through enough.  
  
There was a mixture of emotions that clouded every fiber of his being. They seemed to overwhelm him when he settled by her side. First, there was relief, which stemmed from the knowledge that Jubilee had not been in any danger from Alex or his alleged intentions. Meanwhile, there were his feelings of worry had been elicited from concerns regarding her health.  
  
Then there was his fear was from the proposition of talking to his girlfriend about the events from the night before. At first, he could not place his finger as to why he was feeling ambivalent. Sure, the rationale behind his actions had been proven to be erroneous. The resulting embarrassment could only be viewed as natural. Yet, as Bobby mulled over the events, he realized that was not the problem. As one of the more grounded individuals at the mansion, he did not mind appearing the fool every once in a while. Some of his failed pranks were a testament to this. Being harangued publicly by Scott or the Professor taught him to be humble over the years.  
  
No, it was something else. It was something that made him experience a great deal of trepidation. It was something that made his stomach churned inside of his body as he contemplated broaching the subject with her.  
  
The conclusion he had first jumped to---believing she had allowed Alex to seduce her.  
  
As the thought reverberated through his mind, Bobby considered the underlying message it contained.  
  
I didn't trust you.  
  
He winced with discomfort. The image of her hurt expression wounding him more than the dull pain that radiated from his hand. Part of him wanted to rationalize the situation. Bobby could easily cite previous romantic experiences as evidence. He was the one who was hurt and disappointed. While the circumstances differed in each case, the end result was the same. He found himself repeatedly left alone. Then there was the strange behavior and interactions he had witnessed between Jubilee and Alex. Given this, he had every right to be wary, to be cautious.  
  
But things were different this time.  
  
He was with Jubilee.  
  
However, tonight Bobby found himself questioning his newfound happiness. He allowed his insecurities to cloud his judgment. He doubted her; he doubted their relationship. For a moment, he believed that he was in a familiar and painful situation. Looking back on the events of last night, he knew that no amount of arguing his past history should have swayed him to think that. He had should have known better.  
  
I didn't trust you.  
  
Sighing, Bobby wanted to kick himself. During their time as a couple, he had never felt so safe and so secure with someone else as he did with her. When he was around her, she made him feel like the most important person in the world. He was her everything, and she made sure he knew that when they were together. There was nothing she had said or done to convince him she was being duplicitous.  
  
So why then? Why was it so easy for him to believe that she would allow Alex to seduce her? What could possibly compel him to think of such thing? Bobby realized Jubilee would immediately pose these questions once he explained the motivating force behind his actions. He racked his brain in order to come up with an answer. His brain, unfortunately, was refusing to cooperate. Inwardly, he willed himself to focus.  
  
He soon realized that it was not only the irrational nature of the account not only placed him at a loss for words. There was also the possibility of hurting her. Immediately, the picture of her despondent face flooded his brain, tearing him apart inside. The idea of causing the person he cared about so deeply any kind of pain was damning. It was something he swore to himself that he would never do. He had been so determined not to do anything that could be remotely construed as something to drive her away. As he grew more pensive about the impending conversation, he could not help but to scoff at himself and his attempts to cling to his happiness. Both were ultimately failures.  
  
Bobby was startled from his thoughts when he noticed the ethereal figure next to him stir slightly. He watched as her eyelids began to flutter open. Those sparkling, old-soul blue eyes peered up at him curiously from beneath thick, dark lashes. The young man with the boyish face and sandy hair leaned forward in his chair.  
  
"Hey," he whispered, gray eyes roving over her angelic face. Instinctively, he clasped her hand with his uninjured one and pressed it against his cheek. It never ceased to amaze him how soft and inviting her skin was. There was nothing more Bobby wanted to do than to crawl into bed with her and feel her arms around him. Then he would know that all was right in the world.  
  
Jubilee gave him a small smile, finding the stubble from his face ticklish against the back of her hand. "Hey yourself," she greeted back. She shifted slightly in the bed, rolling over on her side.  
  
"How are you doing this morning?" he inquired, his expression unusually serious. He was relieved to observe how well rested Jubilee appeared, not at all like the feverish girl Annie had portrayed her to be last night. Her skin was devoid of the pinkish hue of illness and her eyes were alert. Still, it would be more reassuring to hear from her as to how she was feeling.  
  
She blinked. "Better," she replied. Her sapphire eyes studied his face carefully, tracing over the lines created from his concerned frown. While part of her was touched upon observing how distraught he was, it was something she did not like to see. Then she broadened her smile and squeezed his hand, adding, "Really, Bobby."  
  
For a brief moment, he appeared comforted by her answer. "Is there anything I can get you? Are you thirsty? Hungry? I can run right downstairs and get you something..." His level of anxiety suddenly reached its height as he uttered the last sentence. Perhaps by busying himself with caring for her would help ease his mind regarding the task at hand.  
  
She shook her head, raven hair with midnight blue streaks forming a halo on the pillow. "No, I'm okay," she told him. She tried to stifle a yawn, but to no avail. "Just a little worn out, you know. You being here makes things a lot better."  
  
Guilt began to seep into his expression. "No problem," he said, his voice cracking slightly. Desperately, he was fighting to hide his discomfort. "I'm just glad to see you're going to be fine. You had me worried there for a while."  
  
"It's not going to be that easy to get rid of me," she teased him, gazing up at him. She noticed how anxious he seemed at that moment. It confused her since he was now aware that she was on the mend. What else could there be?  
  
He lowered their clasped hands. "Maybe I should leave and let you get some rest," he suggested, drawing his hand back from hers to stroke her hair. He was growing increasingly convinced that he needed some brief reprieve to sort out his thoughts.  
  
Her cerulean eyes were shining as they stared deeply into his face. "No," she protested softly, as she propped herself on an elbow. "No, I want you to stay... I mean if you don't have anywhere else to go."  
  
Bobby sighed, feeling what was left of his inner resolve being chipped away. It was those eyes---hell, it was everything about this beautiful girl that made him weak in the knees, willing to say yes to anything she proposed. While it was an exhilarating sensation, he also found it to be disconcerting as well. Reluctantly, he nodded his assent and eased back into his chair.  
  
"I can stay," he said, his heart jumping as she beamed up at him. He was crazy about those dazzling smiles. There was a part of him that was convinced she reserved them especially for him. They seemed to lift him in the air, instilling a sense of being alive. He only hoped that after discussing the incident with her he would continue to receive them.  
  
Before he could even contemplate as to how he would broach the subject with her, Jubilee began to sit up in bed. Winter sunlight streamed in through the curtains, casting a soft glow across her beguiling face. Her expression became grave as she straightened the slender column of her neck. "What's up?"  
  
His gray eyes were quizzical. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You've been acting kind of nervous," she pointed out sagely, piecing together the evidence immediately available in her mind. "It's like you're afraid to tell me something."  
  
Bobby felt his heartbeat race, thudding in his ears. IHow does she do that? /I As much as he wanted to open up and get the conversation over with, there was something holding him back. He was not quite ready to hurt her yet. No, he was not ready to hurt her at all. "What makes you think that?" he asked, trying to be evasive.  
  
Jubilee inhaled sharply. "I told you I was going to be fine and you're still acting weird," she told him matter-of-factly, "So, if it's not my health that's causing you grief, it must be something else."  
  
His eyes lowered from her face and proceeded to soak up the comforter. He wished that he could devise some graceful, tactful way to bring up the subject. Instead, he could only focus on his remorse over his initial inability to trust in their relationship. This was coupled with his ever- growing anxiety. As he continued to sit with her, it was this fear---fear of possibly losing her---that threatened to swallow him completely. Simply considering it made his stomach queasy, his palms sweat, and his heart heavy inside his chest.  
  
She chewed on her lower lip nervously as she continued to study the preoccupied young man sitting by her bedside. Her own apprehension increased. She had never seen Bobby like this before in all the years she had known him. The young girl yearned to reach out to him in order to take away whatever it was causing him angst. It troubled her to watch him like this.  
  
Then her sapphire eyes flicked to his other hand, resting in his lap and swollen. Her mind reeled back to the conversation she had with Alex the night before. "Is it because of the fight you had last night?" she asked reproachfully.  
  
Surprised, he returned his gaze to her face, which was lacking any kind of judgment or wounded quality. "How did you know about that?" he asked, feeling overwhelmed with dread.  
  
"Alex told me about it," Jubilee confessed, tucking a lock of silky hair behind a delicate ear. "I didn't believe it at first. It wasn't like the Bobby Drake I know. But now that I've seen your hand and how it resembles his face, it's hard to argue otherwise."  
  
A blush stained Bobby's cheeks. "What else did he tell you?" he asked, wondering how Alex illustrated the situation. Usually, Bobby would have suspected the other man of attempting to taint Jubilee's opinion. Since Bobby was cognizant of the fact that he was in the wrong here, such thoughts were quickly dismissed.  
  
"Not much really," she said, her eyes meeting his. "Just that you sucker punched him...for no reason. That, and he's really pissed about it."  
  
Bobby breathed a sigh of relief. As much as he hated to do it, he had to give the other man props for remaining as closed-mouthed as he did about the altercation. However, Bobby soon remembered that he still had to provide the rest of the details. His shoulders sank at this realization.  
  
Finally, he decided to break the thick silence that descended upon the room. With a nervous flash in his gray eyes, he raked his unhurt hand through his sandy locks. He could easily joke and deflect the conversation, steering it towards other topics. Yet, he knew that would be wrong and in a way, it would be belittling her.  
  
"It's true," Bobby confessed, sheepish, "with the exception of the no reason part. At the time, I thought I was justified."  
  
She was perplexed and stunned. It was still taking some time for her not to be incredulous over the idea of Bobby being that aggressive. What was even more mind-boggling now was what brought him to that state of mind in the first place. Unable to formulate a more eloquent series of inquiries, she simply asked, "Why?"  
  
He took a deep breath, willing himself the courage not to falter. _Here I go,_ he thought. While he wanted to provide a thoughtful response, he blurted out whatever came first to his mind, much to his chagrin. "Last night, I was trying out Hank's new telescope, and I saw you and Alex. You were naked and he---"  
  
"So you thought he and I were..." Her voice trailed off as the final picture crystallized in her brain. The young girl's mouth formed an expressionless line. "Oh."  
  
Despite being crestfallen, Bobby pressed on. "I know I should have known better," he admitted, taking one of her hands into his. He thought that by holding her hand, he would be able to find the strength to go on with the conversation. It was a soothing and comforting reminder of how safe he felt with her. He only prayed that she would allow him to continue and not close him out.  
  
Much to his relief, she did not draw her hand away. Instead, she shook her head, hair rippling down her slim shoulders. "Why?"  
  
Bobby was still reeling from Jubilee's reaction. She was much more calm and collected than he anticipated. There was no anger or indignation that could be detected in her voice or expression.  
  
"When I saw you with him, I just stopped thinking. It was like I was in autopilot, making assumptions without considering other possibilities. I guess I went kind of nuts." Bobby looked somewhat disgusted with himself and his inability to read the situation with any level of maturity.  
  
"So you were afraid history was repeating itself?" Jubilee prodded, still holding onto his hand. "You thought I was going to go away with Alex like the others?"  
  
He was taken aback. In spite of their years of close friendship and recent romance, it still unnerved him as to how easily she read him. "Yeah, but it wasn't that for the most part," he clarified. "That was quickly replaced by not wanting to lose you. The thought of that scared me to death."  
  
Her sapphire eyes widened. "Really?" she asked.  
  
"Really," he replied, squeezing her hand gently. "At that moment, it wasn't about Alex or how I felt about him. Jubes, this is the first time I've ever been really happy with anyone. I wasn't about to allow that and you to slip through my fingers. I mean I can be myself around you and you accept me, bad jokes and all. You make me feel like I'm this complete person. When we're together, things make sense. Seeing you and Alex like...that made me delusional. Suddenly, the prospect of losing all of that became very real. It was like witnessing my worst fears being actualized."  
  
As she listened to him, she could not help but to feel self-conscious. It never ceased to amaze her as to how strongly he felt about her and about their relationship. To hear someone profess such things in regards to her indeed made her feel special and cherished. For someone who often sat on the sidelines when it came to relationships, it continued to be a new and thrilling experience.  
  
A thoughtful wrinkle furrowed her delicate brow. Her old-soul blue eyes then gazed into his boyish face. His earnest words tugged at her heart, filling her with sympathy for his position. Yet, there was something that held her back. She continued to peer over at him, clasping his cool hand with her own. "That's dumb," she finally said.  
  
Her words stung him and he flinched. Bobby was uncertain as to which part of his speech she was truly referring to. "What?" he managed to ask, his mouth growing quite dry.  
  
"Your conclusion," she explained, shifting slightly in the bed. "It's dumb."  
  
The morose quality faded from his expression, but was still surprised by her observation. "Well, I know that now," he told her sheepishly.  
  
"Yeah, well..." Jubilee knew that no amount of chiding was going to make things better. Apparently, Bobby had punished himself extensively---more than she ever could. Still, there were things that needed to be said aloud. "If you have to know what happened, I was really sick and he was only trying to help. There was nothing more than getting me ready for a bath. I just wish you would have taken some time to think about the situation."  
  
Bobby nodded in understanding, recalling the information relayed to him by Kurt and Annie. "I know. Me, too."  
  
"It's just that I feel the same way you do," she went on, chewing on her lower lip carefully. "Everything you said about the way you feel when you're with me... The same is true from my perspective. I know that you're the one I want to be with, Bobby. I also know your track record with relationships. Right now, I'm telling you that I would never ever hurt you. Next time, you need to consider that before you decide to get all macho or something. Leave that kind of thing to Wolvie." Her eyes sparkled playfully as they gazed upon his swollen hand.  
  
Up to this point, he had been expecting to deal with a blowout, where he would be on the receiving end of some angry remarks. Most women would have been furious with him for making such assumptions. There were others who might have laughed at his irrational insecurities. Not Jubilee. She was willing to accept his insecurities and taking the time to understand his point of view. To his relief, she made it clear that she shared his feelings. Most importantly, she was still here. He smiled ruefully at her, wondering how he had ended up being so lucky.  
  
His smile faded when he noticed the young girl in bed turning a bright shade of pink. Alarmed, he asked, "Are you okay?"  
  
She pressed her lips together and turned her face from him. "Yeah, it's nothing."  
  
"Jubes, you're red. After what you've been through---"  
  
"No, I'm fine. It's not the fever or anything like that."  
  
"Then what is it? Are you sure you're not feeling well? I can call Hank or Annie to check things out."  
  
"Really, Bobby. That's not necessary."  
  
"Then what is it?"  
  
"Bobby, I'm not---"  
  
"Keep in mind, I'm not going anywhere as directed by you."  
  
Jubilee sighed, slim shoulders sinking. "It's stupid," she muttered, flushing a deeper shade of pink. "Really stupid. You're going to laugh or make fun of me. Maybe a little bit of both, I don't know. Either way, I really wouldn't blame you."  
  
Bobby raised a brow at her. From her tone, it was quite clear she was not in the mood to talk about whatever it was vexing her. He had come to know it quite well in the days leading up to his confrontation with Alex. Immediately, he was reminded of the unfinished business between them. While he allowed her to dodge any direct attempts to determine what was going on, he was bent on not letting it happen again.  
  
"Jubes," he began, scooting his chair closer to the bed. He leaned towards her and grasped her chin with his fingers to turn her face to meet his. "I've just bared my soul to you, talking about things I'm usually not comfortable discussing. Despite how weird or strange I might come off as after doing so, you still want me."  
  
She nodded, confirming his last statement nonverbally.  
  
"So, what makes you think you're not going to be able to find the same level of comfort with me?" he inquired gently. "Unless you're telling some outrageously hilarious joke or planning a prank, there's nothing you could or say at this moment to make me laugh at you."  
  
Reluctantly, her sapphire eyes peered into his gray ones. Intense, unconditional warmth radiated from his gaze. Her normal defenses to shield herself and sometimes, other people, immediately melted away. As much as she wanted to deflect the attention away, she found herself relenting.  
  
"A couple of weeks ago, I went to this clinic right by school." She paused, shaking her head when she saw the look of concern mixed with confusion that spread across his boyish features. "Before you ask what kind of clinic, it was Planned Parenthood. As for that thing with Alex, he and I ran into each other outside of the clinic. That's why I was kind of weirded out whenever I saw him."  
  
He suppressed the urge to drop his jaw. Things became suddenly clear. Had he not been so focused on Jubilee and her struggle to speak, he would have felt another wave of embarrassment wash over him. To his credit, he remained quite neutral. "Oh."  
  
She continued, trying not to allow her embarrassment to get the best of her. Her eyes lowered briefly to the patterns on her comforter. "I went there... Basically, I wanted to prepare myself for when we... I mean I didn't want to be like some stupid kid like I was the other night."  
  
Bobby shook his head emphatically. "Jubes, you were surprised that night. There was nothing you did that made you seem childish. If there was anything I did to make you feel like you had to go and do what you did, I'm sorry." He drew back his hand from hers and began to stroke her hair.  
  
"It wasn't you at all," she corrected in a low voice, her face solemn. "It's me. I was totally scared. It doesn't really exude romance. I've been thinking about that night over and over again, wishing I had reacted differently."  
  
He removed his hand from her hair. "How did you want to react?" he asked, rising from his chair and seating himself on the bed next to his girlfriend. While he wanted to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about, he knew that it was important for her to express her concerns. The fact that she had even disclosed this much was quite a step.  
  
She shrugged her graceful shoulders. "Not all freaked out, I guess." Then she took a deep breath, feeling Bobby's arm drape around her. "So, I thought by going to the clinic, I'd be ready for when we..."  
  
"I think I know where you're going," he said, rubbing her upper arm with his uninjured hand. There was no sense in making her any more uncomfortable than she already was. However, he was still puzzled as to what motivated this frame of thinking in the first place. "But why?"  
  
Jubilee lowered her lashes over her sapphire eyes. "I didn't want to be this baby you would have second thoughts about. Compared to the women you've been with, I don't exactly scream sophistication, you know."  
  
He stared at her, speechless for a moment. There were so many thoughts racing through his brain as he allowed her words to soak in. His first instinct was to simply gather Jubilee into his arms, holding her tightly. Yet, he knew that would not be enough. He had to address her fears and concerns about this topic once and for all.  
  
Finally, he said quietly, "And you called my conclusion dumb."  
  
"Huh?" She drew back from his embrace. It was not quite the response she had been expecting. Perplexed, she studied his boyish face in an attempt to read his intentions. Other than his intense stare, she was unable to discern anything.  
  
He moved slightly, the mattress springs squeaking softly underneath him. "What you just said has to be the craziest thing I've heard in a long time," he informed her, cupping her beautiful face in his hands. He grinned at her in order to take the edge from his words.  
  
She looked at him warily, still quite baffled. "Well, it's how I feel," she told him with a great effort on her part not to sound defensive.  
  
"I know and I'm not invalidating that," Bobby replied softly, fingers tangling in her silken hair. "Well, first thing first. I'm proud of you for taking the initiative in examining the options out there. I just wish that you involved me in the process. Just listening to you now, I can tell it was hard for you to deal with alone. Maybe it might have been easier if we were in it together."  
  
Jubilee nodded, blushing again. It shocked her to hear how perceptive Bobby could be. This was the same man who sometimes claimed himself as rather awkward and befuddled in social situations. Yet, here he was, using his keen insight to read her to a tee. At this moment, it was kind of unnerving how dead on he was.  
  
"And you have nothing to embarrassed about," he continued, noticing her flushed skin that was warm under his hands. "A lot of people get kind of flustered. The same number of people probably mull over the same things you do. You're not being immature or strange. It's a perfectly normal thing, really."  
  
She raised a sable brow at him skeptically. "Oh, and I'm sure the women you've been with before me had similar issues?" she chided softly. "Let's face it, Bobby. I'm not like them."  
  
"And you're saying that like it's a bad thing?" he asked, incredulous.  
  
She frowned slightly. The gesture highlighted the innocence that she often kept guarded from the outside world. "Not entirely. It's just that when we... When we do decide that the time is right, there might be a part of that wishes you were with someone...more worldly about these things."  
  
It was Bobby's turn to frown. He sighed wearily and rested his forehead against hers. "When that moment comes---when we're both ready, it's going to be incredible. It's going to make everything else in the world seem overrated. Do you know why?" His gray eyes bore into those intoxicating sapphire depths.  
  
Jubilee shook her head; oblivious to the answer he was looking for.  
  
"Because it's going to be with you," he said, his voice husky and earnest. "When we're together, I don't waste time, wishing you were more this or that. I like to spend it thinking about how unbelievably blessed I am. None of that's going to change once we sleep together. I'm not going to think about how you compare to the women I've been with. You're my dream. There's nothing more I want."  
  
They lapsed into a comfortable silence for several minutes. During that time, Jubilee placed her hands on Bobby's shoulders. He closed his eyes, feeling relaxed for the first time since before last night. A sense of release washed over the young couple, their anxieties melting away with the onset of a new day.  
  
Jubilee was the first to break the stillness. "God, look at us," she whispered, on the verge of laughing. She bit her lower lip. "A couple of neurotic, insecure people with weird relationship hang-ups. We deserve each other, huh?"  
  
Bobby grinned proudly and kissed her forehead. His lips lingered over the soft skin tenderly. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he told her, circling his arms around her lithe frame and leaning against the headboard.  
  
She nestled her head against his chest, feeling very safe and secure. However, there was something that still weighed upon her mind from weeks ago. Despite her hesitancy in posing the question, she knew she had to press on nonetheless. "Bobby?" she drawled.  
  
As if reading her mind, he quickly answered, "Five."  
  
"How---how did you know?" she stammered, turning to face him. _Since when did Bobby develop telepathic abilities?_   
  
He smiled at her affectionately, stroking her long, dark hair. "I heard it in your voice." His lips brushed against the top of her head as he smiled wryly down at her. "So, you've been...considering?"  
  
She fought the urge to grin herself as she peered up at him. "Yeah," Jubilee replied, the corners of her sapphire eyes crinkling gently. Gravity drifted over her exquisite face as she spoke. "I've been considering it, but I'm not quite ready yet. I mean I want to be someday..."  
  
Bobby brushed her hair from her face, his eyes informing her that he understood. Then he cleared his throat, remembering he had his own unfinished business to air out. "Jubes, there's something else we need to talk about."  
  
Her eyes were as round as saucers. "Not related to this?"  
  
"No, not at all."  
  
"So, what else is going on?"  
  
"You know that movie, 'Meet the Parents'?"


	18. Chapter Eighteen Lean on Me

Here's another chapter. I thought it would be good to explore the feelings of people prior to the impending visit (I'm currently fleshing out that chapter). Enjoy.

Thanks again for the reviews. Please keep them coming. It's good to know what everyone thinks.

The characters belong to Marvel, the story is all mine.

Chapter Eighteen: Lean on Me  
  
Weeks passed since the violent clash between Bobby and Alex. Other than the parties involved and those witnessed the altercation, no one around the mansion was aware that anything happened. While their respective physical wounds healed, there was a lasting friction that belied their interactions following the incident. It was subtler than the animosity that dominated the relationship between Scott and Logan. Both Bobby and Alex made active efforts to avoid each other around the mansion. The two had also signed up for different teams so that they would not travel on various field missions.  
  
During those infrequent times when they were forced to be around each other, the tension that hung in the air could be sliced with a knife. There were the surreptitious glares that were exchanged every once in a while. Muttered insults or remarks were also a part of these limited interactions. These new acts of hostility went largely unnoticed by other team members. After all, it was no secret that the two of them were not each other's biggest fans. What else was new?  
  
Bobby had felt that he had made the effort to extend the proverbial olive branch. He had attempted to atone for his misreading only to have his apology thrown back in his face. It was as if the other man wanted to continue playing the victim. This only served to confirm the negative perception Bobby already held of him. Alex Summers was nothing more than an arrogant, egotistical slug who expected to have everyone fawn over him. He was angry because Bobby was the sole person to stand up to him. At least, that was what Bobby continued to believe.  
  
Not that Bobby was losing sleep over not being able to get along with Alex. He had other pressing matters on his mind. The holidays were coming up. This time of year was often associated with festive decorations, gift giving, and heavy, comforting meals. As Bobby went through his mental list of things he needed to take care of during this hectic season, he remembered another aspect he left off. It was something he knew was unavoidable, but filled him with an overwhelming apprehension nonetheless.  
  
Family gatherings.  
  
Lying back in his bed, Bobby had spent the past several hours mulling over the proposition of returning to his family's Long Island home. This year, he would not be making the trip alone. During a recent phone conversation with his mother, Mrs. Drake had extended an invitation for Jubilee to join the family for Thanksgiving weekend. According to the Drake matriarch, this would present a wonderful opportunity to get to know her son's latest girlfriend and vice versa. As much as Bobby wanted to hesitate, he found himself relenting. Maddy Drake had a way of steamrolling over protestations without being quite so overt about it. It was an art form she refined well over the years.  
  
The young man's boyish features arranged themselves into a preoccupied expression. With much hesitation, he had informed Jubilee of the invitation to meet the Drake family. The two of them had spent some time discussing the visit. Bobby found that he did not have to talk about his family in great depth. As one of his friends, Jubilee was already aware of the Drake family background. She knew of Maddy Drake's pleasant-mannered demeanor that belied a manipulative and prying nature. Her reputation was well known within the circle of friends Bobby kept at the mansion. The young girl was also cognizant of his cousins, Mary and Joel, and their protective inclinations when it came to Bobby. As witnesses to his unhappiness in relationships over the years, the two only wanted what was best for their cousin, whom they considered to be another brother.  
  
Then there was William Drake. Depending on how one viewed it; there was no need to enlighten Jubilee about his father. She had accumulated most of her information over the years. Admittedly, her knowledge was based from conversations she had eavesdropped on when she was younger. In spite of this, much of what she already knew was quite accurate. She had provided Bobby with a blunt assessment. According to her, the elder Drake was social and political conservative, and proud of it. His responses to Bobby's choice in company were a reflection of this. Jubilee had briefly heard about Mr. Drake's bitter and caustic reaction to Opal and later, Rogue. As a result, she told him that she was bracing herself for a less- than-friendly welcome.  
  
Bobby sighed wearily, sitting up in his bed. He desperately wished that she did not come to that conclusion. It was greatly unfair to her. He could tell she was somewhat anxious about the visit in general. Having never been in a relationship before, there was some pressure weighing heavily upon her shoulders. Knowing that Mr. Drake was not going to like her right off the bat seemed to exacerbate things.  
  
Pushing up the sleeves to his navy, crewneck sweater he wore over his faded jeans, Bobby found himself ruminating. Opal had blamed him for not standing up to his father after his vitriolic verbal assault during their meeting. As irrational as she was at the time, Bobby could not help but consider the validity of the argument. He had felt caught in the middle, divided between his father and Opal. Not knowing what to do, he chose not to do anything and instead, focused his efforts on dealing with a more immediate danger posed then. Opal had claimed she experienced more traumas from Bobby's father than from the thugs that attacked them at the restaurant.  
  
Looking back, Bobby wondered if he really wanted to put his Jubilee through something similar. Granted, things were different now. His father had experienced some softening in his worldviews, particularly towards mutants. Perhaps he had mellowed in his advanced age and would not be as hostile towards Jubilee as he once was with Opal. However, Bobby knew that this time, he was prepared to demonstrate that he was a different man as well. Building upon his last visit to the home with Rogue, he knew he would be able to put his father in his place and defend Jubilee if necessary.  
  
But he had to make sure this visit was a good idea.  
  
There was only one person he could talk to. Not only would this person be able to empathize with his concerns and apprehension, but also possessed first-hand knowledge of the Drake family dynamics. Part of this knowledge came from many nights of consoling a distraught and anxious Bobby. However, the majority of this base was attributed to direct experience and observation of the household. Most importantly, he was guaranteed a candid discussion.  
  
Bobby finally reached his destination. His boyish face was solemn as he formed a fist. Then he rapped it against the door. He was about to turn on his heel and saunter away from the door when it slowly swung open.  
  
"What can Ah do for ya, Bobby?"  
  
He flashed Rogue one of his trademark carefree grins. "Hey, Roguey," he greeted as he leaned against the doorway. "I heard your Cajun Spice was out of town. Thought you'd might like a dose of White Chocolate instead." He winked at her teasingly.  
  
She rolled her green eyes at him, opening the door wider and motioning for him to come in. "Ah hope ya didn't use a line like that with Sweet Pea," she told him, invoking the nickname she had given Jubilee years ago. Despite the teasing tone in her voice, she was pleased her friend was now dating the young girl. The Southern Belle thought it had only been a matter of time until the two of them found each other.  
  
Bobby obliged. He stared around the room, feeling a sense of familiarity. He remembered spending some time in here as he confided in Rogue and solicited romantic advice from a woman's perspective. Over the years, she was much more approachable than Jean was when it came to those things. The room was composed of a palette of delicate pinks, soft greens, Gustavian blues, and champagne and gold. Painted, timeworn furniture complemented a patchwork of florals, aged damasks, glistening beadwork, and dressmaker details. The smell of fresh pears wafted in the air faint, but strong enough to detect. It was hard for Bobby to picture Gambit sharing such a feminine space.  
  
He watched her shut the door quietly. "I'll have you know she thinks my pick-up lines are a part of my sex appeal," he informed her huffily, his gray eyes twinkling in an attempt to hide his deception. In fact, the lines often made him a frequent target of some playful swats from Jubilee.  
  
Rogue knew better and saw right through him. "Hah. That's almost as funny as the time Hank and ya tried to sign Logan up for 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'." She adjusted the black leather gloves she was wearing with her cropped jean jacket over a form-fitting, lime-green T-shirt, black cotton drawstring pants and black-and-white sneakers. "Sit a spell," she told him; motioning to the king-sized, sleigh bed.  
  
Bobby nodded as he sauntered towards the bed. He smoothed out the Odelette quilt before seating himself. "Thanks," he told her.  
  
She settled next to him, careful to leave some distance between them. Even though they were both completely covered and she was experiencing better control of her absorption powers, she did not want to take the chance. She supposed it was a part of the deeply ingrained fear of hurting others carried with her since childhood. The rational side of her would argue that there was no danger of accidentally draining someone now. After all, she and Remy had managed to establish a functioning relationship, where touching was now involved thanks to her newfound abilities to restrain the intensity of her powers.  
  
However, there was still a part of her that was reluctant to completely embrace this sense of normality. There would always be a part of her that was looking for something to fall apart. While it was never brought up between them, she thought this mode of perceiving the world was one of the things that made she and Bobby close. That, and they both shared a penchant for fried catfish fingers.  
  
Over the years, the two of them retained their friendship, which often bordered on a brother-sister dynamic. In the beginning, she had suspected that he had been attracted to her. He would flirt with her, throwing out those stale pick-up lines in such a way that she never knew when he was teasing and when he was being serious. She would provide retorts of her own, proving that she had a sense of humor that closely aligned with his. Yet, nothing ever came out of these encounters. Her insecurities and deep- rooted fears kept her from ever reciprocating. Meanwhile, Bobby often sought relationships outside of the mansion.  
  
With the possibility of sexual tension out of the picture, they were able to develop a comfortable rapport over the years. When they thought Jean was dead, Bobby then turned to Rogue for relationship advice from the female perspective. She was just as easy to confide in and helped to expand his views on romance. For Rogue, Bobby was a source of strength and support. During the tumultuous period of her relationship with Gambit, she found Bobby to be a fiercely protective shoulder to cry on. He was the one who validated her feelings of vulnerability and hurt, something she discovered was quite comforting.  
  
Since her return to the mansion from her extended vacation with Gambit, Rogue wanted to make an effort to spend more time with Bobby. She had missed their time together. While Remy was everything a woman could possible want in man, there were things she found in Bobby that she did not have with the Cajun thief. In addition to his sense of humor, Bobby brought a sensitivity most men tried to hide. When he came to her door just now, she could not help but be pleased. It was like a tribute to moments they shared years ago.  
  
"What's on your mind, sugah?" she finally asked, green eyes searching for an answer from his boyish face. "Ya look nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin' chairs. Are ya fishin' for some advice?"  
  
He shook his head in disbelief. "It's that obvious? Here, I was thinking I was playing things cool. Man, I'm glad I never went into covert operations or anything like that. I'd be a goner."  
  
She smiled gently at him, brushing tendrils of white from her face. "Ah just know ya real well is all, hon," she explained, crossing her ankles together.  
  
Bobby nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I guess I'm lucky that way, huh?" Then he sighed deeply. "You're right. I'm here to get some input from you about something."  
  
Her ivory forehead crinkled with a concerned frown. "What is it? Anythin' wrong with Sweet Pea?" she inquired, hoping that he would say no. Like most of Bobby's friends, Rogue thought he and Jubilee made quite a good couple.  
  
"No, it's nothing like that," he replied in a reassuring voice. "Jubes and I are great. We've never been happier, really." His gray eyes took on a warm, soft quality at the mention of his girlfriend. Even talking about her compelled his heart to swell inside his chest and the corners of lips lift in a smile.  
  
Rogue breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good to hear, hon. Ya had this ol' gal worried for a second." She paused, watching him press his lips together. "If things ain't wrong with y'all, then what is it?"  
  
He lifted his chin to look at her. The Southern Belle's bow mouth formed a worried line. His stomach was wringing inside of him from guilt. He hated being the one responsible for her concerned mood. It was a role he had attributed to Gambit and during his less honest days. He thought he would never see the day when he would be causing her any kind of trouble.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he said, "You know how my mother knows about me and Jubes?"  
  
Rogue nodded, green eyes somewhat apologetic. Looking back, she desperately wished there was something she could have done to keep Hank's lips from flapping. "Yeah..."  
  
He pressed on, not noticing her atoning posture. "Well, my mom wants us to come spend Thanksgiving weekend in Long Island. It's the weekend, Rogue, not just the dinner itself. Do you know what this means?"  
  
She wanted to respond, "Breakin' the fat pants from out of the closet?" However, she realized the gravity of the situation when she saw how preoccupied her friend seemed. Instead, she placed a gloved hand on his knee in a placating manner. The answer to his question was all too clear. She knew what was vexing him.  
  
Rather, it was who.  
  
"Sugah, Ah know yer dad ain't the most open-minded of people," she began, patting his knee gently. "But folks don't stay the same forevah. Look what happened at that rally. Ah mean, that ol' rascal was the last person Ah'd expect to speak out against Creed."  
  
Bobby nodded, raking a hand through his sandy hair. "You're right, and I know that," he admitted sheepishly. "It's just that he's a stubborn guy. I mean it took him a while to accept the fact that he can't walk without his cane. That's something that recently affected his life. These beliefs are ones he's had for most of his life... They're not like pants that you can change out of easily. I guess I'm not sure."  
  
"Ya not sure of what, hon?" she prodded, her brows furrowing together in confusion. "That he ain't changed all that much? That's he gonna treat Sweet Pea like me 'cause she ain't normal? Ah guess what Ah mean by normal is being a mutant and not some WASP princess."  
  
Stunned, he nodded with wide, gray eyes. "Very astute observation." That made two women who were able to read him so easily. Well, no one really accused him of being some man of mystery anyway.  
  
The Southern Belle rested her angular chin in the palm of a gloved hand. "Ah can see how ya think that," she remarked thoughtfully as she played with a lock of chocolate-brown hair. "Aftah all, look at his track record. He ain't the poster boy for tolerance, that's for sure."  
  
"You see, that's just it," Bobby said quietly. "It's one thing for me to come back home and listen to him pontificate about what he considers right and good in the world. He's my dad, and I've lived with that stuff for the longest time. I didn't like it, but I've lived with it. It's not something I'm exactly proud of---being the son of a bigot. So, I've strived to eschew those attitudes and try to rise above that. I didn't want to be like that ever."  
  
He smiled bitterly as he continued speaking. "You know what's funny, Rogue? I've devoted a good part of my life fighting for a world that embraces tolerance. I risk my life for a dream where someday, we'll all get along. The sad thing is that I can't even find that in my own family."  
  
She raised her arched brows at him. "Sounds like ya don't let him get to ya anymore, sugah," she observed, giving him an encouraging smile. There was once a time when Bobby was eager to please at any cost. He would have sacrificed his own feelings rather than to rock the proverbial boat. She was quite pleased to watch her friend grow stronger in his convictions over the years.  
  
"I don't," he admitted, glancing at her briefly and shrugging. "Now, I can tell him off. But with someone else---things are a little more complicated. They don't come, expecting to be attacked for things that they can't control, nor would they feel comfortable enough to really defend themselves."  
  
Rogue was silent for a moment, allowing his words to sink in and permeate the air in the room. Quickly, things began to crystallize. "Like me?" she asked softly. "Ah take it that's why ya decided to pop in to see me and not Jeannie."  
  
He nodded. "Yeah," he replied glumly, his shoulders slumping slightly. A bitter smile crossed his lips. "There's a part of me that regrets bringing you there in the first place. You really didn't need that---not on top of what you were going through already with Gambit."  
  
"Oh hush now," Rogue admonished gently, drawing her knees to her chest. She rested her chin between her knees. When she did so, she suddenly looked quite innocent and young. "Ya ain't responsible for things he says... Ah never held ya accountable."  
  
Bobby almost winced, detecting the hint of sadness in her voice. "But I brought you there. I was responsible for that."  
  
She hugged herself a little tighter. "Yeah, Ah guess that's right, but how were ya to know he wasn't gonna be on his best behavior?"  
  
"But he hurt you," he friend pointed out ruefully. "That's something I don't take lightly---then or now."  
  
She shook her head. "Sugah, hearin' folks say bad things about what Ah am comes with the occupation," she informed him with an air of quiet dignity. Her green roved over his youthful face affectionately. "Besides, Ah've heard much worse from mah own daddy. Tell ya the truth, his words hurt the most."  
  
"But it doesn't mean you should accept it," Bobby protested, shifting slightly on the bed. Rogue, with her temper and passion regarding what's right and what's wrong in the world, would have been the last person he thought would be forgiving of bigoted attitudes. For a moment, he contemplated asking if she had a lobotomy during her time away from the mansion.  
  
She fiddled with the buttons on her jacket. "Ah didn't say that, hon," his friend corrected. "Ah just said Ah heard worse and took yer daddy's words in stride. It's somethin' ya build up as a mutant. Ah'm sure Jubilee feels the same way. Lord only knows she's learned a thing or two about mutant-human relations while bein' here at the school."  
  
He grimaced, gray eyes soaking the hardwood floor. She probably had a valid point when it came to how tough Jubilee appeared. Before her time at the mansion, she had been living on the streets of Los Angeles in various malls. The young girl spent two years relying on her wits and abilities in order to survive. He was also more than aware of his girlfriend's smart mouth since he had been the target of some of her remarks prior to their relationship. Based on this information, Jubilee should have a hardened exterior, able to laugh off anything Mr. Drake had in store for her. Adding to this picture of invincibility were her repeated assurances to Bobby that she would be fine.  
  
Yet, Bobby was reluctant to totally buy into that. He knew that she was eager to please him. Her visit to the clinic, in his mind, was evident of that. Since they started dating, he was able to see more of the vulnerable side she had desperately fought to conceal. There was a delicate fragility that lay beneath the cheerful humor and dry comments. It was this aspect that elicited feelings of protectiveness, which compelled him to make a private oath to himself to do whatever he could to never see her hurt in any way.  
  
He shrugged his shoulders. Finally, he said, "You're right. But it's just that she shouldn't have to expect that. I mean meeting the family is intimidating as it is. My dad just adds another element of anxiety to the situation."  
  
"For her or for you?" Rogue inquired, folding her hands together. From the furrow she detected in his brow, she could tell the situation was weighing heavily upon him as well. I Same old Bobby, /I she mused with affection dancing in her emerald eyes. I Trying to reach the unattainable of dealing with a happy, functional family. /I  
  
Bobby gave her a subdued smile. "Pick one." For him, it was a combination of both.  
  
The Southern Belle grabbed a pillow from the bed and placed it on her lap. She allowed her elbow to sink into the down pillow. "Maybe when they meet... Well, ya might be surprised, sugah."  
  
"Or it could end in total disaster."  
  
"Could be, though that ain't the only possibility. Quit bein' so pessimistic. Ya startin' to sound like Wolverine."  
  
"It's the most probable one, Rogue. Just a note, I'm sure the hairy and heavy one is going to be thrilled over the comparison."  
  
"Couldn't resist."  
  
"Let's get back to the original discussion. I'm living with the fact that I'm going to relive previous introductions to female friends with Jubilee. I've tried to put on a brave face for Jubes, but you know what? I'm afraid it's going to blow up into some kind of knock-down, drag out fight, leaving horrible repercussions. Namely, people I care about getting really hurt."  
  
"Now, ya don't know that for sure."  
  
"It's hard to argue with what's happened in the past, Rogue. He's been pretty consistent in his discrimination. Even with the non-mutant girls he's met, there was always something wrong. I don't even need to tell you what he thinks of mutant women in general. Honestly, what chance does Jubes have at getting a fair shake? As wonderful as I know she is, will my father really see that?"  
  
Rogue's emerald green eyes were sympathetic as she peered over at his dismayed face. "Bobby, not wantin' to see the one ya love hurt is perfectly natural," she told him. "But yer family defines where ya came from, but not who ya are."  
  
"You can't argue that I don't have the right to dread this entire holiday get-together," he replied, looking uncharacteristically glum. "I should be worrying about my mother bringing out embarrassing baby pictures and asking us where our relationship is going. You know, normal stuff that other people have to angst over."  
  
His friend smirked at him. "That's normal to ya, sugah?" she asked, almost incredulous. If only she and Remy had such issues involved in their relationship. "That's sad."  
  
Bobby grinned sheepishly, acknowledging his skewed perception. Then his smile disappeared as he asked the question he had been waiting to pose for some time now. "Are you sorry I brought you there?" he asked, suddenly bracing himself for whatever answer would come.  
  
Rogue pressed her lips together in careful contemplation. What he had really meant to say was, "Do you think Jubilee is going to be sorry I brought her there?" He was seeking reassurance that he was not going to expose someone he cared about to a potentially hurtful situation. She could see the desperation in his eyes---the need to validate the idea that things would work out.  
  
Finally, she shook her head emphatically. "No, Bobby, Ah'm not," she informed him, green eyes shining. "'Cause in spite of what was said, Ah found out what an amazin' guy ya are. No matter what happens, Jubilee's gonna come to the same conclusion if she ain't already."  
  
Early evening found a weary Logan and Sam making their way to the kitchen. The two had just finished an intense session in the Danger Room and were in dire need of some refreshment. Initially, the older man craved some alcoholic libation, but was quickly reminded by the miner's son from Kentucky that Cook prohibited alcohol from her kitchen. This piece of news was quickly met with a glare.  
  
"This is a school, y'know," Sam pointed out cheerfully, still wearing his field uniform which consisted of black leather pants, a padded, black leather jacket with small, yellow x-symbols on the upper arms and a large x- symbol on the back over a white T-shirt. A pair of goggles held back his golden hair from his forehead.  
  
Several years ago, he would felt uncomfortable engaging in playful ribbing with Logan. There had been times when he felt as if he were not truly accepted into the fold as a full-fledge member. However, the past year serving on Ororo's team eradicated any remnants of his doubts and insecurities. In addition to learning about the potential leader he could be, the young man had the opportunity to get to know Logan beyond the snarl and adamantium claws. Sam came to befriend a man who was lonely and filled with as much self-doubt as he had been. That was a comforting thing to know.  
  
Logan snorted. "You sound like I need reminding," he told him flatly, his scowl deepening when he noticed the twinkle in the other man's pale blue eyes. It was times like this when he swore Guthrie was getting as bad as Icicle.  
  
The two men then ambled into the spacious kitchen. The room glowed with a warm, inviting light from the new fixtures installed last week. This contrasted sharply against the stark, gray cold outside of the mansion. It was almost like a welcoming reprieve from the bitter winter air.  
  
As they wandered further inside and towards the stainless steel refrigerator, Logan's nostrils picked up on a familiar scent. It was a mixture of bubblegum and cinnamon. The smell evoked memories of happier, peaceful days filled with affection and closeness only experienced with one person. A part of the self-professed loner suddenly became nostalgic. With a faint smile tugging at his mouth, he turned his head in an attempt to locate the source.  
  
Jubilee was seated at the kitchen table nearby, curled up in one of the chairs. She appeared ethereal and untouchable, like in a classic painting, by simply sitting there. Wearing a yellow, open-knit sweater and a pair of khaki, drawstring pants with loafers, she appeared rather pensive over a steaming cup of green tea and scattered pieces of loose-leaf paper with pages of equations. Her long, silky hair was piled on the top of her head with two pencils. Sparkling sapphire eyes shone warmly at him as he crossed the room and approached the table.  
  
"Hey, kid," Logan greeted, drawing his hands from the pockets of his faded jeans. It had been some time since he had last seen her. The Professor and Scott had assigned him to missions that took him away from Westchester for several weeks at a time. While his absence was nothing like the one he had taken when she was much younger, Logan felt the same loneliness and stabs of guilt nonetheless. He had wanted to continue to make up for lost time by becoming more involved in her life. There was so much he felt he was missing with each passing day.  
  
She smiled up at him, seeming oblivious to the internal conflict that bubbled within him. "Hey yourself." She watched Sam emerge from the refrigerator with two cold bottles of Coke. "Hi, Sam."  
  
The tall, wiry Southern gentleman handed one of the bottles to Logan, who nodded his gratitude. "Hi, Jubilee," he replied. His pale blue eyes lingered upon her face for an instant before casting a solemn gaze upon the plastic bottle in his hands. Then he cleared his throat, which produced a rough sound similar to sandpaper.  
  
"What have you been up to? I feel like it's been ages since I've seen either one of you." She took a sip of her tea and motioned for both to sit down in the vacant chairs across from her.  
  
Logan obliged, pulling wooden chair from the table and settling down. "We've been in the field until this morning," he answered, the two trademark points formed in his hair shining under the kitchen lighting. He had showered prior to coming upstairs. "Guthrie and I thought we'd get some time in the Danger Room. You know, to work out some frustration from being away so long."  
  
Unlike Logan, the elder Guthrie did not seat himself at the table. Instead, he chose to remain standing. "Yeah," he said, echoing Logan sentiment. "It's really hard being gone from the people ya know for so long. Ya almost forget where ya head is for the most part."  
  
Jubilee watched him shift from foot to foot. "Sounds rough," she mused. "But you're both here now, and just in time for the holidays. Now, you two can look forward to relaxing. Hopefully, it'll be enough for you to get your heads oriented again." Her sapphire eyes glanced at Logan and then at Sam, punctuating the sincerity in her statement.  
  
Sam smiled sheepishly as he stared back at her. "Ah hope so, too," he replied quietly. Then he raked a hand, calloused from his time in the coalmines of Kentucky with his father, through his blond hair. "Well, Ah should get cleaned up for supper. Ah'll see you around later."  
  
"See ya," she said to his quickly retreating back. For a moment, she could have sworn he was scurrying away. It was almost as if he were desperate to get away. Had she had less pressing issues in the forefront of her mind, she would have speculated as to what was going on.  
  
Logan found himself staring after Sam as well. In contrast to the young girl sitting across from him, he was able to pick up on the other man's motives for abruptly leaving. His reliance on his senses for everyday survival could easily pick up smell and the subtle nuances in body language from the young man. Usually, Sam Guthrie was laid-back and easygoing, wearing his emotions easily on his sleeve. However, he was emanating something very, very different.  
  
"You know," he drawled in his gravelly voice and leaning towards his young protégée. "If you and Icicle weren't together, I'm sure Guthrie would be gearin' up for his chance."  
  
She looked at him hard. She was incredulous and tempted to burst out into peals of laughter. As Paige's former roommate and best friend, Jubilee was privy to the protective treatment from the elder Guthrie during his visits. The older brother role was something he was keen on playing even away from the Guthrie home. Besides, there was nothing indicative in his behavior that conveyed any interest in her. To even consider any plausibility in what Logan was saying was...creepy.  
  
"Are you kidding?" she finally asked. "I've known him since I was like fourteen. There's no way he thinks of me like that. I'm like another little sister."  
  
"Kid, I can tell these things," Logan told her, watching her eye him skeptically. When she did that, he was suddenly reminded of the younger Jubilee, forced to grow up quickly and as a result, became wary of the world around her. He hid his amusement with a Stoic façade.  
  
She shook her head emphatically. "Maybe you need to get your radar checked, Wolvie," she responded with a smirk. The gentle sparkle in her cerulean eyes took the edge from her expression. "He could have been acting weird because he's not comfortable around us Yankees."  
  
A low growl emanated from Logan's wiry chest in response to her cheeky hypothesis. In spite of her fast denials combined with her unassuming perspective, he was not comfortable with letting things go. He had come to know Sam well throughout the years. Shy, but extraordinarily candid for someone with his life experiences, the young man wore his thoughts and emotions very freely for the most part. Given what Logan had just witnessed in the kitchen, something was definitely afoot.  
  
"Say what you want, kid," he said in his most gruff tone belied by the gentle warmth in his gaze. There was a part of him that did not completely accept the fact that the former mall rat had grown up to be a stunning young woman who attracted male attention. He was still reeling from the fact that she was dating Drake.  
  
Instead pursuing the issue any further and dredging up unresolved feelings, Logan decided to let things lie---at least for a little while. He raised a brow at her, glancing at the spread of papers in front of her. "So, homework in the kitchen?" he asked casually. "Thought you had a nice room back at the house to study. Well, unless you're itchin' to corner Cook for food."  
  
She stuck out her tongue at him, a response that was characteristic of a younger Jubilee. Then she shook her head, snorting. "If you really want to know," she replied, "all's not well over there."  
  
He popped the cap from the bottle. "What do you mean?" he asked, taking a swig. The sugary, bubbly liquid tickled his fiery, dry throat.  
  
The young girl looked at him warily. She was not unsure if she could truly confide in him but unsure regarding the information she was going to disclose. "Scott and Jean have been fighting a lot lately," she confessed after a brief consideration. An internal struggle to process what had been going for the past few weeks played out in those old-soul blue eyes. A deep, concerned frown mirrored and even accentuated this conflict.  
  
Logan's brows shot up with a mixture of surprise and interest. Trouble in paradise? It was something he could hardly fathom. The two were, irritatingly (perhaps only in his mind), the picture of a happy couple. Clasped hands and those sugary-sweet stares they often exchanged was enough to make him retch twice over. "What's going on?" he finally inquired.  
  
"It's like World War III every freakin' night," she told him, appearing rather weighed down from simply thinking about it. "But they try to be kind of sly about it. You know, having it out in the living room or kitchen when I'm upstairs---that kind of thing. They don't think I hear them or know what's going on, but I do, Wolvie. I'm not the stupid, clueless kid they like to think I am... And, you know I have to thank for it? Frosty."  
  
Logan's expression suddenly became quizzical. Emma? What would she have to do with Red and One-Eyed? He knew that the kid was not exactly fond of her former headmistress, but to hold the icy and distant blonde responsible was questionable. From the flash of resentment in Jubilee's sapphire eyes, he could tell she honestly believed Emma was the antagonist in the situation. Her tone---filled with conviction---added to the presentation.  
  
Before he could query the young girl he considered the closest thing he had to a daughter, she began to address his silent confusion. "Frosty's made a point by being perfectly clear that the institution of marriage is not something she can appreciate," she said bitterly with a grimace.  
  
The lines in the loner's face deepened as he mulled over her words. That was kind of a vague explanation. "What do you mean?" he inquired.  
  
"For the last two months, she's been making these visits to the house and like, throwing herself at Scott," Jubilee explained glumly, making a face expressing her disgust with the situation. "Even when me or Jean's around, she flaunts her feminine wiles like it's going out of style. Her outfits are even skimpier than usual when she comes around. It's like she doesn't give a damn... Naturally, Jean gets upset and wants Scott to distance himself from Frosty.  
  
"You would think that her husband would respect her feelings and try to accommodate even if her speculations are totally ungrounded," the young girl continued, placing her chin in the palm of her small hand and looking very troubled and dismayed. "You would think he want to assuage her feelings or something. I mean it's Scott and Jean, after all. I thought he would do anything for her. I guess I was wrong. Even though Scott swears up and down that nothing's been going on, he and Emma still hang out. I'm no psychic and I don't spy anymore, but I don't like what's going on."  
  
Logan was somewhat taken aback. It was all too improbable to accept. Apparently, the two were worried about their public image being tainted in some way. There was no indication of any kind of trouble between the golden couple---at least, none that he could decipher and he was adept at figuring these things out. While he had once carried an unrequited torch for the stunning redhead and yearned for the demise of her marriage to a man he considered the epitome of everything that irked him, Logan wanted to see Jean happier more than anything else in the world. Over the years, he learned to sacrifice his personal strivings for a happy ending on the backburner for her. He had grown to care for her that much.  
  
Hearing this piece of news ate away at him inside. It was not only for Jean, his friend and the person who came the closest to understanding what made him tick, but also for Jubilee. Obviously, the recent upheaval in the once-happy and functional household was taking its toll on her. It was as if she was let down by the whole thing, realizing that happiness is not something to take for granted. She was forced to grow a little older and wiser from a life experience once again.  
  
Feeling a surge of paternal protectiveness flow through sturdy adamantium body, Logan brushed his calloused fingers against her smooth cheek. "Kid," he sighed. Granted, he was not much for talking things out or coddling her. That simply was not his style. He was a man who felt that his actions spoke volumes beyond any words he could manage. Yet, he wanted to show her that he would be her safe haven in spite of the fact that others had failed.  
  
She tried to smile for him, an instinctive reaction from her younger days when she wanted to assure him that she was fine. "It's not like I don't have enough to worry about. I feel like the fighting is driving me out of the house for the holidays. But as I thought about it, this is nothing compared to this weekend."  
  
He noticed that the expression did not quite reach her eyes, which were filled with ambivalence. "Why? What's going on?" he asked, confusion seeping into his husky voice. It was the week of Thanksgiving. By no means a sentimental soul who bought into the theme of sharing of the holiday or the commerciality associated with it, Logan had always associated the time with a sense of peacefulness. No missions to be concerned about and for students and teachers, the academic load lightening slightly. He had just assumed that the same was true for her. As he gazed down at the scattered papers on the table, he contemplated giving her a brief talk about submerging herself too fully in her work.  
  
His initial conclusion was soon proven wrong. Jubilee took a deep breath and said, "I'm not going to be around this weekend. Bobby and I are visiting his parents for Thanksgiving." She paused as she watched the beginnings of a smirk etch across Logan's features. "What?"  
  
He raised a brow at her, gulping down some more soda. "Icicle's bringing you back to the ol' igloo?" The image almost made him bark loudly with laughter.  
  
Her sapphire eyes suddenly flashed with indignation. She had not been expecting that kind of remark. In fact, she had not been expecting any remarks from him at all. It was the kind of news she thought he would sit back and listen to, processing mentally the information. "What does that mean?" she demanded, cheeks flushing pink. She shook her head rather quickly and placed her hand in the air as if to stop him from explaining.  
  
He took the hint and nodded his understanding. The daggers contained in her glare were enough to convey how serious she was. This was a situation that had been weighing heavily upon her mind for sometime. "OK," he drawled, putting the bottle down firmly on the table. "So, what's going on, kid? Why the long face?"  
  
She was silent for a moment. Until Logan had made his observation, Jubilee thought she had done a fairly good job hiding her emotions. Yet, she was not completely shocked. This was the only man, besides Bobby, who knew her inside out. After being close friends for years, Logan was quite aware of what troubled her mind in spite of the cheerful front she put up at times. Of course, he would be able to discern what was going on.  
  
Sitting back in her chair, Bobby's voice echoed in her head. Her expression became glum as she was reminded of the conversation days earlier. His tense expression while he told her about the invitation to his family's home in Long Island for the holidays was crisp in her mind. He had nervously joked about his mother embarrassing him by showing nude photographs of him as a baby. However, she was able to see beyond the comments to know something was wrong. There was this look of fear and anguish as he proceeded to bring up his father. It was almost as if he were preparing for being brought forth to the barracks. As they had continued to talk, it was becoming increasingly obvious how much he was truly dreading this trip to the Drake home.  
  
_ "You know about my dad?" Bobby had asked, boyish face filled with concern as he sat by her bedside._  
  
_She had tried to make light of the situation. She hated seeing him so worried. "I know he's about as open-minded as Rush Limbaugh."_  
  
_"Not funny, Jubes."  
  
"Sorry. Seriously, I know he's not crazy about people who are...different."  
  
"That's a gentle euphemism if I ever heard one. So, what exactly have you heard?"  
  
"Bits and pieces."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"Before you try to argue or sugar coat things, I'm a mutant and Chinese. Let's face it, Bobby, I'm everything your dad doesn't like. I'm also aware of how he might react when we meet."  
  
"And that doesn't bother you?"  
  
"I want to say no, but it is kind of disappointing to think someone still holds those kinds of beliefs in this day and age. I know he might have changed his opinions since the thing with Creed, but I'm bracing myself for the worst."  
_  
_"Jubes, you---"  
  
"I know. I shouldn't have to think that way, but I do. It's kind of impractical not to."  
  
"It's also pretty pessimistic, too. I just wish this wasn't going to be something you're going to dread. The first time meeting your boyfriend's parents shouldn't be that way, Jubes."  
  
"I'm not dreading anything. I'm just trying to prepare myself for...whatever comes."  
  
"God, Jubes... You shouldn't have to feel that way. If you get hurt or anything, I don't know what I'd do..."  
  
"I'm not going to get hurt, Bobby."  
  
A look of surprised had crossed his boyish face upon hearing her assertion. "You're not?"  
_  
_"No," she had replied, sapphire eyes staring deeply into his earnest gray ones. She had reached over and cupped his handsome face in her small hands. "No, I won't because I'll have you with me. Nothing in this world could ever hurt me as long as you're around."  
_  
  
Jubilee was startled from her reverie when she heard Logan pose a question in that rumbling, gruff voice he used so often. Her sable brows furrowed together slightly. "What was that, Wolvie?" she asked, embarrassed over the fact she was so easily distracted.  
  
He grunted at her---something he often did when he did not have something to say immediately. Seeing her so preoccupied was definitely something he wasn't used to. The private training sessions he held with her when she was younger centered on not only her abilities, but also her mental faculties as well. Usually, she was so much sharper. Apparently, this impending visit to see Drake's family was causing more angst than she initially let on.  
  
Sighing heavily, he said, "You never answered my question, kid. What about this visit's getting you down? It's not like you're facing off against Magneto."  
  
A faint trace of fear colored her eyes. "No," she murmured thoughtfully. "No, it's way scarier than that could ever be."  
  
"What does that mean, kid?" Logan asked, feeling more and more off-balance by the minute. It was a sensation he was not used to nor did he care for.  
  
She lowered her gaze briefly to the papers in front of her before studying the concerned, but confused expression on his face. "This is a major milestone with me and Bobby," she replied quietly, shrugging her slim shoulders. "Meeting the parents, one of whom might be guaranteed not to like me all that much. Let me give you a hint---I don't have anything to worry about where his mom is concerned."  
  
The gold flecks in Logan's green eyes suddenly flashed. He vaguely remembered hearing stories about Drake's father from Jean and Hank. Not being overly invested in retaining the information for very long, he did not recall all the details. As he watched the young girl sitting across from him shift slightly in her seat, certain themes were returning to consciousness. His eyes narrowed with bitterness, recalling one of them.  
  
"Listen, kid," he said, after finishing the rest of his soda. "You know there are gonna be some people who believe that we're less than human. Bigots are everywhere, even within the family."  
  
She frowned at him, puzzlement deepening the intensity of the expression. "No, Wolvie," she replied rather frankly, "that's not it. I'm not afraid of what Mr. Drake may or may not say about me. Believe or not, I've heard a lot worse coming from the likes of Bastion and the Church of Humanity. I'm stronger than that."  
  
He shoved the empty bottle away from himself. "Then what?" he asked with a hint of impatience. "I'm not gettin' what you're tryin' to dance around."  
  
Jubilee chewed on her lower lip before responding. "I don't want to see Bobby disappointed," she explained. "He's expecting this horrible confrontation between his dad and me, but deep down inside, I know he wishes it would be different. Seeing him worry about me getting hurt tears me up inside. He doesn't need that kind of crap."  
  
"I hope you're not talkin' about kissing the old man's ass just to keep Drake happy. That ain't gonna work, kid."  
  
"I know, but I'm not talking about doing that at all. Bobby would know that wouldn't be me."  
  
"So, you're gonna sit back and take whatever Drake's old man has to say to you? That's not the Jubilee I know, either."  
  
"I know, Wolvie. But I've grown up and I---"  
  
"Just tell me one thing. Why? You could say no and stay here. Why are you torturing yourself, kid?"  
  
Jubilee's eyes widened upon hearing the question that was asked. She leaned back in her chair. "Because he's my quiet hero," she answered simply. "He steps in to save the day without asking for anything in return. I want this to be good for him."  
  
Logan narrowed his green eyes thoughtfully, the gold flecks glowing with a radiating intensity. Then he inhaled deeply as he proceeded to dispense his advice to his young protégée. "Make 'em see what a great kid you are," he said in his gravelly voice. "More important, give 'em hell if they don't."


	19. Chapter Nineteen Mother, Mother

Sorry for the delay. The summer has been nuts with being in several weddings and all. Here's the latest installment. Enjoy.

Thanks again for the reviews. It's great to hear what you guys think!

The characters belong to Marvel, but the story is all mine.

Chapter Nineteen: Mother, Mother  
  
Mother Nature had offered the state a brief reprieve from snow and icy temperatures. The late afternoon sun was a fiery orange against the clear, crisp sky. It was almost reminiscent of a lone flame burning brightly in the winter air. As it dipped behind the trees with their rough bark and barren branches, the warmth in the air slowly began to dissipate. Yet, it was still temperate enough for one to take a leisurely stroll without a bulky, down coat. Evening soon arrived; bringing with it a violet-blue sky that sparkled with millions of shining stars.  
  
The Thanksgiving holiday was edging near. In fact, it was set to descend the very next day. Thanksgiving, as it often did, brought with a sense of hurried activity in preparation for the celebration. Turkeys and other associated goods swiftly disappeared from market shelves. Swirling in the seasonal air were the promises of warm pumpkin pies and comforting fires roused by the family hearth. Soon, homes across the country would embrace relatives and friends from near and far for this time of togetherness.  
  
A little over fifteen miles from Westchester, deep within a middle-class suburb, and tucked in an innocuous development was the Long Island home of the Drakes. The stately Greek revival home had been built in 1908, but it had been extensively restored to retain the historic integrity. The home exuded a quaint charm often found in the northern part of the state. Painted ecru with white trim and a matching white picket fence, the beautifully renovated abode conveyed a welcoming air. The azalea bushes that flanked the steps that led to the wraparound porch were shining from the moisture of melted snow. Surrounding this picturesque home was a meticulously maintained lawn. Like many houses on that block, the Drakes' front door displayed a seasonal wreath, which was made from crab apples, aromatic myrtle leaves, and white tallow berries. Beneath the wreath, lay a coir welcome mat framed with olive branches. In the middle of the mat the name of the family was printed in hunter green letters.  
  
Inside, the house glowed with a honey-hued light from a combination of the fixtures and candles. As one ventured further inside, the scent of Canadian pine needles, cedar, cinnamon, and thyme filled the air. The hardwood floors shone brightly, as if recently polished. There was a distinct flavor of vintage, mid-twentieth American décor, which was reflected in the furnishings and accessories contained within the home. Yet, there was an easy comfort that was exuded nonetheless. This was quite evident in the living room with its tan walls and wainscoting, accented by the woven rugs inspired by British imports from the East and dark furniture.  
  
This night found a poised and lithe woman in the living room, sitting on a chino-upholstered, firmly cushioned sofa. The crisp light from the nearby brass floor lamp with accompanying white, pleated fabric shade brought out the complementary tones of silver and gold in her wavy, shoulder-length hair. In her mid-fifties, one could easily see she was still a beautiful woman. Thanks to a mixed heritage of French, German, and Irish descent, she was blessed with a pleasant face set with wide, blue eyes and what appeared to be a perpetually smiling mouth. The lines associated with advanced age and life experiences took nothing away from that. She appeared settled in for the evening, wearing a purple, floral print shirt over a pink, long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of wide-leg chinos with a flannel socks and black clogs.  
  
Maddy Drake idly flipped through the circulars that arrived with the day's paper. After several minutes of this, she quickly placed them on the maple, spiral-legged coffee table with an ebony finish and antique, zinc knobs. Briefly glancing at her wristwatch, she glumly noticed that only five minutes had passed since the last time she checked it. Then she leaned back against the sofa, clasping her soft hands together. It was as if by doing so she could will herself not to push back the mustard-colored, twill curtain that draped over the window on the other side of the room and peer outside at the street. While it was an activity she engaged in for other visits, she had promised herself not to do so. There was something about this particular occasion that made things quite different.  
  
Her Bobby was bringing someone with him.  
  
Maddy crossed her slim ankles together, mulling over the thought carefully. Granted, she was still somewhat hurt about being the last to know about her son's girlfriend. After all, she was his mother, the first woman in his life. She was supposed to know about these things as soon as they came up. As to the reasons why Bobby withheld the information, Maddy had her own theories. Part of her suspected that the girl might be someone who was not right for her son, while the other part of inferred that he was wary about having the girl meet the family. Both possibilities stirred feelings of anxiety inside of her. Either scenario being validated would pose some risk of familial discord during this holiday, something that was quite unnecessary for the Drake household. For fear of aggravating her already reluctant son, she decided to keep her opinions to herself.  
  
Like all mothers, Maddy wanted the best for her child. Bobby was her only child, her pride and joy. After all, she and Bill had tried for years to conceive a child. When they found out about Bobby, she looked upon the news as a blessing. While some viewed her parenting style as overbearing coddling, she was of the mindset that parenthood was not a responsibility to be taken lightly. This outlook framed her decision to be more involved, foregoing a career outside of the home. As a result, she invested years of care, nurturing, and support into seeing him into healthy adulthood.  
  
That was not to say that it was smooth sailing through calm seas. There were things that she found herself, at times, ill equipped to handle. Between the blissful years of his innocent childhood and the man he was today, she realized there were instances where she doubted her own maternal instincts. The onset of his abilities posed a challenge, not only to Bobby, but to his parents as well. In particular, Maddy remembered feeling very responsible. During the first few days after the discovery, she questioned everything she had done when she was carrying her son and decisions she had made when he was quite young. It was consistent with the developmental literature available at the time, where many therapists and researchers solely placed the blame for various disorders squarely on the mother's shoulders. Most of these ruminations involved self-doubting inquiries such as, "Should I have taken him to that park?" or "Should I have read the labels to the food I fed him more carefully?" The fact that Bill was exhibiting great fear regarding the issue was not helping at the time, either.  
  
So, Maddy found herself trying that much harder to atone for whatever she had done to cause Bobby's mutation. She kept him close to her when it was possible. This was evident in her increasingly doting, almost smothering behavior. Extra cookies were baked, raises in allowance became regular, and chores around the house were decreased. Driving much of this was her own fear. Now that her son was different, he was a target much like he was after his date with that Judy. Every time he stepped out of the house, she quizzed him as to where he was going, who with, what he was doing, when he would get back, and whether or not there was a way to reach him. Granted, this kind of inquisition was typical for parents with young adolescents. However, for some reason, she felt compelled to continue to engage in this kind of questioning to this day.  
  
Yet, none of this truly eased her mind. Even when the Professor informed her that she was not responsible for Bobby's mutation, she was hard pressed to accept this alleviation of self-imposed burden. Nothing inside of her changed. The way she perceived the situation, her son was an outsider of some sorts who would not be able to find the happiness she felt he deserved. Reports from the newspapers and television broadcasts about mutants being persecuted were pieces of evidence she compiled in defense of this argument.  
  
Simply put, it was up to her as his mother, as someone who would always love and care for him, to compensate for that as best she could.  
  
Which was what she did. When he was away at the school, she often sent him care packages with his favorite cookies, comic books, and other sundry items on a regular basis. There were weekly phone calls, lasting about an hour in order to check up on him. She often visited him when she was able to, but often did so alone. Bill, afraid that someone he might know would see him at the school, declined by making up transparent excuses.  
  
Over the years, Maddy watched as her son exerted his independence from her with a wary heart. She wanted to be proud over the fact that he was making his own decisions, determining the course of his life. That was the ultimate goal for all children growing up in Western culture. However, she did not experience any of this. Instead, she felt as if she were in a constant of worry, where she was afraid to lose sight of him. This was exacerbated once he graduated college and decided to rejoin Professor Xavier's outfit. Before, he was restricted to staying at the mansion and honing his newfound skills, but upon becoming an adult, Bobby was treated accordingly. His list of responsibilities grew beyond teaching. Much to her chagrin, this meant that he was often enlisted to participated in various field missions away from the mansion. At first, he would attempt to regale her with tales of adventures and of new people he had met along the day. Hearing these accounts of his exploits was simply too much for her and she soon asked him to stop.  
  
Watching her friends' children finding normalcy through less hazardous jobs and marriage made her envious. It was the second matter that left Maddy particularly concerned. She yearned for her Bobby to have the same safety and contentment that they had. Running around the world and constantly placing his life at risk was not conducive to any kind of relationship. Many times she had tried to ingrain this into his head. How was he going to meet a nice girl while fighting other people? In turn, she had attempted to cajole him into considering another future away from Xavier and those at the mansion. Unfortunately, Bobby refused to hear about any of it. Instead, he told her on more than one occasion that he was pleased with his lot in life and that was that.  
  
Not completely thwarted, Maddy conceived of another way to prevent her son from remaining alone. She would approach her friends who still had single daughters, informing them that she had a handsome, sensitive, and intelligent son who happened to be available. Her reasoning behind this course of action was that as his mother, it was up to her to ensure his happiness. Through this informal network, she attempted to gather a pool of possible romantic candidates for Bobby. Initially, she approached him about these nice girls whom he should meet. She even offered her services as an intermediary. These efforts were quickly rebuffed, to her dismay.  
  
Unwavering in her steadfast commitment to her son, Maddy then orchestrated schemes for Bobby to meet these young women. Many of the situations painfully highlighted her lack of military insight into the execution of these plans. She was not above concocting various stories in order to lure her son back home. They often ranged from feigned illness to false requests for assistance around the house. Upon Bobby's return to Long Island, she conveniently had one of the young women present to him. Being the sharp young man that he was, Bobby quickly saw through these thinly veiled pretenses to decipher true intentions. Her mind quickly flashed to an indignant confrontation she had with him, where he demanded that she cease and desist future endeavors. As hesitant as she was to agree, Maddy promised to back down.  
  
It was not soon following that encounter, Bobby began to introduce various girlfriends to the family. Some were rather harmless and did not strike much of an impression. These were individuals he was not all that serious about. Gradually, this pattern changed where he proceeded to bring women with whom he was somewhat serious about. The definition of serious being involved in relationship that lasted more than one week. Unlike their predecessors, these women, for various reasons that Maddy would rather not think about, sometimes evoked rather strong reactions, particularly from Bill.  
  
However, like the individuals that came before, Maddy could always tell there was something missing. It was not that Bobby was cold or distant with these women. On the contrary, he was his usual attentive and thoughtful self. Yet, there was nothing in their interactions that indicated any kind of real attachment or devotion. To her, these relationships seemed to represent a passing interest rather than a foundation for a true relationship.  
  
As for the other party, some of them reciprocated, while others did not. One incident that instantly came to Maddy's consciousness was the dinner, where she and Bill were introduced to an Opal Tanaka. A sour-faced, Japanese-American woman who had a penchant for baggy pants and hairspray, she had been dating Bobby for several weeks. From what Maddy could remember, Opal was polite and good-natured around Bobby. Even when faced with Bill's overt hostility, the young woman maintained a mature front by refusing to revert to similar tactics.  
  
Bill's remarks aside, there was something that told Maddy that Opal was more than capable of conducting herself at that level. There was a deceitfulness and treachery that seemed to lie beneath the mask of gentility she wore. Bobby's behavior also provided clues into the relationship. At times during the meal, he was quite nervous even prior to his father's reaction. It was as if he were used to constantly walking over eggshells when it concerned Opal. This did not sit well with Maddy, who had grown increasingly cautious about her son's girlfriend as the night wore on. Unfortunately, in the end, her mother's intuition proved to be right. Due to conflicts with his lifestyle among many other issues, the two of them broke up, leaving Bobby alone and in her mind, quite distressed.  
  
Maddy sighed wearily, trying to clear the memories of that night from her head. As she continued to anticipate her son's arrival, she processed what she knew of her. Courtesy of the brief exchange she had with Bobby regarding the invitation, this Jubilee sounded like a nice girl---smart, funny, kind, and quite attractive. He had been quite frank about the relationship, even offering the fact that Jubilee was indeed a mutant. In a way, Maddy was relieved. Given that the two of them were at the school together, she thought Jubilee would be more understanding of the issues related to being a mutant. After all, she reasoned being a former student and would have first-hand experience with the kind of life Bobby led.  
  
While most of the information he had relayed to her was still fresh in her mind, it was the way he conveyed it that remained with Maddy. In contrast to previous conversations about past girlfriends, Bobby sounded quite different as he talked about Jubilee. His voice contained a type of elation and joy she had never heard before. It was refreshing for her to hear.  
  
Immediately, she was intrigued, leading her to extend an invitation for them to spend Thanksgiving in Long Island. She simply had to meet the young woman responsible for this wonderful change. When she had done so, she detected the reluctance in Bobby's answer. He sounded forced as he took her up on this opportunity. Almost instantly, Maddy knew what was vexing her son. It was then that she began to share his ambivalence over the proposal.  
  
Over the years, she was a silent but uncomfortable witness to her husband's bigotry. Deep down, she did not agree with his point of view. Yet, it was difficult for her to voice her arguments against him. Not that she was frightened of Bill, but she came from the generation where familial harmony was key above all else. To openly disagree with him would threaten the stability she had worked so hard to achieve.  
  
The nature of his discrimination, she had come to learn, applied to specific situations rather than being generalized. That is, those situations in which a member of the family was involved. As far as Bobby was concerned, Bill made his opinions known when it came to his son's choice of company. His harsh, almost vicious disapproval of Bobby's girlfriends based on their racial/ethnic membership reflected this. They were regarded as different and therefore, not good enough for Bobby. It did not matter if they were kind, intelligent, refined, or devastatingly attractive.  
  
In spite of her own ineffectuality to stand up to her husband, it pained her to observe Bobby's reaction. Many times, he appeared helpless and dejected. It was as if he did not know whose side to defend, to whom he should be loyal to. He loathed his father's beliefs, which were in direct contradiction to everything he stood for. At the same time, it was difficult for him to stand up to Bill. Bobby had been raised to respect and revere his father. Contradicting him would like eschewing these values.  
  
Yet, he managed to summon the strength to challenge his father. After years of swallowing his own feelings, Bobby finally confronted Bill and those despicable perceptions he held. This ultimately drove him away from home, away from the family, away from Maddy. For her, the rift caused a piece of her heart to break.  
  
It wasn't until she spoke to Bobby on the phone about the impending visit that she suddenly felt just as culpable. Reading between the lines, it was the fact that she did not intervene that was perceived as some sort of assent. She was suddenly overcome with a sense of shame at that realization. As she continued to wait for her son and his companion, she willed herself to handle things differently. She was no longer concerned about the image of family unity. There was a more important priority to consider.  
  
Maddy was startled when she heard a car pull onto the street. Rising to her feet, she briskly walked toward the window and drew the curtain back. In the blanket of darkness, her eyes made out a black Volkswagen Jetta. Unconsciously, her grim mouth suddenly formed a loving smile.  
  
Meanwhile, inside the Volkswagen Jetta a sandy-haired, young man with a boyish face sat behind the steering wheel. He placed the vehicle in park, but did not remove the key from the ignition. Instead, he simply sat in his seat quietly. He allowed his gray eyes to fall upon the sleeping young girl next to him on the passenger's side. While he hated to wake her, he knew that leaving her in the car to allow her to sleep was not an option. Affectionately, he brushed the back of his hand against her soft cheek.  
  
"We're here," Bobby announced softly, noticing how angelic she appeared under the emerging moonlight. "The Drake family estate. You're about the witness the family that begot yours truly." As she began to awaken, he pressed his lips against hers. He smiled when she stirred underneath him.  
  
Jubilee's sapphire eyes widened with surprise. It was a short trip between Westchester and Long Island even with the holiday traffic. She hadn't realized she dozed off during the car ride. Perhaps all the rushing around to pack at the last minute took more of a toll than she initially anticipated. She made a mental note to be more prepared for their next road trip. "Already?" she yawned, stretching her slender legs.  
  
He let out a low chuckle and unbuckled his seatbelt. She was terribly adorable with her sleepy but peaceful expression and rumpled hair. It took all his mental fortitude not to kiss her deeply then. Instead, he decided to take another approach.  
  
"Time flies when you're snoring soundly," he observed wryly, tangling his fingers in her long, silky tresses.  
  
That comment earned him a playful swat on the shoulder. Now, she was alert and fully cognizant of any teasing. "Very funny," she pretended grumble. "It's not my fault your terrible taste in music puts me into a deep sleep." Her eyes twinkled mischievously in the dark.  
  
He pulled back with mock pain in his gray eyes. "How dare you insult the genius that is Hootie and the Blowfish?" he asked. Part of him was a little slighted that she did not develop a similar taste for the band. Listening to them always brought him back to younger years when life was so much simpler.  
  
She laughed, watching him furiously repress the urge to grin at her. "If you say so," she told him. The wonderful tingling in her limbs returned as it always did when he was this close to her. "But I have to say that the company for the ride more than compensated."  
  
"You fell asleep though," he chided, not bothering to hide his smile any longer. "That kind of evidence goes against the argument you just posed."  
  
Jubilee lowered her thick and dark lashes coyly. "Take it as me feeling comfortable enough around you to relax and sleep," she said softly. "You're my something to sleep to."  
  
While she initially meant for her words to be flirtatious, there was a sincerity that undercut them as well. She could tell in the days leading up to the drive here that he was growing quite anxious. Upon observing this, she knew she had to say something---something to assuage all the doubts that ate away at him. However, she did not want to directly address them for fear of another trademark Drake brush-off. As much as he attempted to deny any problems, Bobby was clearly preoccupied. The constant worry in his gray eyes spoke volumes. They communicated his trepidation, his concern over her mental well being in anticipation for what awaited them inside.  
  
Sensing the intention behind her statement, Bobby leaned over again with a grateful smile. It never ceased to amaze him how empathic she could be. He was still getting used to someone else taking into account his feelings. During previous relationships, he had grown accustomed to swallowing things down and placing the other person's wants and needs first. Now, he was blissfully learning that he was also entitled to such considerations as well.  
  
Although a small amount of relief washed over him, he could not help but to suspect that she was experiencing similar feelings as well. A pang of guilt stabbed inside his chest. It was hard for him not to feel responsible. After all, he was the one who was bringing here, causing her anxieties. Bobby was aware of her internal struggles to want to make this visit a good one. Following his lead, she denied anything was troubling her. Yet, he knew. There were subtle nuances that he picked up on in preparation for the trip. He remembered her deliberate and painstakingly contemplation of a gift to bring with them. It was as if the present was going to determine the course of the weekend.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he peered over at her with what could only be construed as deep affection. "If I haven't said this already... I want to thank you."  
  
Surprised, she gave him a perplexed look. He appeared and sounded so grave it was almost unnerving. "For what?" she asked.  
  
"For coming here, for not screaming in terror when faced with the impending prospect of meeting the family."  
  
"You think I would turn down the chance for free food and the chance to see embarrassing baby pictures of you? Really, you don't know me at all. I would totally die if your mom whips out a photo of you in some ridiculous bunny outfit or something. "  
  
"Very funny. Seriously, though... I understand if you're feeling kind of nervous."  
  
"Bobby..."  
  
"No, really. This can't be easy for you, wanting to make a good impression on my folks for my peace of mind, but knowing that one of them might not be very receptive. I know that's going on in your head right now, and I can't tell you enough how great you are for that. I don't think anyone's ever tried to do anything like this for me."  
  
"You don't have to say this... I mean coming here and being with you and your family for the weekend, it's no stupendous feat or anything. Yeah, I'm not feeling all that great about it, but the way I see it; this is a part of being with someone. So, please stop trying to put me up on this pedestal. You can save it for another time when I'm even more amazing."  
  
"I guess..."  
  
"Then what's the problem? You sound like you're not really convinced."  
  
"It's just that you don't have to feel like you have to please me by going out of your way. Worrying about whether or not this visit is going to be good for me should be the last thing on your mind. Because in the end, things will be fine."  
  
"I know. You're right, Bobby... I still feel kind of pressured though."  
  
"You shouldn't, though. By just coming here, you've already made my weekend."  
  
"Oh yeah? Why's that?"  
  
"Other than the fact that I'm finally bringing home someone I really care about, I have an ally. My mom can humiliate me in her special way and my dad can be...well, my dad. As long as we're together, I have to believe that nothing could be ever as bad as we've both imagined."  
  
Jubilee was rather dubious when she heard this. This was nothing like the anxious Bobby she observed in the days leading up to their trek to Long Island. She hated to think that he was trying to deceive her in order to ease her mind. As she stared at him, she realized that he was swayed by his own words. Yet, the wariness that bubbled inside her stomach pushed her to prod further. "You think so?"  
  
Bobby nodded. "I do."  
  
She was quiet for a moment, mulling over their conversation carefully. Her sapphire eyes were thoughtful. Basically, the pressure she imposed upon herself was gone. That was his gift to her. "Two of us," she sighed with a small smile. "I like that."  
  
He grinned at her. "You know," he drawled as he rested his forehead against hers. "On second thought, we can turn this car around, find a hotel, and get a room for ourselves. Leave all the potential family dysfunction behind. What do you say, Jubes?"  
  
Laughing, she cupped his face in her small hands. "As enticing as that sounds, I don't think your mom would be all that pleased," she told him lightly.  
  
Bobby raised a brow at her skeptically. "Miss Lee, you sound awfully confident about that," he commented with a wry smile.  
  
"I am," Jubilee asserted, looking quite amused. She gently tugged at the collar of his chino jacket he wore over his black V-neck sweater and dark jeans. "Because she's standing at the door, waiting for us to come in."  
  
He followed the path of her gaze and groaned. Reluctantly, he opened the driver's side door.  
  
_ I will wait right here. I will keep my distance._   
  
Maddy repeated the intonation to herself as she leaned against the doorframe. Her mantra, consciously or subconsciously, seemed to be inspired by subliminal criticism she had received from Bobby. Instead of being hurt or offended, she viewed it as a new opportunity for both her and Bobby. For Bobby, it was the prospect of introducing a new person in his life. As for Maddy, it was a chance to demonstrate that she could be a caring mother without appearing to be smothering at the same time.  
  
She had been watching the Jetta carefully from her vantage point outside of the front door. Gradually, she had moved from behind the living room window to the wraparound porch. The broad, wide nyatoh glider and rocking chair, often used during the warmer months were now draped in green tarp to protect against the less temperate conditions. Pulling her khaki, canvas barn coat with corduroy collar closer to her body, she shivered in anticipation rather from the cooling air. Her fingers tapped against her mouth, a gesture she often engaged in when she was restless.  
  
For a while, she was concerned that something was wrong, which might have explained why the couple did not immediately exit the car. Possible catastrophic scenarios immediately began to flood her head. Perhaps they were reconsidering spending time with the family for the holiday. Maybe they were being called away to go on some horrid mission. However, there were signs that indicated that none of her fears would come to fruition. The wrinkles formed by her worried frown soon faded as she observed her son finally climbing out of his car and sauntering around it to open the passenger's side door.  
  
The first thing she noticed about Jubilee as the young girl stepped out of the car was how striking she was. Not quite the china doll she initially pictured in her mind, but even more exquisite. Moving with a former gymnast's grace, she was slender without appearing too frail. Her long, dark hair was lifted by a cool breeze, which revealed fine, delicate features. Even under the dim streetlights, Maddy could make out the detail of the girl's Asian features, including the almond-shaped eyes, straight nose, and near alabaster skin.  
  
What truly captivated Maddy's attention was the way this girl interacted with Bobby. She found herself marveling at the girl's ability to place Bobby so quickly at ease. The coils of apprehension that had formed inside of her were quickly gone as she continued to observe the two of them. Unlike Opal, there was nothing forced about the kindness and respect the young girl was displaying towards him. The smiles Jubilee flashed at her son while they gathered their things from the car were genuine. In spite of the brief moments of watching the couple, it was apparent that this girl truly cared for him.  
  
Bobby's response to Jubilee was refreshing to Maddy's eyes. It was as if she had never seen him so comfortable in his own skin before. He wore a broad grin that seemed to be etched into his boyish features, hiding the pain and disappointment he had come to know during previous experiences. His gray eyes danced with an excitement she had not witnessed since he was a small boy. As they began to walk away from the parked car, Bobby gallantly took the heavier-looking bags from his girlfriend. He extended an arm, draping around her waist and guiding her towards the house with great care and warmth. This dashing figure was a far call from the child Maddy had wanted to keep by her side for so many years. Now, he was finally the man she knew he would always grow up to be.  
  
She tried to appear as nonchalant as she could when they reached her on the porch. After all, she did want to prove to her son that he had not made a mistake by accepting her invitation. She was determined not to embarrass him by coddling him in front of this new person. Her resolve quickly diminished when Bobby stepped forward with that irresistibly wonderful grin of his. Instinctively, her slender arms wound themselves around his neck and pulled him close into her maternal embrace.  
  
"Oh, Bobby," she murmured against the collar of his jacket, "you're home, you're home." Her voice was even throatier than usual from the elation she was experiencing as she held him in her arms. It had been so long since she last saw him, at least in her mind. She drew back slightly to allow her eyes to soak him in. A loving smile touched her lips, pleased with the picture that met her gaze.  
  
His grin broadened. "Good to be home," he replied and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Sorry we're late. There were some last minute things to take care of before we left."  
  
She waved her hand dismissively in an attempt to eschew his atonement. "It's all right, honey," she told him, blue eyes masking the worry she had experienced earlier that evening. "The most important thing is that you're here, safe and sound."  
  
If Bobby was unconvinced by her performance, he certainly was not showing it. Instead, he continued to keep up his own cheerful façade. "You look great as usual," he said, adjusting his grip on Jubilee's travel bag.  
  
She tittered lightly, allowing him to pull away. "Always the charmer," she sighed, patting his cheek tenderly.  
  
A perplexed expression crossed his features as he stared past her shoulder, gray eyes searching. "Where's Dad?" he inquired, unable to hide the ambivalent tone in his voice. The merriment in his boyish face began to fade, which was replaced by a wearier one.  
  
Maddy inhaled sharply, sensing her son's wariness regarding his father. The strained relationship between the two men in her life was not something that was discussed openly. There was hurt on both sides, and she was trapped in the middle as an unwilling observer. Tried as she did to placate either party, there was still a sense of tension---even after Bill's recuperation. She only hoped that things would be different; that either man was willing to bend a little bit. However, the nagging voice in the back of her head was telling that the likelihood of that happening was slim to none. Besides his father's gray eyes, Bobby also inherited Bill's stubborn will.  
  
Nervously, she raked a hand through her golden hair with threads of silver in it. "He's asleep upstairs," she informed Bobby smoothly. "He had one of his headaches and he decided to turn in for the night. He was very sorry that he wasn't going to be able to be up to see you. Hopefully, he'll be feeling much better tomorrow."  
  
"Oh." Bobby's face reflected a mixture of relief, disappointment, and irritation. It was as if he were struggling to decide how to feel about his father's absence. For all the emotions he was experiencing at that moment, he seemed not to be shocked whatsoever that Bill failed to greet them at the door.  
  
He then turned to Jubilee, who had been standing quietly behind him. He took her hand and placed an arm around her slim waist, steering her forward. With a radiant beam that lit up his entire face in the night's darkness, he drawled, "Mom, I'd like for you to meet my girlfriend, Jubilation Lee or Jubilee. Jubes, this is my mother, Maddy Drake."  
  
Maddy extended her hand to the young girl. She was surprised when she felt her hand clasped in a firm, but pleasant shake. It was unexpected given the delicate appearance of the person initiating the handshake. The gesture indicated a sense of strength and grit not easily discerned by Jubilee's exterior.  
  
Her level of amazement increased as she peered into the young girl's eyes. She had expected them to be brown or near onyx as were most of people from Asian descent. Instead, Jubilee's eyes were a rich, hypnotic sapphire blue, putting to shame some of the most dazzling of gems out there. Part of her wondered whether or not the girl was wearing tinted contacts or if this was part of her mutation.  
  
"It's nice to finally meet you," she finally managed with a warm and sincere smile, which crinkled the corners of her eyes. "I've heard so many wonderful things about you from Bobby. I'm looking forward to getting to know you over these next few days."  
  
Jubilee returned the smile, although hers reflected a hint of self- consciousness from Maddy's comments. "Likewise, Mrs. Drake. Thank you again for inviting me into your home to spend the holidays with you. I really do appreciate your hospitality."  
  
Maddy's ears instantly detected a suggestion of sadness in the soft, polite voice. She remembered an earlier conversation she had with Bobby about Jubilee's orphaned adolescence. Given the emphasis of family during these times, she supposed the young girl longed for the family she no longer had, feeling like an outsider and alone. While Bobby explained that Jubilee had accumulated new friends around the mansion who came to be like family to her, Maddy could sense that deep down it was not the same. At that moment, she perceived an old soul in the young girl's body, starved and hungry for a place to belong.  
  
She squeezed the small hand in hers slightly before releasing it. "Don't worry about it," she told Jubilee with a husky laugh, thanks to years of smoking before Bobby was born. "If you weren't coming, I'd have leftovers until Christmas to worry about. I certainly can't have that since I'll be hosting dinner then as well. And please, call me Maddy. Mrs. Drake makes me feel so...old. I'm not quite ready to accept that adjective at this stage of my life."  
  
"All right...Maddy," Jubilee agreed with a girlish laugh of her own. Her shoulders suddenly relaxed, indicating her slowly fading jitters. Sapphire eyes widened as she quickly peered at the paper bag in her arms. "Oh, this is for you... Maybe we can have it with dinner tomorrow night?"  
  
Maddy's face was gracious as she accepted the proffered gift from her guest. She tilted her head to the side, lifting a bottle of her favorite Chardonnay from the bag. "I think this will do very nicely," she told the couple. "Thank you both."  
  
Then she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, stepping towards the front door. "Well, let's get inside and out of this chilly air," she announced as a breeze rumpled her wavy hair. "I'm sure the two of you are starving and I'm not going to allow that to happen any longer---at least, not on my watch."  
  
The three of them wandered inside, the warm glow of the Drake home acting as a welcoming embrace. Maddy led them through the airy foyer, pausing to allow Bobby to hang up their coats in the hall closet. Then the trio traipsed up the hardwood stairs, which creaked softly under their collective weight. Her voice was light as she continued talking to Jubilee about the house and how they had lived in it since Bobby was born. It was nice to give a little tour like this. Moreover, she wasn't all that concerned about waking Bill up. In addition to be a notoriously sound sleeper, he had taken two Tylenol PM caplets. That alone was guaranteed to knock him out until the following morning.  
  
She then showed Jubilee the lemon-colored walls of the guest room with Bobby following close behind. Having spent a good day organizing and cleaning the room, Maddy had been meticulous in her preparations. The neoclassical wardrobe's ebony stain gleamed, focusing one's attention on the handcrafted detailing---the mortoise-and-tenon joinery, and the dovetailed, aromatic cedar drawers. The queen-sized bed with its Victorian- inspired, steel bed frame with knob feet and ornamental joints was an inviting sight. The cotton floral bedding with sage-colored florals and accompanying duvets and shams were accompanied by a warm, white quilt with bold, geometric patterns that were tempered by soft colors.  
  
As Bobby placed Jubilee's bags down, Maddy informed him that his room, which was down the hall from the guest room, had been prepared for him as well. He appeared somewhat perplexed, as if he did not hear her correctly. She repeated herself and noticed that Jubilee beginning to appear very amused. After several seconds, he simply nodded and turned on his heel to take his own travel bag to his old room. Apparently, he had been expecting different sleeping accommodations. Maddy's pleasant face was guileless as she watched Jubilee shuffle towards the door. While she was eager to show her son that she could be a different mother than the manipulative coddler he thought of her as, there were still things she was not necessarily willing to consider. The thought of her son sharing a bed with his girlfriend under her roof was not one of them. She was still old-fashioned in that regard.  
  
After Bobby settled into his room, they soon wandered down the staircase and made their way into the Drake kitchen. It was a bright area of the home and smelled of lavender from the handmade wreath she had made and hung over the stainless steel range. The pine floor complimented the wainscoting walls and the nickel-plated brass lighting fixtures overhead. A solid, maple kitchen island complete with a butcher's block and bead- board paneled cabinet doors in white enamel stood several feet away from the stove.  
  
Maddy motioned for Jubilee and Bobby to seat themselves on the white-washed stools in front of the island as she warmed two bowls of the roasted squash soup she made earlier that evening and some boulangerie bread. She was casual in her approach when it came to querying Bobby's new girlfriend about herself. She asked her about what she was studying in school, what her hobbies were, what her friends were like, how she and Bobby first met, and so on. Jubilee, in between bites of toasted bread, answered her candidly without falter. All the while, Maddy could see out of the corner of her eye her son fidgeting slightly. Part of her wanted to inform him that as his mother, she had a right to know more about the woman he was currently seeing. However, she refrained herself from doing so.  
  
As the meal winded down, Maddy listened with amusement as Jubilee shared a Halloween story about Bobby. The corners of her eyes crinkled with her smile when the young girl talked about how he attended the school party dressed a bunch of grapes, using purple balloons. Her husky laughter floated throughout the kitchen as her son's girlfriend described the scene where a group of Bobby's friends pelted him with various objects in order to pop the balloons. She glanced at her son, who appeared increasingly embarrassed as each detail was relayed from Jubilee. His playful eyes were sheepish and he began to shake his head in disbelief.  
  
Just as Maddy was about to reach over and pat her son's hand comfortingly, Jubilee took Bobby's hand in hers. Then she pressed her small mouth against the back of it and smiled up at him. Maddy listened with a bemused expression as the young girl murmured to him about how he was brave to attempt such a costume in the first place. She leaned back in her seat, a wave of calm washing over her as she watched the two of them. She was not quite sure where this sensation came from or even why she was experiencing it in the first place. But she welcomed it just the same.  
  
Peering over at the clock by the doorway that led into the dining room, Maddy hopped out of the stool and announced that the hour was getting late. She pointed out there was much to do the following day, making her intentions clear that she was going to rely on both of them for help. Therefore, the two would need to get plenty of rest in order to keep up with her. Bobby chimed in wryly and turned to Jubilee, informing her that his mother kept a very tight ship around the holidays. He cited previous holidays, where he and cousins had been worked to the bone as they put together gingerbread houses.  
  
After dismissing Jubilee and Bobby's offers to help clear the kitchen, she hurriedly ushered them out of the kitchen. She needed time to think now and to process. The only way she could only do so in the quiet stillness of the kitchen. However, she decided to walk with them to the stairs, asking Bobby to show Jubilee where the towels were.  
  
Then she turned to the young girl with the stunning eyes and delicate features. She was uncertain as to what placed her frayed nerves at ease when she gazed upon Jubilee. They had just met for the first time, spending only brief moments talking and getting to know one another. Yet, it was clear to her that this was a good girl. While Maddy had known many good girls, whether they were relatives or daughters of friends, Jubilee was different from any of them.  
  
She was with her Bobby.  
  
Her reverie was shattered when Jubilee's clear voice inquired if she was all right. Maddy, surprised, smiled nervously and brushed a hand through her golden hair with thread of silver. She blurted an excuse that seemed foreign to her ears, something about thinking about tomorrow's menu. Her hand patted Jubilee's slim shoulder as she welcomed her again, reiterating that she was looking forward to getting to know her. Then she leaned forward to hug Bobby goodnight. Her cheek brushed against his neck as she murmured how glad she was to see him.  
  
When the two of them were finally upstairs, Maddy sauntered back to the kitchen. She began to gather the used dishes and carried them to the sink. Her mouth formed a pensive line as she rinsed the bowls, plates, and silverware and placed them in the dishwasher. Never had she seen Bobby so happy, especially while he was here at the house. At least, not since he was a small child. Granted, he wasn't depressed or despondent during his previous visits, but he had seemed to be putting on some brave face. It was refreshing to see him like this. She only hoped that his cheerful and upbeat mood would continue on into the next day.  
  
But deep down, she feared that might not be the case for long.  
  
Maddy turned off the sink and dried her hands on blue-and-white, striped dishtowel. She leaned against the counter, contemplating a cup of peppermint cocoa, a favorite staple for Bobby when he was growing up. For her, it represented a time when things were simpler---before anyone heard of mutants, before Bobby grew up and grew away from her and Bill. These times were not necessarily good or worth any kind of excess nostalgia, but they were times she was familiar with nonetheless.  
  
She quickly put a kettle on the stove and pulled out the box of peppermint hot chocolate along with a white, ceramic mug with a hand-painted, jolly snowman on the front. As she waited for the water to boil, Maddy decided to take out a bag of marshmallows from the pantry. They were the extra large kind, sugary and airy enough to melt in your mouth. She decided one would not hurt. After all, she had started a membership at the local gym and swore to herself that she would begin working out there regularly.... after the holidays, of course.  
  
"Can I join you?"  
  
Maddy turned around to see her son, leaning against the doorway. His sandy hair was slightly rumpled and he wore a New York Mets T-shirt over a pair of gray, drawstring pants. She smiled at him gently and said, "You can if you don't mind marshmallows."  
  
He shrugged and walked further inside. "I can deal," he deadpanned as he ambled over to the solid ash kitchen table with its cherry finish. He pulled out one of the wooden ladder-back, beech chairs and seated himself. Folding his hands together, he suddenly looked younger than his twenty- something years.  
  
"That's my boy," Maddy drawled before being cut off by the whistle of the teakettle. She turned down the heat and proceeded to prepare two cups of cocoa. "So, what brings you down here? I thought that perhaps you welcome the idea of sleeping."  
  
Bobby watched his mother stir the cocoa briskly, the crisp smell of peppermint filling his nostrils. "I can't," he admitted and raked a hand through his sandy hair.  
  
She raised her brows, carrying the two piping hot mugs to the table where her son sat. There were lines of worry etched into his usually smooth forehead, brought on by his solemn and grave expression. She wanted to tell herself that she did not know why he was concerned. She wanted to tell herself there were grounds to warrant such a reaction. Yet, to do either one would be lying and to an extent, facilitating the tension.  
  
He took one of the mugs from her and studied the snowman painted outside. "I'm not going to pretend not to know why or that it doesn't bother me," he said quietly. He raised his boyish face to peer up at his mother as she settled into a chair across from him. "It's there in the forefront of this visit. I know because that's why you're up, too."  
  
She was about to raise the mug to her lips when he uttered his last sentence. Slowly, she set the cup down in front of her. Her blue eyes widened in astonishment, shocked to discover how perceptive he was at that moment. She thought she had done a reasonable job in hiding her preoccupation and apprehension. In her mind, there was no reason for Bobby to know. He would only share the burden of her worries, possibly ruining his time here.  
  
Bobby looked grim as he continued speaking, his gaze never wavering. "You're nervous for the same reason I am," he told her. He picked up the bag of marshmallows sitting next to him and reached in for one, popping it into his mouth.  
  
Maddy swallowed hard. She placed a hand over her mouth, unsure as to what could be said. Her gaze dropped to the detailed grain of the tabletop. Was she really that transparent? Perhaps she had become less subtle in her advanced years. Either way, her son was fully cognizant of what was going on, much to her dismay.  
  
"Does Jubilee know about your father?" she finally asked, tracing the rim of the mug with her finger.  
  
"That he's a bigot? Then, yes, she knows." Bobby sounded uncharacteristically bitter as he spat the words out. His gray eyes belied the fact that he wished the situation were different than what he assessed it to be.  
  
His mother made a disapproving face, shrinking back in her chair. "Oh, Bobby, I hate that word. It sounds so...horrible."  
  
"Why?" he demanded, grimacing. "I mean that's what he is, right? He's a bigot. The man has a beef with people who aren't white or Christian..."  
  
She sighed wearily, acknowledging his point with a nod. Yet, she needed for him to consider other possibilities. "Your father has had some faulty beliefs in the past," she conceded, "but he's tried to make an effort. For God's sake, Bobby, he almost lost his _life_ in doing so."  
  
"I know that, Mom. And yeah, he's changed a little. But speaking out at that rally doesn't account for other things..."  
  
"Well, have you given him a chance to prove you wrong? From what I remember, the last time you were here, you did your best not to spend a lot of time with him."  
  
"That's not true. Besides, you seem to forget that I was here, taking care of him."  
  
"Bobby, sweetheart, I'm not discounting the time you spent here with him when he was recovering."  
  
"Well, he could have proved me wrong then. When he was at the hospital, I stupidly thought that he was on the verge of a breakthrough. You know, like an extreme epiphany or something. Instead, he was just...Dad. You know, quiet and not saying anything about what happened. It's like he was never beat up or anything."  
  
"Did you try to talk to him about it?"  
  
"How would I have gone about doing that? I'd be like, 'So, Dad, have your views changed on people who are different now that you've had the crap beaten out of you?'"  
  
"You don't have to be sarcastic, Bobby."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mom. It's just that I don't know how would talk to him about it. I guess I'm afraid Dad is going to be himself and he'll be too goddamned blind to see that. It's a hell of a shame, you know. If she weren't who she was, he'd be crazy about her."  
  
"So, let me get this straight," Maddy said, sipping her cocoa with a thoughtful gleam in her blue eyes. "You're anxious about your father's reaction to Jubilee. At the same time, you sound kind of unsure about this since you haven't been around to gauge his perspective."  
  
Bobby looked hurt as she summed up the conversation. "That's not how it is," he huffed slightly, evoking memories of when he was a frustrated toddler learning how to walk and run. "You make it sound so simple. People can't change views they've held for most of their lives overnight."  
  
"Don't say that," she admonished him, straightening in her chair. "You don't know that about your father. How could you easily lose faith in him? He's a good, decent man. It's not his fault that he has been somewhat behind the times."  
  
Her son pressed his lips together before responding. "In this world, people have a choice," he began evenly. "They can choose to believe certain things, act in a certain way. Dad chooses to be afraid of people he considers abnormal, whatever that is."  
  
Bobby exhaled deeply before he continued. "Do you know what he'll see when he meets Jubilee? He's going to take one look at her and decided that she's no good for me and I'm that embarrassing yet again. You know why? Because I'm with a Chinese girl who also happens to be a mutant."  
  
Maddy winced involuntarily as she watched her son's level of aggravation steadily increase. No matter how much time had passed since the assault or the possible lessons learned from it, there was a chance that Bobby was right. As she listened to him speak, she could not help but detect a sense of helplessness; that he and Jubilee would be forced to accept this scenario. At that moment, there was nothing more she wanted than to calm his worries.  
  
She was suddenly inspired. "Tell me what you want your father to see," she said, her voice raspier than usual. Her eyes peered into his gray ones intensely.  
  
Bobby stared at her quizzically. He thought about taking the cocoa away from her, fearing that the heat had somehow seared her brain. "What? What are you talking about, Mom?"  
  
"You've told me about what you think your father will think," she said, dropping a large, fluffy marshmallow into her cocoa. "That's part of the unknown, whether or not you're willing to admit it. The truth is, you just don't know how he's going to respond."  
  
The younger Drake looked at her warily. "Mom..." he began, indicating his ambivalence to hear her out.  
  
She cut him off, but in that pleasant way she was known for. It was hard for anyone to be upset with the genteel side of her. "What you know is how you'd like your father to see that lovely girl upstairs. So, go on, dear."  
  
He frowned at her thoughtfully. Just as he was about to ask her what the point of the exercise was going to be, he promptly closed his mouth. She had that determined expression on her face that communicated the fact that she was not playing around. From past experience, he knew that he would not be able to argue, charm, or sulk his way out of it.  
  
Realizing that he would have to relent to her wishes instead, he took a deep breath. "She's beautiful, funny, honest, intelligent... Loyal to a fault." He grinned sheepishly as if there were a handful of incidents that immediately came to mind. However, he did not share them. Instead, he continued. "She's not afraid to challenge me. I mean not in a hostile way. It's like when she does, it's so I can be a better person. I want to do that for her. Always." The smile faded slightly as he became more introspective, but did not disappear.  
  
Maddy peered over at him, noticing the placid tone in his voice as he talked about Jubilee. Evidently, her task was beginning to have its desired effect. "You make her sound even more incredible than you did the first time," she told him as she took another sip of peppermint cocoa. "Not that I don't believe it. She seems like a wonderful girl."  
  
"Well, she is," her son agreed, his gray eyes wistful at the thought of her. "I only hope that Dad can see beyond the other stuff to realize that."  
  
Outside of the bright kitchen where mother and son talked into the late hours of the night, a pair of gray eyes narrowed in the evening shadows and darkness that enveloped the rest of the house.


	20. Chapter Twenty Father of Mine

Here's the latest chapter. I don't have much to build on when it came to portraying Bobby's dad, so this is merely my interpretation. Enjoy.

Thanks for all the feedback. Please keep it coming.

The characters belong to Marvel, but the story is all mine.

Chapter Twenty: Father of Mine  
  
A wintry chill descended upon Long Island the following day, bringing with it brisk winds that rattled street signs and made traffic lights sway as if they were weightless. The roads that linked various neighborhoods with businesses and other places of interest were nearly empty. Construction crews that were usually accompanied with heavy and noisy machinery were nowhere to be found, abandoning their sites temporarily. However, side streets in many neighborhoods were beginning to fill up with vehicles, indicating the arrival of family members and friends for the holiday.  
  
That morning found Bill Drake lying awake in his king-sized bed. He rested one of his hands against the headboard of the bed frame, which was crafted from Chilean cherry wood with a tobacco finish. The exquisite grain was smooth and cool under his skin. Shivering slightly, he pulled the white, down comforter to his chin in order to keep the warmth close to his body. He closed his eyes again, trying to ignore the white sunlight that was streaming through the nearly-transparent curtains draped over the large windows.  
  
Unlike most people, Bill found it difficult to be excited about Thanksgiving. To him, it was simply another day, filled with passé predictability. Given that most of the extended family lived in close proximity to him, the prospect of seeing them did not pique any interest. There was the ubiquitous meal, where people engaged in sanctioned acts of gluttony for several hours. Following this, many would be filled with regret as to what and how much they consumed. Then there was the special programming on the television, where stations broadcasted syrupy-sweet, overly sentimental programs about the meaning of the holiday. If it wasn't that, then one could easily find a plethora of college football games or NFL games that were either badly played or badly covered. Overall, it was another day, another opportunity for Maddy to cook up a storm.  
  
Yet, he was all too aware that this day was different. There was some new element in this seemingly trite situation. He would not be able to get away with going through the motions when it came to this day.  
  
As much as he scoffed at the predictability of things associated with Thanksgiving, it pained him to think that his behavior was just as easy to forecast. After overhearing the conversation between Maddy and Bobby last night, he wondered how he had come to this. He had become this character that was disdained or mildly understood by those around him. In the eyes of those closest to him, his responses were reliable like the sun rising over the land each morning. Everything about him was set---his likes, his dislikes, and his actions.  
  
When Maddy first told him about the girl, he could not help but bristle in response. All he could focus on were the words "mutant" and "Chinese". It almost surprised him as to how quickly the tunnel vision set in. The rest of the information being relayed to him fell by the wayside. None of it was going to matter in the end anyway. Immediately, he thought of that last one he met. Not the one with the skunk-like coif, but the Japanese one. He couldn't recall her name off-hand, but he distinctly remembered that he did not care for her at all. In addition to her ineptitude when it came to fashion, there had been something about her that elicited feelings of mistrust and contempt within him. She seemed to embody everything he perceived as ill in society. This woman came off as secretive with the potential to cause some serious harm. Worst of all, Bobby had been too blind to see it.  
  
Bill Drake never considered himself to be a bigot, as his son did. Instead, he would have used the term 'cautious'. If one wanted to do an in- depth psychological analysis of Bill Drake and his intentions, he or she would ultimately see that he automatically linked normalcy with safety. What was considered normal kept one protected and most importantly, accepted. Therefore, one should do everything in his or her power to strive for this, no matter what. According to him, in this day and age, there were still certain things one associated with specific groups of people. Given this, he came to the conclusion that one should always be vigilant of these factors, particular those that tend attract both attention and trouble. In general, it was always in one's best interest to steer clear of such individuals altogether.  
  
Bill took this philosophy to heart, practicing it when he could. He had to. He had to protect and keep safe what he prized the most. He always did.  
  
So in making sure his family was considered normal, he decided to take several measures. He and the family moved to a predominantly white neighborhood. The majority of their friends were white, upper-middle class people. When he was still working full-time at the insurance company, Bill ensured that he strictly socialized with colleagues who fit into this image of normalcy.  
  
He even asked his family to make some sacrifices as well. Maddy, after just discovering her religion and learning about the customs related to the faith, was asked to abandon them. He feared that by engaging in them, she would be attracting some unneeded attention. When Bobby was younger, he steered the boy towards children who were considered, again, normal. During visits now, he made it clear that he did not want his son using his abilities at all. It was for the good of the family, after all.  
  
Upon meeting this Japanese woman Bobby was dating, he couldn't help but feel somewhat slighted, betrayed even. After everything he had done to keep his son away from the wrong element, here was Bobby carelessly and willfully flaunting his disregard. Bill remembered wanting to retch at the table, his hands shaking with such fury. While he and the boy had their disagreements over the years, this was different. It was the first act of wanton disrespect his son had demonstrated ever. There was no other way of interpreting it.  
  
What was even more disturbing was Bobby's naiveté. Apparently, he did not see a problem with dating this woman. He seemed, at the time, blissfully unaware of the trouble that could follow her with each step. During the meal, there were times when Bill wanted to grab his son and shake some sense into him. ICan't you tell?/I he had wanted scream at him. IDon't you see that she's not for you?/I When trouble did arrive in the form of various members of the Japanese mafia attacking the restaurant they were dining at, he knew his position was validated. Still, he was not smug, only furious with Bobby for not knowing better.  
  
Then there was that other one Bobby brought home during a road trip. Oh, she was almost up there with the Japanese woman in terms of drawing out a negative reaction. Bill took one look at that piece of white trash with that hideous white stripe in her brown hair and her too-tight clothes, and knew what she was. It didn't take a detective to see past it all to instantly discover she was a freak mutant. While Bobby claimed the two were simply friends, his father viewed that fact as irrelevant. Friend or girlfriend, it didn't matter to him. She was not good enough to be associated with his son. She would never be. No amount of sweet-talking from her in that nauseating accent could change his mind.  
  
The fact that Bobby even brought her to the house in the first place further exacerbated things. Bill remembered scolding his son when he first arrived. Wasn't he aware that people would see them? That they would come to the same conclusion he did about that girl? Didn't he understand that he placed the social standing of his family in jeopardy? What was he thinking? _Was_ he even thinking?  
  
Fortunately, in spite of his misgivings, none of his qualms ever came to fruition during the time of that visit. Instead, all was calm and well. There was no angry mob, no Southern boys chasing after the girl---not even a nasty, threatening phone call. For all intents and purposes, Bill should have been relieved. He should have been happy. He had his normalcy.  
  
Bill exhaled heavily, his skin scratchy under the red plaid pajamas his wife had bought for him recently. He knew that he was not happy that day or the days that followed. In exchange for this sense of comfort, he lost his son. Heated words that were exchanged between the two of them provided damning evidence. He could remember how deeply hurt Bobby was as told him off. The younger Drake spat out acidic statements, indicating that he was aware that he was not the picture of what Bill considered right and that in the end, he felt sorry for Bill. It was a side of Bobby that Bill never knew existed. He feared that he would never see his son again.  
  
With the few occasions where he was cajoled into complying out of duress, Bobby made sure that that fear ultimately became a reality. The periods between visits lengthened in duration. Various excuses were made as to why regular visits were simply not feasible any longer. When Bobby was around, he was reserved and spoke to Bill quite gingerly. It was as if the pain he experienced that day was still fresh, still wracking him mind and body.  
  
Faced with this, Bill was at a loss. Of course, he was hurt. What father wouldn't be? His own child, his _only _child was slowly turning his back on him by distancing himself. Yet, he did not make the first move to extend the olive branch. His own father, a formidable man who worked the railroads that traversed the city, taught him that one did not apologize to their children no matter what. The parent was always right. Not wanting to stray from such ingrained advice, Bill kept to himself and watched his son drift further away.  
  
Looking back, he wished he had not been so damn stubborn. As the months passed, he came to the realization that he was not the only person who was affected by this rift. Maddy, who had always prided herself in being close to Bobby, was forced to endure his lukewarm treatment. Being the person she was in wanting everything to be smoothed out sans conflict, she did not confront him about it. She dutifully stuck by his side. There were times when Bill wondered if she knew, if she blamed him for all this bitterness. His brain pulsed as he saw images of his wife with that look of perpetual sadness in her eyes when Bobby was not around. In all their years of marriage, Bill could not recall a time when she looked so lost. Maddy was beginning to drift away from him as well.  
  
It was that look alone that ate away at his heart, compelled him to do something different. The thought of Bobby believing that his own father did not love him also tore Bill apart inside. Although he was reluctant to talk to Bobby about the situation, Bill knew that he had to do something to bring his son home. It was up to him to protect family, to make sure nothing harmful was going to ever come near it. So far, he assessed himself as doing a lousy job given that his previous actions were the harmful element tearing apart the family.  
  
Rolling over on his side in bed, he grimaced. Looking back on that day, he had never intended to speak out at that rally. Hell, he was hesitant about attending in the first place. He was simply sitting in the living room of his comfortable home with his beautiful and loving wife, watching television. The local stations were covering a political rally for a candidate named Graydon Creed, a community activist known for his anti- mutant stance. Bill remembered was not paying all that much attention to what was going on until a photograph of an ice-covered Bobby was flashed on the screen as Creed shouted out for the extermination of all mutants.  
  
Horrified and without thinking, Bill found himself leaving his safety and traveling to where the rally was taking place. His mind seemed disconnected from his body as he weaved through the crowd. When he reached the front, near the stage and where Mr. Creed stood, Bill felt his skin crawl. He was not going to be complicit anymore; he was going to stand up for his son. Fortunately, much of what transpired following his outcry was blurred from his memory.  
  
Despite the time that had passed since he was attacked, Bill continued to recover from the injuries he received. He had to accept that he was not the same and could never be. His nose was still slightly crooked from being severely broken. He had lost two molars, leaving an empty gap that no one but him noticed. Walking for him called for a little more effort and assistance thanks to compound fractures to his right leg. In order to move around, he now relied on an aluminum cane, which he clearly detested every time he had to use it.  
  
While the physical pain did not plague him as much as it did in the days that followed the assault, it was still a constant companion. There were aches and cramps that radiated throughout his body. Dull, thudding headaches seemed to sideline him constantly. As a result, he was forced to leave his job and relegated himself to a consultant position, where he worked during more flexible hours and could telecommute. Most people he discussed the change with were happy for him. They thought he was on the way to easy street with a lighter load. Bill only felt like his company had given up on him.  
  
Apparently, his son had also given up on him as well.  
  
Bill never considered himself an overly sensitive person. He had been raised during a time where men were supposed to be Stoic pillars of the family. Throughout the years, he prided himself in being the rock for his wife and son. He had to be because that was his role. However, when he wandered downstairs and paused outside of the kitchen to listen in on the conversation, he experienced the same pang of guilt he did when Bobby first pulled away from him. Part of him wanted to march inside and demand what other hoops he had to jump through in order to appease Bobby, while the other part of him wanted to resign himself to upstairs to consider what was being said.  
  
In the end, his less indignant side won out. He spent the rest of the night, trying in vain to find slumber. Even when Maddy settled by his side, he found himself restless and ruminating. His son's words echoed inside his head.  
  
_"...I guess I'm afraid Dad is going to be himself..."_   
  
Bill sucked in his breath sharply, gray eyes narrowing. Why couldn't his son understand? There was nothing malicious or hurtful behind his intentions. He was simply looking out for his best interests in order to keep him safe. It was the job of any good father to feel the way he did, to think the way he did, and to do the things he did.  
  
What was he getting for his trouble? A frown wrinkled his brow as he answered his internal question. Having his son mock him and accuse of him being something that he was not.  
  
Turning his head towards Maddy's side of the bed, he noticed that it was vacant. The lingering scent of the lavender soap and shampoo she used was the only thing that remained in the room. He sighed, inferring that she had probably rose earlier than usual to prepare for the day ahead. His nose pressed against the pillow. With his eyes shut tightly, he found wishing she were by his side again. The bed seemed so empty and frightening without her. He needed her there to convince him that he was not the bad father Bobby accused him of being for all this time. But this day was different. Bill knew that he was the one who had to do the convincing.  
  
After a fitful night of sleep, Jubilee found herself awake and ready for the day ahead. The shower she took this morning invigorated her, giving her skin a healthy glow. Her long, dark streamed down her shoulders as it air-dried. Not one to usually wear make-up, she decided to at least put some lip-gloss on since the air had been quite arid overnight.  
  
As she proceeded to get dressed, her mind drifted to last night's meeting with Maddy Drake. While she heard her share of stories about the Drake matriarch, she never had a solid picture as to what she was like. Hank, Rogue, and Jean always talked about her in the most glowing terms. The woman evoked comparisons to the all-American housewife and mother that were slowly fading from today's culture. She represented a generation of women who had given up her own career aspirations in order to care for her family. Instead of being bitter about potential dreams that were lost as a result, she appeared to invest that energy into caring and loving her family. At the same time, the three said that Mrs. Drake was somewhat anxious and overly placating at times. When it came to her son's personal life, it was hinted that she did not know her boundaries. The word meddling initially came to mind, but was not directly uttered by Bobby or his closest friends.  
  
Jubilee found that Maddy was, overall, a pleasant person. Her genteel manners and soothing, throaty voice combined to put anyone around her at ease. It shone through her interactions with Bobby, whom she still doted on as if he were a young boy once again. Even Jubilee, who considered herself somewhat jaded with regards to non-mutants, found that she was slowly releasing the bundle of nerves that gathered inside in her chest and stomach. The sincere smiles and the kindly tone used by Mrs. Drake immediately pushed past any anxieties or unconscious barriers the young girl had put up.  
  
Yet, Jubilee felt as if she were the subject of a close evaluation. Maddy's eyes were not intrusive or judgmental, but carefully studied Jubilee as a whole---her appearance, her mannerisms, the way she was around her son. Instead of the prying questions Bobby braced her for ('What do you think of children?), Jubilee observed Maddy listening very closely. The young girl could almost see the wheels in the older woman's head spinning as she analyzed every word present in the conversation. Had Jubilee been more oblivious to the situation, she would not have noticed anything at all. That was how subtle Maddy had been.  
  
While Jubilee understood the intentions behind these behaviors, it was still unnerving to have everything part of her scrutinized and dissected. She felt her self-consciousness return with a vengeance. Her brain reeled from questions she posed to herself, wondering how she should sit, what she should say. It was nothing she had ever experienced before, which made things even more intimidating to the young girl. She wondered if her other friends had to submit to a similar process as part of the dating process. Would someone who exuded confidence like Rogue, Jean, or Paige feel the same she was? Or, was it her own inexperience that left her off-balanced? Jubilee was uncertain.  
  
Despite Bobby being the stalwart boyfriend by her side, Jubilee continued to be wracked with doubts. They left her pondering as to whether or not she was everything Maddy wanted for her son. Following Bobby's advice, Jubilee was herself---bright and funny. She was able to elicit some smiles and laughs from his mother, and engaged her in the conversation. For her part, Maddy continued to be friendly and warm towards her, but shielded what she was really thinking behind those kind blue eyes.  
  
Jubilee frowned, her smooth, dark brows furrowing in thought. Being one of the younger members of the team, she often welcomed the attention of others. She didn't mind being evaluated. She was secure in her own abilities, her intelligence, and sense of self outside of this situation. All of her training under Emma and the Professor had instilled this self- assurance.  
  
But this was very different.  
  
She was about to pull on a blue, wide V-neck sweater over her white camisole and chinos when she heard a knock at the door. Curious, she sauntered towards it and opened it with some hesitation. When she saw who it was, she instantly smiled.  
  
"Hey," she greeted, opening the door wider to allow Bobby to enter. She waited for him to walk inside before closing the door behind him.  
  
Wearing a pair of cargo pants, a black polo shirt over a white, long- sleeved T-shirt, Bobby appeared refreshed. His fingers raked themselves through his tousled, sandy hair. "Hey, yourself," he replied, grinning. "How did you sleep?"  
  
She played with the sleeves of the sweater instead of slipping it over her head. "Pretty good," she answered candidly. "What about you?"  
  
"OK, I guess." He shrugged nonchalantly, the grin fading from his face. The way Bobby saw things, there was no pressing need to inform her about his brief bout with insomnia the night before. Shortly after he and his mother talked, he was able to fall blissfully asleep.  
  
Pretending to clutch his back, he said wryly, "Sleeping on a twin mattress isn't all that great, especially if it's the one you've had since you were fourteen."  
  
She tilted her head to the side in sympathy. "I'm sorry," she said, placing her small hand on his back and rubbing his imaginary sore spot. "I guess we'll have to tell your mother about it and---"  
  
Immediately, he took his hand away and shook his head at her. "Hilarious," he snorted. He circled his arms around her waist, drawing his girlfriend's body close to his. "Have I told you lately how incredible you are?"  
  
Jubilee smiled hesitantly up at him. "Um... I don't know," she finally said, waiting for a teasing comment or the request for some favor. "Why? What do you want?"  
  
"Now that hurts," Bobby sighed, his gray eyes filled with mock pain. "I profess my deep appreciation for you and throw it back in my face. I don't need this kind of abuse. I can get it from Warren or Hank in from the convenience of the mansion, you know."  
  
She laughed, delighting in these moments when she and Bobby exchanged playful remarks. It was when she felt most like herself and so comfortable. There was nothing wrong in the world as long as they could spend time together like this. At least, that was she had come to believe after several months of dating Bobby Drake.  
  
"Well, I guess I have to say that you're pretty incredible, too," she told him softly as she stroked the back of his neck with her fingertips. The corners of her eyes crinkled when she noticed him grinning again.  
  
"Thanks." He pressed his lips against her forehead and inhaled the fragrances he associated with her, bubblegum and cinnamon. "Listen, I had a reason for telling you that."  
  
Loud alarm bells went off in Jubilee's head. She felt her limbs begin to stiffen as she anticipated the worst. Did Maddy take him aside and tell him that she did not approve? Were they being asked to leave? Maybe that was why Bobby was saying those things---to soften the crushing blow of disapproval? The possible scenarios were limitless in her mind, but all involved her being the cause of the bad news. Finally, she asked in a steady voice, "What is it?"  
  
Concerned, Bobby peered down at her. "Hey," he whispered, brushing tendrils of black hair from her creamy cheeks, "it's okay, Jubes. There's nothing to get upset about... It's just that you got the official Madeleine Beatrice Drake seal of approval."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's true. My mom thinks you're great. I always knew she was smart..."  
  
"Wait, when did you... How do you know this?"  
  
"She and I talked last night after you went to bed."  
  
"So you just asked her?"  
  
"No, she pretty well offered it up."  
  
"No fooling?"  
  
"No fooling."  
  
"Wow. I mean I'm happy, but still surprised, you know. She watched me like a hawk. I felt it last night."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable. It's just something she does when she meets any of my friends, particularly girlfriends. I think it's her way of checking you out. I want to say you'll get used to it, but that's entirely up to you."  
  
"No, I understand."  
  
"Still weirded you out, huh?"  
  
"Yeah, totally. I haven't been brought over to meet someone's mom before."  
  
Bobby placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her head so that she was looking up at him. "How about I show you my appreciation for being so amazing?" he asked, leaning towards her to steal a kiss.  
  
Much to his surprise and disappointment, Jubilee drew back and shook her head. "We can't," she whispered, eyeing the door. "Your parents are, like, right down the hall. I don't know your mom that well, but I think she's the type to just open the door whenever."  
  
He looked perplexed, mulling over her words. Amusement crept into his gray eyes, which lit up his boyish face. "My mom isn't like that," he assured her. "Anyway, she's downstairs throwing herself into Thanksgiving dinner. My dad's probably in La-La Land thanks to the meds he took last night."  
  
Then he paused for a moment before he drawled, "But there are other things we can do instead."  
  
Jubilee stared up at him, sapphire eyes sparkling with curiosity at the mysterious tone he used. "Like what?" she asked, lowering her thick, dark lashes coyly. Already, she could feel her knees begin to buckle and her stomach fluttering just from him being so close.  
  
With a Cheshire cat smile, he pulled away and circled behind her. "Stand still," he commanded in a tone she had never heard before. It was authoritative and strong; not at all like the playful and flirtatious one he used earlier.  
  
She chewed on her lower lip nervous as she waited. _If he tickles me, he's going to get his_, she mused, racking her brain for possible routes for retaliation. She felt herself growing impatient, as eons seemed to pass by before Bobby made his move.  
  
Suddenly, the weight of her hair was lifted, cool air caressing her skin. She realized her hands, still holding the sweater, were trembling. Shivers of anticipation raced up and down her back. She was startled when she felt the press of warm flesh against the nape of her neck.  
  
His mouth.  
  
She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out in surprise, in pleasure at the sensation. He kissed his way down the sensitive nape and down the length of her spine. His lips stopped only at the edge of her camisole in the middle of her back.  
  
Then he licked his way back up.  
  
His lips lingered over her shoulder and her graceful neck, planting kisses against the skin. He continued to hold her hair back as he asked gently, "How's that?"  
  
She exhaled shakily, feeling her hair cascaded down her shoulders and back when he released it. "Bobby..." Sheepishly, she smiled and felt his arms circle her waist once again.  
  
He noticed that unlike that night in his bed, she did not seem frightened. Instead, she was relaxed and only tensed when he kissed the nape of her neck. Her breaths were rapid as he held her against him and he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. "I take it you liked it?"  
  
Silently, she nodded before melting against him. Words seemed to escape her at the moment. The rush of pleasant emotions, centering on Bobby and what he did to her that moment, began to burst forth from inside of her. In addition to her racing heartbeat, she could feel her mouth curl into a wide, smile, and every inch of her was warm. There was no apprehension or self-consciousness regarding her inexperience. No, all of that was replaced with a sense of being wanted, which left her reeling.  
  
Resting his chin against her head, Bobby tightened his around her. "I missed this last night," he murmured, stroking her hair tenderly. He found himself once again surprised to feel how silky it was under his hands. "I wanted to hold you really badly. Sorry my mom's kind of old-fashioned."  
  
She turned to face him, smiling ruefully. "Maybe we can catch up on it when we get back to the mansion." Her sapphire eyes sparkled, punctuating the hopefulness in her voice.  
  
"I would like that," he agreed and planted a kiss on her forehead. Then he took a deep breath, staring deeply into those old-soul eyes. "I guess we should head downstairs to help my mom... Listen, if something happens with my dad... I mean I'm hoping that it doesn't, but if it does then I want you to know that you've got me. I'm not going anywhere. You got it?"  
  
She pressed her lips together firmly and nodded. "Got it."  
  
They wandered downstairs shortly afterwards. Following the complicated aromas that wafted from the kitchen, the young couple immediately sensed that Maddy was in her element as she began to craft a hearty feast. The whizzing noise of the range's fan added to the growing din from the opening of various cabinets and the refrigerator. Her graceful footsteps across the pine floor were almost muffled by the other sounds.  
  
When they reached the spacious and bright kitchen, they found a bright- eyed, but focused Maddy standing over the island, chopping carrots. She paused in her brisk cutting to greet them. In her soothing, froggy voice, she then informed them that she had some fresh chocolate brioche on the kitchen table if they wanted breakfast. Eagerly, Bobby and Jubilee helped themselves to the delicate pastries.  
  
An amused smile tugged at the corners of Maddy's glossy lips as she sliced another carrot. "Well, since you two are going to have lots of energy now, I guess you wouldn't mind helping me with a few things."  
  
Bobby paused in his chewing and swallowed hard. He turned to Jubilee, who was already nodding her assent. "Nothing around here is free," he whispered loudly. His brows were raised in a rather conspirator-like way.  
  
"Don't pay attention to him," Maddy said wryly to Jubilee, tossing the carrot slices in a white bowl. "I'm not that bad of a slave driver, dear."  
  
Jubilee grinned, pouring herself a glass of milk from the bottle on the table. "That's reassuring. What can I do to help you?"  
  
"It's a little chilly for my liking," Maddy began, turning her attention to several stalks of celery.  
  
Bobby put on a wide-eyed, innocent look. "Hey, don't look at me."  
  
She winked at him and laughed. "I was wondering if you could throw two cherry logs into the fireplace and start a fire? They're already inside the living room along with the lighter."  
  
Jubilee finished her milk in one gulp. She walked over to the sink, rinsed it out, and placed it in the near empty dishwasher. "No problem," she replied cheerfully, beginning to saunter out of the kitchen. "I'm on it."  
  
Her pace was slow and relaxed towards the living room. She could already feel her stomach filling up from the sweet breakfast. Dropping to her haunches, she effortlessly placed the thick pieces of wood into the fireplace. The aromatic scent of the aged bark filled the air with a fragrant scent.  
  
Then she rose to her feet to grab the long-stemmed lighter from the mantle, but paused to gaze at the framed photographs. Most of them were of Bobby during his younger years. It was amazing to see how little he changed. Sure, the hairstyles and taste in clothing evolved over the years. Particularly intriguing was what appeared to be a picture from high school. Bobby appeared to be sporting a pair of very long sideburns and bouffant bangs. Apparently, in his younger years, he was quite the fan of 90210. It was either that or Vanilla Ice. She found herself smiling fondly, her fingers tracing over his boyish face.  
  
_It's almost disgusting that I'm not laughing hysterically at this photo and that I want to just lie in his arms instead,_ she mused to herself, shivering slightly. Despite the fact that she was wearing one of her thicker sweaters, she could still feel the cool air. It was then that she was quickly reminded of the task she promised to take care of for Maddy.  
  
Jubilee knelt in front of the hearth with lighter in hand. Her thumb pushed up the switch, which clicked rather loudly. To her surprise, no flame was produced. Confused, she shook the lighter slightly in order to stir the fluid inside. She was disappointed to notice that there was little liquid swishing.  
  
"How's it going?" Bobby drawled as he wandered to the fireplace, dropping to his knees. He watched her heave a frustrated sigh as she played with the lighter. "What's wrong?"  
  
She chewed on her lower lip. "The lighter doesn't work," she replied. "Do you know if your mom has another one of these or at least a box of matches?"  
  
He shook his head. "I don't think so. That might be the only thing we have around the house. Some of the convenience stores should be open. Maybe I can stop over to one and pick up another lighter."  
  
"No, you shouldn't have to do that," she said slowly, racking her brain to come up with an alternative. Her crystalline eyes widened when she finally discovered her solution. She was a little peeved with herself for not coming up with it sooner.  
  
Leaning towards the fireplace, she extended the palm of her hand over the logs and summoned a bright spark. Immediately, the beginnings of a flame flickered as a result. She absorbed the spark back into her hand with ease. The young girl was about to beam proudly up at Bobby, but she hesitated when she heard heavy footfalls, which were accompanied by the clanging of something metal against the hardwood floor.  
  
Startled, both she and Bobby whipped around. Standing in the doorway, which connected the foyer to the living room stood a solid-looking man in his mid-fifties. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back from his pinkish face, freshly scrubbed from a hot shower. He looked as if he was once a great outdoorsman who would have probably enjoyed fishing and hiking in the prime of his life from his broad hands. The maroon cardigan he wore over his pressed slacks and chambray shirt seemed to accentuate his eyes. They were gray, like Bobby's, but were steelier in quality. As he placed his weight slightly on the aluminum cane he was using, the nostrils of his crooked nose flared. In contrast to the perpetually smiling mouth of Maddy Drake, the man's lips appeared as if they were constantly drawn in a grim and austere line. While he said nothing, it was abundantly clear that he saw what just happened. The beginnings of a scowl communicated his disapproval.  
  
"Dad," Bobby managed finally. He rose to his feet and made his way to the stern-faced Bill, followed by his girlfriend. Never one to sweat, he could feel the palm of his hands suddenly damp with anxiety. "It's good to see you up. Sorry to miss you last night."  
  
Bill's chin quivered slightly before he responded. "Did you?" The knuckles of the hand holding onto the handle of the cane were white from his tightening grip.  
  
Perplexed, Bobby frowned at him. "Yeah, I did," he said slowly, as if trying to decipher his father like a complicated jigsaw puzzle. Perhaps, the elder Drake wasn't feeling well. "Is everything all right? Do you want me to get Mom?"  
  
"No," Bill replied curtly, licking his dry, chapped lips. Lately, the air was much drier than usual, which caused his skin to lose its moisture. He hated the idea of wearing lip balm as Maddy often went after him to do. Men simply did not wear such things.  
  
Bobby continued to peer at his father with the same confused expression. He racked his brain to figure out what was eating at the old man, hoping it was not the obvious. Then his gazed flickered over to Jubilee, who was now standing next to him. Suddenly, he straightened. Remembering the common pleasantries in social situations, he turned to his father and said, "Dad, I'd like for you to meet my new girlfriend, Jubilation Lee...Jubilee for short. Jubilee, this is my father William Drake."  
  
Jubilee extended her hand towards Bill, the same hand that helped to set the fire burning behind them. "It's nice to meet you," she drawled politely with her most disarming smile. She only hoped this was enough to mask the nervousness inside.  
  
Bill stared at the proffered hand long and hard. He drew in a deep breath. Then he nodded stiffly. He gingerly turned himself around to make his departure. "I'll be in my study until dinner," he told Bobby, but eyeing Jubilee warily. With his cane guiding him, he shuffled down the hall.  
  
In his younger years, Bobby was often quick to lose his temper. When he was upset, everyone knew it. His years at the school, working with Professor Xavier and the other members of the team, aided him in mellowing out. He was less prone to fly off the handle when things did not go his way. Frustration was something to be analyzed and dealt with, not a cause for losing control. Yet, for all that training, he could feel himself reverting to his less mature ways.  
  
"That son of a bitch," he hissed through gritted teeth, annunciating each word with bitterness. His fists were clenched at his sides. He could feel the ice already forming over. Still scowling, he began to follow his father. "That was totally inappropriate. You shouldn't have been treated like that. What the hell did he think he was doing? Goddamn him."  
  
He didn't make it farther from the doorway when he felt a hand grasp his upper arm firmly. His eyes fell upon Jubilee's lovely, delicate face, which was clouded with a concerned expression. He shook his head and tried to placate her with a smile. "I'm just going to talk to him."  
  
"Don't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
She sighed. "I'm fine," she told him, sapphire eyes roving over his boyish face. "You can see that I haven't fallen apart or anything. I'm still standing...here with you. Besides, he probably saw me setting the fire. He looked kind of freaked out. Not that I can blame him, really." She paused and took one of his cold hands, squeezing it. "Just give him time to deal with all of this, okay?"  
  
The study inside the Drake home was more masculine in its décor than the rest of the house. The walls were painted a stark white, which set off the hardwood floor and leather-upholstered, sable chairs and ash-and-veneer pieces with their coffee-bean finish. A mobile with four historic planes, the Spirit of St. Louis, the Winnie Mae, a Fokker and a Spad, circled over the stately desk. Nearby, a replica of a Curtiss Jenny plane was perched on top of the sturdy file cabinet.  
  
Bill leaned back in his desk chair, the plush leather firm against him. He folded his hands together. His gray eyes stared outside the window. With faint fascination, he watched his neighbors greeting various members of their families with warm graciousness. He fought to quell the envious feelings that stirred inside of him as he observed fathers and sons, who possessed a close relationship that was sadly foreign to him.  
  
_"Just give him time to deal with all of this, okay?"   
_  
He heard the young girl shell out this piece of advice just as he was closing the door. Upon hearing her soft voice echo in his head, he flinched involuntarily. There was a part of him that wanted Bobby to follow him. He did not want time to 'deal with all of this'. For a moment, Bill braced himself for a confrontation.  
  
But Bobby never came.  
  
Bill rubbed his temples with his fingertips. It was just as well. He wasn't certain as to how he was about to explain what happened. Looking back on the whole encounter, he was left searching for any semblance of reason. He was simply immobilized.  
  
He had to admit that this one was much prettier than the last one Bobby brought around. Hell, she was beautiful. For starters, she had striking coloring---black hair, creamy skin, and those eyes. They were an amazing shade of blue, like sapphires. Her features were delicate and finely shaped, which immediately evoked comparisons to porcelain dolls his mother used to collect. However, she seemed to exude an aura of strength and determination that went beyond her years.  
  
She had looked so expectant as she held out her small hand to him. It was hard not to notice the hopeful glimmer in her sparkling eyes. When he did not take it, he did not see the anger or indignation mirrored in the eyes of Bobby's last girlfriend. Instead, this girl was genuinely disappointed and hurt. A quizzical wrinkle furrowed her sable brow as if she were trying to figure out why he was not more receptive to her.  
  
As if she didn't bloody know.  
  
He saw her.  
  
He saw it all.  
  
After Bill showered and dressed, he decided to make his way downstairs to check on Maddy. While her tradition was creating a large, sumptuous feast, part of his routine was to make sure she wasn't going overboard. It was their way of sharing a special piece of the holiday. As Bill wandered down the stairs, he could hear his son's voice. Initially, he was reluctant to speak with Bobby right away given what he overheard the night before. When he neared the bottom of the stairs, his ambivalence was quickly pushed aside. This was his house and the last he checked, he was the one who headed this family.  
  
He remembered walking---no, limping---towards the living room. Bobby was kneeling down in front of the fireplace next to the girl. Bill missed out on what they were talking about, but watched her reach into the fireplace. His eyes nearly popped out of his head as a white, glittering light burst forth from her outstretched hand, creating a brilliant fire.  
  
A myriad of thoughts raced through his head. He was aware that the girl was a mutant, but witnessing her abilities was an entirely different thing altogether. He wondered what the hell she was thinking. He wondered if she was going to lose control and burn his house down. He wondered if there was any way the neighbors could have seen what just transpired. He wondered if there was a group of people who wanted to terrorize mutants, waiting outside to attack them.  
  
Most importantly, he wondered why, for the umpteenth time, his son persisted on being so...different.  
  
His eyes fell upon the Curtiss Jenny model plane. It was the standard fare for Allied pilots during World War I and daredevils thereafter. The reproduction was resplendent in silver; its wings made of star-emblazoned silk canvas and stretched tight over a wooden frame. Bill had taken great care of this model since his older brother, Robert, transferred it to his care many years ago.  
  
Robert. His son's namesake, his father's favorite, his older brother whom he could never equal in any measure. Handsome, intelligent, and charming, Robert Drake was the family's pride and joy. He was the first one to attend college and to realize a life outside of their working-class family. He was going to fight in the last Great War. He was going to come back a hero.  
  
He never did. Instead, he died during one of the smaller battles in Austria. At the time, Bill was very young but he knew that things suddenly changed once his family discovered the tragic news. Without his brother, he would have no one to look up to, no one to take him out to the park to improve his weak pitching arm, no one to compete with for his parents' time. Suddenly, Bill was the focus of the Drake household. His parents' attention was now turned onto him.  
  
He hated every minute of it.  
  
Having never resolved his grief, Bill's strong-willed father saw another opportunity to mold another Robert in Bill. He pushed young Bill into activities Robert had already mastered, such as hockey and football. When Bill did not meet expectations, the elder Drake put it upon himself to motivate his younger son through tough love. His definition of the term tended to emphasize the tough more than the love. It was not uncommon for young Bill to listen to tirades from his father. The criticism often centered around Bill's inability to be real man that his father could proud of since he couldn't do this right or that right.  
  
Bill turned away from the model airplane. He wanted to say that he felt pained every time his father attacked him. But that was not the case at all. Instead, he found himself agreeing with him, acting as an accomplice in re-creating a memory of his brother through himself. He shared his father's disappointments when he was unable to achieve the same milestones Robert did. Many nights, he cursed himself for not meeting those lofty standards set by a young boy buried deep in the ground. Bill ingrained the implicit message that was communicated during these years.  
  
To be normal and accepted was to be safe and most importantly, loved.  
  
As he found his eyelids becoming increasingly heavy, he found himself wondering where he had gone wrong with Bobby. Bill had tried the best he could to emulate his father's rearing techniques. However, Maddy, a voracious reader of Dr. Spock's work, would not hear of any of it. It was one of those rare times she firmly stood her ground to him.  
  
He found that his attempts were more covert and involved steering Bobby towards certain things as well as away from other things. He tried to guide the boy in the direction of what he considered normal. In his younger years, his son's will was a little malleable back then. Yet, he was always questioning Bill as to what was the underlying reason for keeping him away from the black family who just moved around the corner, why eccentric Cousin Frank was no longer welcome in their home, and why he wasn't allowed to take art lessons at the community center after Mom said yes. However, once Bobby came under the tutelage of that shyster Xavier, Bill found his son a different person to the point where he rejected everything Bill worked so hard to instill in Bobby.  
  
Upon meeting this new girlfriend, she was everything Bill did not want for his son. When she set the fire with her hand, Bill found that he was upset. It was as if she were telling Bobby that it was fine to call attention to yourself. This contradicted what Bill tried to convey to his son all these years: Keep a low profile. Don't tell people you're a...mutant. Everything will be just fine if you don't.  
  
Even worse, was her recklessness in using her powers so easily. If she were more cognizant of the climate in society, then she would have shown more brains than to do what she did. Was she so naïve and stupid not to realize that there were people out there who would be ready to hurt for revealing her true status? By freely throwing a freak show with her as the main attraction, she was placing not only herself at risk, but Bobby as well. Just being seen with someone known as a mutant by the wrong group might put him at the mercy of irrational people.  
  
Touching his nose briefly, Bill knew he could rely on first-hand experience. Unbeknownst to his family, he definitely changed that day. His views of the world shifted in a way that left him reeling even now. Before, he had been embarrassed and ashamed of the idea of being different. Following his violent encounter, fear dominated his outlook. It was fear for his son; fear that Bobby would soon meet an early death and would not have the rich future he deserved.  
  
He opened his eyes again when he felt his shoulder being shaken gently. Maddy stood over him, her expression tender and affectionate as she stroked his hair. He could smell the spices that wafted from her hair and skin as a result of her work in the kitchen.  
  
"Dinner's ready," she told him in her comfortingly throaty voice. "I hope you've got enough energy to carve the turkey. I don't know how you wouldn't with seven hours of sleep."  
  
Bill looked up at her quizzically. "Seven hours?" he asked, eyebrows knitting themselves together. He sat up quickly and felt the blood rush to his head. "I just stepped here and..."  
  
"And fell sound asleep," his wife finished for him. She was wearing a sky- blue, mock-turtleneck sweater over her khaki skirt, which set off her golden hair and soft, blue eyes.  
  
He cleared his throat abruptly, which left a raw sensation. "I'm sorry, Maddy." In his advanced years, Bill was finding himself having to atone for a lot more. Whether or not he actually apologized or not, the feeling of guilt still weighed him down.  
  
She nodded in understanding, as she always did. Their marriage made her Bill's most loyal supporter in the face of evidence that might have convinced her to turn away. Waving a dismissive hand, she said, "It's fine, really. I made sure the kids picked up the slack to make up for your absence. The two of them learned how to make my apple pie this afternoon. Of course, Bobby kept trying to sneak some apples..."  
  
He bristled and his face twisted itself into a grimace. Apparently, his wife failed to notice what he did. She talked about Bobby and his new friend so casually, as if it were normal for their son. Why couldn't she see that this was not the case? Nothing about this came close to being remotely normal or accepted. Their son was going to be even more of an outcast in the world than he was already.  
  
Maddy reached for his cane and handed it to him. She held her arm so that he could steady himself as he struggled to his feet. When he was standing, she drew away from him. "I've worked so hard today," she told him quietly as she made strides towards the door. "Please do your part to help."  
  
When she left the room, Bill suddenly felt like he was the outcast.  
  
The dining room played a welcoming host to this year's dinner. The walls were an airy shade of cream with white trim, which contrasted against the ebony stain of the generous-sized dining table, sideboard, and hutch crafted from American ash. The chairs were upholstered in a black-and- cream awning stripe, supported by firm, maple legs. A chandelier with an antiqued-nickel finish and pleated fabric shades bathed the room in a convivial light.  
  
Despite the many dinners Maddy had prepared over the years, she felt as if she had outdone herself this year. There was a 16-pound, roasted turkey with herbs and port gravy that was the focal point of the meal. Accompanying it, was a cornbread dressing with chestnuts, cheddar-bacon biscuits, homemade cranberry sauce, buttery mashed potatoes, and honeyed carrots. Sparkling apple cider and the chardonnay Bobby and Jubilee brought over were the featured beverages. Still waiting in the kitchen was the piece de resistance, apple pie and homemade vanilla ice cream.  
  
The four of them started the dinner by toasting to family and new opportunities, which obviously pained both Bill and Bobby. Neither one of them appeared as if they were going to be sincere in their efforts to celebrate either. However, at Maddy's insistence, both gray-eyed men obliged. As Bill was carving the mammoth bird, he and the others doled out their unabashed compliments to Maddy and her culinary skills. With good grace and modesty, she accepted the comments. Any semblance of conversation soon faded as they proceeded to delight in the meal. Mouths became full with various samplings of what was served.  
  
After several minutes of consuming, Bill was the first one to break the silence. He felt the warmed gravy slide down his throat as he swallowed. His steely gray eyes flicked over to Jubilee, who was sitting next to Bobby and across from Maddy. "So," he drawled, spearing a piece of white meat. "Jubilee. What kind of name is that?"  
  
Bobby was about to lift a forkful of cornbread dressing into his mouth. He paused to frown darkly at his father. "Dad..."  
  
Before he could finish whatever he was going to say, Jubilee intervened. "My parents had been trying for a long time to have a child," she began earnestly. "When I was born, they said they saw it as a cause for celebration. Like a jubilation." Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she recounted the explanation her father passed on to her when she was young. Sharing it with other people, it was hard for her to believe how corny it sounded.  
  
Maddy rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She smiled in a way that relayed her understanding of the emotions experienced by the young girl's parents. It was similar to the way she felt when Bobby was born. "That's a wonderful story," she told Jubilee.  
  
Jubilee managed a nervous smile. Her sapphire eyes glanced over at Bill. Unlike his wife, he did not seem to think it was all that nice of a story. He looked rather confused, as if he was still unsure as to why any parent would give their child such a name. His mouth formed an expressionless, grim line, making it harder for her to decipher what exactly he thought of her at the moment.  
  
Before she could mull the situation any further, he fired off another question in his abrupt voice. "How old are you?"  
  
"Eighteen," she replied a little quickly, taking her knife and buttering her biscuit. She knew already she felt off-balanced when he spoke. Hell, she felt off-balanced around him, period.  
  
His brows were raised. "Eighteen?" With those steely gray eyes, he peered over at his son. Immediately, trite scenarios began to play out in his head regarding how the couple met. "She one of your students?"  
  
Bobby almost spat out his chardonnay. Fortunately, he managed to catch himself and swallowed hard. He was tempted to provide a sardonic reply to the question, not liking where his father was running with this. A warning, but pleading look from his mother stopped him from taking the plunge. "No," he said slowly through gritted teeth, "she's not."  
  
The elder Drake showed no indication of what he thought of his son's answer. He chose to continue his line of question, instead. Not looking directly at Jubilee as he scooped some cranberry sauce onto his fork, he said, "I assume you've graduated from Xavier's school?"  
  
She nodded. "Yes, Mr. Drake," she answered, wiping the corners of her mouth with a starched napkin. "I'm actually finishing my first semester at college."  
  
Maddy poured herself a second glass of chardonnay. "How exciting," she commented. "What are you studying, dear?"  
  
The young girl dropped the napkin back in her lap, trying not to peer over at Bobby. She could instantly tell that he was beginning to become irritated. With a good-natured smile, she replied, "I'm not exactly sure, but I think I'm leaning towards psychology with maybe a minor in fine arts."  
  
"That sounds wonderful," Maddy bubbled, sipping her wine. She turned to her husband, who was chewing furtively. "Bill, doesn't sound wonderful? It certainly makes you think of your college days."  
  
Bill stared at the Asian girl with the brilliant eyes and pretty face. Swallowing, he licked his lips of the excess gravy that remained. "Psychology?" he inquired flatly. "That's the study of getting into people's heads, right?"  
  
"More or less. I'm sure there are more detailed definitions of the field." Jubilee ate a piece of turkey, hoping that Bill Drake's focused attention on her would soon start to wane.  
  
Unfortunately, her internal pleas went unanswered. Bill pressed on relentlessly over his mashed potatoes. "So, that's not something you can already do, is it? Find out what's going on in people's minds?"  
  
Bobby's fork met the plate with a loud clang. His face was turning a shocking shade of pink as his shoulders heaved. _What the hell?_ Glaring at his father, he felt every part of his body tense. There was no way his mother was going to consider this as something that should be ignored. He briefly turned his gaze to her. The younger Drake noticed his mother staring at her husband in disbelief. She looked as if she wanted to admonish him, but seemed dumbfounded as to what to say exactly.  
  
Just as he was about to take care of the job for his mother, he felt a soft hand on his thigh. Startled, he looked down and discovered it belonged to Jubilee. The simple gesture, her touch seemed to communicate so much at that moment. It reflected her disappointment as to how things were going so far. There was also her empathy regarding the feelings of anger and hurt he was experiencing. Trumping both was her insistence that he not lose his composure and that he allow her to fight her own battle.  
  
Difficult as it was, Bobby relented. He resigned himself to only scowling at his father for the moment. Under the table, he placed his hand over Jubilee's.  
  
Suddenly, she found herself drawing some solace from his words he offered the night before. They echoed in her mind as if he had just uttered them. _"...As long as we're together, I have to believe that nothing could be ever as bad as we've both imagined."_   
  
"No, I can't do that," she told him quietly, feeling Bobby squeeze her hand. "What you saw... I mean that's what I do." Almost immediately, she saw Bill in the living room again after she had set the fire. The look of abject disapproval was still fresh and vivid in her memory. Now, it seemed very awkward simply talking about it.  
  
Bill helped himself to a second serving of dressing after another lapse into silence. Well, that was one less thing to worry about. There was no reason to be preoccupied about someone snooping around in his brain. It was a complicated place to begin with. Plus, he was still trying to figure this girl out.  
  
In a further effort of this pursuit, he made another inquiry. It was an innocuous one, really. Not even Bobby, who seemed to be searching for an altercation of sorts, would not be able to find something offensive about it. "So, Jubilee," he began, pouring his gravy over his dressing. "Are you from New York originally." He tempted to beam triumphantly at his son, his way of saying, "Hah. I've shown you." However, he refrained himself.  
  
"I'm not, actually," Jubilee said, slightly stunned with the neutral question. She blinked as if it to convince herself that Bill really posed it. "I'm from California."  
  
"Los Angeles?" That was the only city that came to mind. Having lived on the East coast for most of his life, he did not know much about the West.  
  
She shook her head, finishing her sparkling cider. "No, I've lived there, though. I was born and spent my childhood in Beverly Hills."  
  
He looked pensive as he ate his turkey, which he mixed with his potatoes and dressing. In between bites, he contemplated his words. "Your parents... Are they still in the area?"  
  
Bobby ran his thumb over the inside of her wrist. While he had told his mother about Jubilee's parents, the subject never came up with his father. From the guilelessness that exuded from Bill's face, it was apparent that he was genuinely ignorant. Bobby studied his girlfriend's profile, searching for any reaction.  
  
To her credit, she was calm and collected. She never found herself close to tears when the subject of her parents. Long ago, Jubilee learned to deal with their deaths in terms of facts. Things were simply easier that way. She hurt less. "No, they're no longer in the area," she began, but found herself being interrupted by Bill.  
  
"And what do they do?"  
  
"They _were _cardiologists."  
  
"Were? Retired, I suppose. And how do they feel about you? About what you...what you can do?"  
  
Jubilee pressed her lips firmly together for a moment. Honestly, it was nothing she truly considered. Even more disturbing was the interrogation- room style technique he had adopted. She was left feeling even more off- balance. "I wouldn't know," she said softly, feeling Bobby clasp her hand tightly. "They died when I was thirteen, _before I_ discovered what I can do."  
  
Bill's face with its' crooked nose and steely eyes lost the usual grim expression. His mouth suddenly dried out in spite of the gulp of cider he had just downed. The stares radiating from the eyes of his wife and son seared into his flesh. He could never recall a time when they had looked at him in such a way. It was as if they were embarrassed of and furious with him at the same time. His gaze focused on Jubilee, who did not appear angry. Instead, there was simply an expression of astonishment that clouded her stunning features.  
  
As he searched for some tactful way out of his predicament, he was convinced that this entire situation was very far away from what he thought was normal. At first, he had wanted to blame her for the mess. How was he supposed to know that she was some goddamn orphan? She should have said something as they were talking about her background. As for his question, Bill did not see anything hurtful about it. No, he was going to compare notes regarding how other parents handled their child's "special abilities". While these rationalizations would have mollified his doubts and possibly, the ire of his loved ones, he was aware that he would not be able to hide behind such things.  
  
There was a bitter taste in his mouth, which overpowered the succulence of the dinner he had just consumed. It was the bitter taste of the truth. He was not a concerned father anymore. Bill Drake was a bully, and no better than the Neanderthals who beat him to a pulp all those years ago. Even though he had not resorted to violence when dealing with Jubilee, he felt as if his words and his demeanor had done equal justice.  
  
He followed up his faux pas the only way he could. Throwing his napkin on his plate and pulling himself to his feet, he steadied himself with his cane. "I'm not feeling well," he said flatly as he made his way to the staircase. Adeptly, Bill managed to avoid the stares of the people at the dinner table. He was not sure as to how he would respond if he even peered over at their faces again. Grimly, he decided by doing so it would confirm what had been running through his mind for most of the day.


	21. Chapter Twenty One You and I Both

I'm back between weddings and moving. Here's the latest chapter. I have to say, that this one of the most difficult chapters I've ever written. I just hope that it's an appropriate followup to the previous chapter.

Thanks to all of you for the feedback. It helps to know what you think about how things are progressing.

The characters belong to Marvel, but the story is mine.

**Chapter Twenty-One: You and I Both  
**  
The day after Thanksgiving arrived the following morning. The golden sun sparkled against the crisp, blue sky. However, unlike the somewhat mild temperatures that dominated yesterday's festivities, the air was now cool. Winter winds were brisk, bending bare branches and lifting leaves and other debris from the ground in the air.  
  
In the aftermath of holiday gatherings that transpired the day before, neighborhood streets were quiet. While the previous day held the promise of activity, today was rather subdued. Many decided to spend the morning recovering from partaking in the Thanksgiving tradition of preparing and consuming lavish meals. Promises of going on various crash diets to compensate for gorging on rich foods floated in the air. Accompanying them were also plans to embark on treks to the local shopping centers in order to stake out the Christmas sales.  
  
The Drake home was still, mirroring the tranquility that surrounded it by nearby houses. While many of the neighbors were relishing the time spent with their loved ones and friends, the calm that fell over the Drakes' was quite different. The aftermath of last night's meal left a strained, tense air that swirled from room to room. No restful slumber graced the home, thanks to things said and things left unsaid from the night before. Any sleep that was had possibly resulted from the emotional drain of being upset and hurt.  
  
Sitting at the foot of his bed rather glumly, Bill Drake was all too aware of the atmosphere that intruded upon his bright abode. His gray eyes soaked up the hardwood floor beneath his feet. He heaved a sigh, not bothering to control the volume of his exhaling breath. There was no one lying next to him that morning to wake.  
  
His gaze traveled to the empty side of the bed, where his wife usually slept. After he left the dining room, he struggled up the stairs in order to seek some sanctuary in his bedroom. He had expected Maddy to join him shortly after, as she always did. Waiting up for her, he thought about her downstairs with the kids, clearing up the food and putting things away. In his mind, he laid out the half-hearted explanation she would give them regarding his behavior. She might reiterate her words when she and Bobby talked the first night he arrived back while apologizing profusely for her husband's behavior. Bill could picture her traipsing upstairs, ready to placate him and his embarrassed ego. He almost heard that comforting, throaty voice of hers telling him that of course he did not know and that she knew he did not mean to hurt the girl. Her face would be benign as she held him in her arms, offering her unconditional loyalty and love.  
  
"You're my knight in shining armor," she would say to him, echoing her a line in her favorite movie, _On Golden Pond_. She often did so whenever he was feeling down. The manner in which she said it was oh so convincing. He felt invincible, like her protector, like he was incapable of doing no wrong.  
  
But she never came.  
  
Instead, he could make out her light footsteps as she wandered down the hallway two hours later. His ears picked up on the sound of the door of the second guest room, which was next to the hallway bathroom, opening and closing quietly. At first, he thought she was merely gathering blankets for Bobby and Jubilee. However, when he did not hear any noises following her entry, he knew she was retiring for the evening.  
  
In spite of the hours that passed since then, Bill continued to be in state of shock. Never in all the years they were married, had Maddy ever displayed such anger towards him. Granted, they had their share of arguments through the years, but these disagreements were always resolved before they went to bed. He was used to his wife swallowing down similar feelings and using her diplomatic, but cajoling demeanor in order to get her point across. She never believed in the silent treatment.  
  
Until last night.  
  
It was strange, sleeping alone. He had not done so since his stay at the hospital, where he was immobilized for several weeks. Even then, Maddy was by side with her encouraging words and pleasant smiles. This was not the case last night. All Bill had to keep him company throughout the long, cold evening were her pillows, which smelled of lavender.  
  
Needless to say, he did not sleep well. If he were pressed to provide a numerical amount of hours, he would have to guess about three. Most of that time was spent tossing, turning, and ruminating. He found himself obsessing as to how to lessen his culpability. Using his ignorance as his only defense, he internally rationalized a case for himself. He simply did not know about the girl's parents. There was no harm or malice behind his words. While he had not been convinced of the validity of such an argument at the time, he was trying to do so as he lay in bed.  
  
As in the moments that haunted him after he uttered his question, Bill found himself quite dubious of his justification. Images of people's shocked and disappointed countenances flooded his mind. They continued to surround him even as he closed his eyes. It was then that his feelings of guilt and shame began to settle in like old familiar friends. There was no way he could allow himself off of the hook. No excuse was sufficient enough.  
  
With his son, he would even venture to say that the young man was growing livid as each second passed. Prior to turning away, Bill noticed a change in his son's demeanor. Bobby's gray eyes, usually playful and friendly, glared at him with a fury Bill had never observed before. Sure, Bobby was upset when he confronted him over that girl with the skunk-like hair, but that was nothing compared to what transpired last night. He had looked as if he were struggling to restrain himself. His jaw was clenched tightly and the color of his skin was growing a pale shade of pink.  
  
It was that picture of Bobby stayed with Bill for the rest of the night. Bill found it hard to fathom that his son, known for his good-natured sense of humor, was even capable of experiencing such fiery emotions. Furthermore, he never considered that he would be on the receiving end of such a look from his son.  
  
What baffled him was that things seemed to be progressing well. Not excellent, but well. Bill was trying to get to know the girl in his own way. He had wanted to get beyond the image that had been seared into his brain earlier that day. Watching his son's choice in girlfriend exhibiting her freak-like abilities was not a pleasing picture to replay over and over again. It still unsettled him as to how easily and freely she had chosen to use her powers.  
  
In the end, he knew that he had not meant to be the aggressor towards Jubilee. To him, she was very different from that other girl, who had ended up having ties to organized crime. This girl was patient when dealing with his rapid-fire questioning, giving him candid answers. She also seemed to be honestly taken with Bobby. The way she stole glances at him during dinner was something Bill had learned to pick up on.  
  
He had also detected nuances in Bobby's behavior. It was clear that he was happy to have this girl by his side. During the meal, he exuded this fierce protectiveness of her and was prepared to take Bill to task regarding anything that might have been construed as insulting. He was making it quite clear that this was someone who was different from the other girls he had brought by in the past. This girl, Jubilee, was someone he deeply cared about. She was worth getting upset over, even at his own father.  
  
Despite the case that was being built as to how this girl might be good for Bobby, Bill remained reserved in his judgment. After his experience at the hands of those violent thugs, he learned not to rush into making decision. After all, there was still the issue of her being what she was. She was a mutant, someone who was hated by the majority in society. Nothing about her station in life was all that reassuring or comforting. She and Bobby faced the likelihood of being hunted down, harassed, or even worse, killed for being different. What kind of future was that?  
  
Despite his innocent intentions at the time, there was his previous track record to consider. Not one known for his tolerance and understanding, Bill knew that some of his behavior was hurtful. Back then, he did not care who was upset. He was only protecting the best interests of his family. In essence, he was ensuring a normal life for them, free of any potential danger that threatened to wreak any havoc. So, in the scheme of things, what he was doing was not really spiteful since his motivation stemmed from concern for Bobby.  
  
Bill shook his head in disbelief. For years, he had invested a great amount of time and energy into securing a safe existence for his family. He shrugged off any doubts that might have plagued him. Being the head of household, he knew what was best. This was the truth he wanted to know. As he continued to mull over the events of last night, it was becoming increasingly clear that this was not the case at all.  
  
Bill's mouth formed its' characteristic grim line. As much as he wanted to believe that the girl caused friction between father and son, the truth would not let him. She was nothing but courteous and kind, acting as a complete character foil to him. No. That night, he was the monster. He was the one who brought ugliness, fear, and shame into the house. It was his actions that roused such a reaction from Bobby. Any other considerations would be based on lies.  
  
There was so much hope that led up to the dinner---at least, that was what he was able to interpret. The house was gleaming and smelled of a wonderful meal. Maddy had even made a request that he try to monitor himself. This was rather unusual as she often avoided any discussion about his behavior towards Bobby's friends. It was no secret to him that she was wary of some of the things he said and did. However, as a person who did not like confrontation, she did not address it with him explicitly. But she did, in her own low-key way. It was her hope that everything about the gathering would go well.  
  
Bill observed the same sense of hope emanating from the girl. She was polite, offering her hand in the gesture of good tidings. Unlike her predecessor, she appeared genuine in her desire to get to know him. There were some moments where he expected her to throw some fireworks at him or something. Yet, none of that ever happened. Her responses to his rapid-fire questioning were earnest and patient. She was even willing to talk about what happened in the living room, which he had to give her credit for. Given his initial reaction to what he saw, she had to have known that he was not thrilled about what she did.  
  
In analyzing the two women, Bill became aware that the two of them shared something else besides hope. They seemed motivated by the desire to make the evening a pleasant one for Bobby. Both knew that he was wary of the situation, the prospect of Bill meeting his son's latest girlfriend. Working independently of each other, Maddy and Jubilee sought to make the experience as painless as possible.  
  
In short, they were the ones _really_ looking out for Bobby.  
  
Bill raked a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping in resigned failure. He sat on his bed, coming to accept that he was now an old man realizing that he had let down his family. Instead of protecting them as he had mandated himself to do, he was, in fact, hurting them. The pained, ashamed expressions on his wife and son's faces were damning evidence of this conclusion.  
  
All these years he wasted pursuing ideals that were based on deeply flawed logic. In his pursuit of normalcy, Bill became blind to what was truly harmful to his family. As a result, the only thing he was receiving for his efforts was a son whose resentment of him and everything he stood for was growing with each passing minute. He could still hear Bobby cursing after him after their encounter in the living room.  
  
_"That son of a bitch...What the hell did he think he was doing? Goddamn him."  
_  
Bill could only come up with one explanation for his conduct. He was simply operating under a set of cues and schemas ingrained into him after years and years. There was no other way he could operate. However, getting his son and his wife to believe that was already proving to be an arduous task altogether.  
  
Jubilee lay awake in bed. She blinked, trying to moisten her eyes. The lack of sleep, combined with the parched air, dried them out. She closed them tightly in an attempt to coach herself into getting more rest. Much like the previous times she had tried to do so, she found herself restless and nowhere near slumber.  
  
Like Bill Drake, she was thinking about the events that transpired the night before. She wondered if there was any way it could have played out differently. Perhaps, if she had tried to be evasive about her parents, there wouldn't have been that painfully awkward moment. If she really tried, she could have found a way to steer the conversation towards another topic. Maybe they would have had an uneventful Thanksgiving meal just like other families in other homes.  
  
Unfortunately, things did not turn out that way.  
  
There was a part of her that was disheartened by the outcome of the dinner. Like Maddy, Jubilee had wanted things to go well. She was aware of the strained relationship between Bobby and his father. Not wanting to add to the tension, she tried her best to make things work. She was polite and honest with him, providing the elder Drake no conceivable reason to hold anything against her personally. Yet, that was not enough. As irrational as it sounded, she felt somewhat to blame. She could not place her finger regarding why or how, but felt part of the burden fall on her shoulders.  
  
She remembered when Bill posed his question. He did not sound accusatory or mean-spirited. Rather, it seemed like he was curious. Bill was acting like any other father whose son brought home someone new to meet the parents. He was trying to gather as much information as he could on her. His approach left much to be desired, but she thought his intentions were somewhat reasonable.  
  
Still, she found herself uncomfortable as she formulated her response. Too much time had passed since her parents' death for tears to well up in her eyes. Tragic as the circumstances were, Jubilee felt that she had found strength in her life through her new family and new life experiences to be able to move on. However, when Bill asked about her parents and what they would have thought of her, she felt quite off-guard. She remembered racking her brain as to a candid reply, but was disappointed when she discovered that she did not know. For a moment, she felt as if she lost them all over again. Surely, she should have known. After all, they _were_ her parents.  
  
The silence was deafening in the minutes that followed her subdued, almost doleful answer. Bill's usually unreadable face was now filled with palpable guilt and surprise. Obviously, he had no idea. His ignorance regarding the topic of her parents was genuine. This only served to exacerbate the uneasiness he was experiencing. His embarrassment regarding the situation finally forced him to flee the dining room, leaving herself, Bobby, and Maddy staring after him.  
  
When she peered over at the remaining Drakes in the room, both of them wore identical expressions anger and shock. Maddy's hand trembled as she placed it over her mouth. She stared at her husband's empty chair and then looked at Jubilee ruefully. Her resentment soon turned to disappointment. It was clear that she had high expectations going into these festivities. Preparing the house and working in the kitchen almost all day, she made it her goal to give the family a picture-perfect Thanksgiving. As she sat back in her chair, Bobby's mother contemplated the evidence of her perceived failure. She looked as if she believed _she_ was the one who had let everyone down.  
  
Meanwhile, Bobby was no longer hiding his frustration. Jubilee had never seen him like this in all the years they had known one another. It was frightening to her to witness such a change. Sitting next to her was not the easy-going Bobby Drake she knew, but a stranger. His gray eyes turned steely, much like his father's, as he stared after the old man in disgust. He pursed his lips, the scowl drifting over his boyish face deepening in intensity. Under the table, he had pulled his hand away from hers and placed it on the table. The knuckles were white from how tightly he had been clenching his fist. Cold air radiated from his hand as he began to speak.  
  
_"That does it," he had said in a surprisingly even voice. "I'm going to kill him."  
_  
_Maddy had shaken her blond head reprovingly at her son. "Bobby, please..." Her voice trailed off, demonstrating her uncertainty as to how to respond to his remark. For the first time, she was at a loss for words. Usually, she had some defense to provide for her husband and his behavior. Yet, tonight was different. She had realized there was no way she could do so and keep her son.  
  
She had turned to Jubilee, still reeling from what happened earlier. "I am so sorry," she had said. "I don't know... Are you all right, dear?"  
_  
_Jubilee remembered nodding mutely, but still locking her eyes on the enraged young man sitting by her side. Searching for a way to diffuse his potentially volatile mood, she had put her hand on his shoulder. "Listen, I'm fine, Bobby. He---he didn't know or he forgot. Either way, it's not important. Besides, he looked like he felt like idiot..."  
  
"That's not an excuse," Bobby had cut in, still staring straight ahead. "He... He was a jerk to you before we sat down to dinner. What he did just now didn't help, either. The man's been crapping all over our holiday. I don't know if I want to spend the rest of my weekend with someone like that."  
_  
_Maddy's had brows shot straight up as she observed her son throwing his napkin on the table in a disgusted manner and rising from his seat. "What are you talking about?" she had asked, her voice colored with fear. It was growing apparently clear what her son had in mind, but she needed to hear him.  
  
His tone had softened as he addressed her. "Mom, I know you've tried your best here. Dinner was wonderful, but there are some things you can't control, namely Archie Bunker upstairs." He then sighed wearily, pressing his lips together. "I don't want to stay here tonight---not with him."  
_  
_Maddy's crestfallen face blanched. "Bobby, no... For God's sake, it's the holidays. You should be here with your family."  
  
"I can't," he had insisted, shaking his head. "I'm not comfortable here, Mom. You saw what happened. There's nothing you can say or do that could possibly defend that. Why the hell should I sit by and watch Jubilee be treated badly?"_  
  
_His mother had folded her hands together at the table, wringing them nervously. "I'm not saying that you do that at all," she had said softly. "But you don't have to pick up and leave... Sweetheart, you just got here."  
_  
_He had turned away from her pleading stare and shook his head again. "I'm sorry, Mom. Jubes and I are going to pack up stuff and get on the road as soon as possible. He's made it clear that he doesn't want us here, and I'm not going to stick around to try to tell him that he's wrong. I'm too tired for that."  
  
It was at that point Jubilee finally spoke up. Turning to Bobby, she had said, "She's not asking you to stay for your dad. She's asking you to stay for her. Isn't that enough?"  
_  
It took over an hour of reasoning and appealing to Bobby in order for him to change his mind. In addition to his sense of humor, he was also known for his stubbornness. Usually, once he had his mind set on something, he was very unlikely to change his position. Yet, he found himself in a rather helpless position as he was being assailed with arguments from both his mother and Jubilee regarding why they should not leave immediately. Overwhelmed with their collaborative effort, he relented.  
  
Watching Bobby threaten to leave, she almost thought that Maddy was going to break down. The Drake matriarch was nothing but kind to Jubilee since she arrived, opening her home to her. The young girl felt compelled to do something to return the kind gesture. Bill had done enough that evening. There was no reason why Maddy should continue to suffer because of what he had done. In the end, Jubilee was pleased with his decision.  
  
Despite appeasing his mother, it was no secret that Bobby was not thrilled about caving in. Jubilee could see the wheels turning in his head as they helped Maddy clear the table that night. To him, that meant another day of putting up with his father, and feeling unwelcomed and on the defensive. The prospect was enough to take away the twinkle that was usually present in his gray eyes. She could also see that he was still upset with himself for bringing her here in the first place. In a way, he was taking on some culpability when it came to the way things turned out.  
  
Jubilee had to admit she had her own reservations about remaining at the Drake house. It was still unclear to her as to how Bill Drake really felt about her. She knew that he disapproved of her using her powers and was wary of the fact that she was a mutant. Other than the remark about getting into other people's heads, he did not make any other comments that could have been construed as hostile. Again, she found herself feeling completely off-balance.  
  
However, she was willing to consider the possibility that he might deeply dislike because of what she was. Sad to say, this would not prove to be the first time she faced such prejudice in her young life. Not too long ago, she died at the hands of people who hated and feared people like her. Heeding the Professor's advice, she took the time to think about what happened to her instead of rushing to judge. Given that she and the rest of her friends lived in a world dominated by "normal people", there was a need to be levelheaded and pragmatic about these things. That was to say, she simply could not tell off or paff every person who was unfriendly towards her. At the same time, she was not completely willing to sit back and overanalyze the situation from the other person's point of view, either.  
  
When it came to dealing with Bobby's father, she was definitely sure that neither of those approaches would be effective. She almost thought he expected such behavior from her as he fired off those questions. It would have been easy to snap at him or to coolly give him a Freudian-like response about his hostility. Quickly, she decided that she did not want to choose the easy way. Instead, she forced herself to be calm and tolerant, drawing strength from a supportive and caring Bobby by her side. Without him, she was not sure if she could have made it through most of the night.  
  
There was also something that aided in fortifying her inner resolve. Several months ago, while Jubilee was in the infirmary following an encounter with Creed, the Professor had stopped in to visit. The man she associated with such insight and understanding into everything was quite aware of her fear that the sociopath Creed would come back. Normally, he would have offered to probe her mind in order to help her confront these anxieties. However, he decided not to go that route, but provided her with something else. It was a biography of the famous female scientist, Marie Curie. The Professor had marked a passage he had wanted her to read. Opening to the page, she was surprised to read the following:  
  
_"Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood."_  
  
For some reason, the quote, simple and succinct, seemed especially poignant.  
  
Jubilee rolled over on her side, her cheek brushing against the soft, worn jersey material of Bobby's T-shirt. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her small mouth as she gazed upon him. Bobby's boyish face was angelic while in repose, his mouth slightly open. He had sneaked out of his bedroom as soon Maddy turned in for the night, and made his way to Jubilee's bed. He had been too exhausted to say much about what happened except that he was sorry. In spite of her initial protests, she was glad she relented and allowed him to sleep over. His arms draped around her slim form provided a temporary reprieve from reliving the evening in her mind.  
  
Despite Bobby's soothing presence, she was still unable to fall asleep. Not wanting to disturb him, she decided to slip out of bed. She grabbed his Georgetown University sweatshirt and pulled it on over her gray T-shirt and green-and-black flannel pajama pants. The air was cool, which may or may not have been attributable to the person sleeping next to her. Shivering, she planted a soft, feathery kiss on his forehead. He stirred slightly, but did not awake. With great stealth, she made her way out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.  
  
As Jubilee descended down the staircase, she wasn't sure what she was going to do while she was up. She supposed she could make herself a cup of tea. Perhaps a nice, hot cup of chamomile would do the trick. That always helped Jean whenever she was combating insomnia. However, when she reached the bottom of the stairs, the thought of a cup of tea was quickly pushed to the back of her mind.  
  
Standing in front of the hallway closet was Bill Drake.  
  
Jubilee contemplated racing back upstairs, hoping to avoid him before he noticed she was there. She realized that this was outside the realm of possibility when he turned his head towards her. No longer stern and disapproving, he appeared quite subdued. There was a weary glaze that clouded his usually steely eyes, which were also lined with dark circles. The elder Drake was already showered and dressed for the day in a vintage, indigo work shirt, a long-sleeved, maroon shirt, and a pair of chinos with loafers. His skin took on a pinkish hue, which was possibly from the copious amounts of hot water he used this morning.  
  
Bracing herself for another awkward moment, she tried to put on a graceful front. "Good morning," she greeted, flinching slight when she heard how shaky her voice sounded to her own ears. Inwardly, she was cursing herself for leaving the safety of her bed and Bobby's arms.  
  
He gripped the handle of his aluminum cane tightly, nodding curtly. "You're up early," he observed. He was surprised to find that without primping, the girl was still radiant as ever. It was unreal how attractive she was.  
  
"So are you," she replied, tucking a lock of silky, ebony hair behind a delicate ear.  
  
He shifted his weight, supporting himself with the cane as he pulled open the hallway closet door. "I don't usually sleep in," he told her, his voice sounding gruff to his own ears. He grabbed his hunter-green down coat off of the wooden hanger. "Anyway, thought I'd get some air... Still smells too sweet in here." He snorted to punctuate his point.  
  
She gave him a quizzical look. Actually, she liked the enveloping aromas of cinnamon and butter that wafted inside these walls. Watching the craggy man struggle with his coat, she was not surprised he disliked it. He probably had a penchant for things that were stark in nature. It would be consistent with his personality.  
  
He leaned against the wall, placing his cane under the doorknob. The trick here was to maintain his balance while pulling his coat. Even after months of physical therapy, he was still unable to completely put weight on his right leg. He narrowed his gray eyes in frustration when his arm missed one of the sleeves. Normally, Maddy or Bobby would assist him in the effort by holding out his coat for him to slip into. Unfortunately, neither one of them were up to help. Even if they were, he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that they would not be willing to volunteer.  
  
Briefly, he glanced at the girl, who stood next to him. Her face was impassive as she studied him with those sapphire eyes. He could only imagine what kind of sad picture he provided for her. Here he was, a pathetic old man who couldn't even put on his own coat. What a waste. If she laughed or smirked, he would not have blamed her.  
  
Suddenly, he felt the coat being taken from his hands. He looked up and saw that Jubilee was holding it out for him to slide into. His gray eyes widened in surprise, but searched for any trace of pity or annoyance in her face. Perhaps, she had gotten tired of him making a fool out of himself. He had done a bang-up job last night, after all. But there was no trace of either. She simply stood there expectantly, waiting to help him. Reluctantly, he shuffled towards her.  
  
He gave her a short nod. "Thank you," he muttered, trying to hide his shame for appearing so weak in front of her. It was a role he had grown to hate. Weakness was something that made him different, attracting attention he did not want or need. He felt that he was no longer regarded with the same respect he had commanded prior to the assault, but as an invalid---someone who elicited feelings of sympathy. The latter often produced a lump in his throat that made it hard for him to swallow.  
  
She tried to look nonchalant, hiding her own feelings of self-consciousness. The encounter was strange and almost surreal in a way. She had considered throwing out a lame excuse in order to make a swift getaway, but found herself providing help. Part of her wanted to be cold like he had been towards her by turning her back on him. But she restrained herself from indulging this urge. Even after how uncomfortable he had made her in this house, she knew that she was not be capable of doing something like that.  
  
Jubilee racked her brain for possible explanations since she was still stunned. Perhaps there was a part of her that wanted to please Bobby by being patient and kind. Or, it could be that she had unknowingly set out to make Bill look like a fool through her polite façade. Maybe it was the insight that the Professor passed on to her regarding how sometimes regular people were simply prisoners of their rigid thinking. In spite of the potential options, she was left with nothing concrete and feeling even more off-balance.  
  
Bill shuffled towards the door, searching for his keys on the pub mirror hooks. He could see the girl was just as disturbed as he was. There was no point in him remaining with her. To him, that would simply add more stress to the situation. He should make a graceful exit now before he could say or do something.  
  
But first, he had to find those goddamn keys. Unfortunately, they were nowhere to be found on the hooks of the pub mirror. His steely eyes searched them over and over again. Nothing. He soon found himself grumbling about not finding them and how his wife probably hid them from him.  
  
"Why would she do that?" Jubilee's girlish voice inquired, shattering his self-absorbed reflections.  
  
He was startled. His head jerked up to stare at her. There was a part of him that expected a skeptical look to meet his gaze. Hell, he thought he would see a smirk or a sneer. However, from the expression on her face, she seemed genuinely curious about his assertion. There was a wide-eyed, child-like quality to the girl's face as she peered back at him.  
  
His first instinct was to turn away and not answer her. After all, it was none of her business. Bill was not one to advertise his family's idiosyncrasies. That kind of thing was deeply personal and should stay here in the family, in this house. Who the hell was this girl? She was just a nosy child who clearly did not know her place. It should have been so easy for him to ignore her question.  
  
But it wasn't.  
  
Against his better judgment, he went against what his instincts were telling him to do. "Maddy doesn't like me going outside by myself," he managed flatly. His gray eyes quickly averted her perplexed face as he continued to speak. "She thinks I can't get around right because... because of this."  
  
Jubilee followed his withering glare to the aluminum cane that was steadying his gait. She simply nodded, not communicating her opinion either way. The gesture was meant to convey her understanding of the situation. She did not want to make a condescending comment about how he was still recovering from his injuries, nor did she feel that denying the severity of his disability would the right thing to do. Hearing the bitterness in his tone as he referred to his cane reflected his own ambivalence about venturing out in the world. To glibly brush over that would be like denying his experience. As a survivor of many traumatic events in her young life, she was not one to advocate such an approach.  
  
Bill's shoulders slumped slightly in defeat, resigning himself to the fact that he could not locate his house keys. He limped towards the front door. As he did so, he could feel a dull pain start to radiate from his right leg. His silvery brows knitted themselves in self-loathing. As much as he wanted to go off on his own, he knew his body placed some limitations. He had almost forgotten how bitterly cold air made that leg especially sensitive.  
  
Still, he wanted to get out of the house. He felt almost suffocated by the lingering fragrances from last night's dinner. They reminded him of his family's disappointed glares and the actions that elicited these looks. It was like reliving those awkward moments over and over again. He needed a break.  
  
Reaching for the doorknob, he tore his eyes away from the girl with the brilliant eyes. The Drake patriarch tried to hide the physical pain he was experiencing. He did not want to look any more pathetic than he already did. At least, that was the way he saw things.  
  
"I'll be on the porch," he informed her brusquely, steely eyes soaking the hardwood floor beneath his feet. There was now tingling in his hip as he continued to stand in front of the door. The sensation was now making it difficult for him to move. He winced, struggling to turn the knob.  
  
With some reluctance, she grasped the knob and opened the door for him. "Here," she offered, intervening sooner than she did when he was trying to pull on his coat. All the while, she made sure she was not looking directly at him.  
  
A cool breeze danced along his cheeks from outside. His face was expressionless as he nodded his gratitude. That was twice she helped him without any solicitations from him. Why, he would have thought if he were in her position, things would be different. Like the rest of the Drake household, she should have wanted nothing more to do with him. Yet, she was still here, even assisting him in doing very mundane things.  
  
He noticed how uncomfortable the girl appeared as she stood there. She looked at him warily, her face clouded with great ambivalence. While he would have thought nothing of it before, there was something about her demeanor that bothered him. It was then that he realized he was the one eliciting this reaction from her.  
  
Edging outside of the door, Bill suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of shame. He never considered himself an aggressive sort. Yes, he handled his family with firmness, but their responses to him were quite different. This was the first time he viewed himself as some kind of intimidating ogre. Perhaps, through the years, they had become accustomed to his behavior.  
  
But this girl, Jubilee, was not a part of the family. She was not privy to the history that Maddy and Bobby were. There was no "Oh, that's Bill just being himself again" running through her mind. Instead, what she probably pieced together was a picture of him as a cold-hearted bastard. A couple of years ago, this perception of him by one of Bobby's girlfriends would not have bothered him. He would have taken it in stride. He would be content in knowing that he was merely looking out for the family.  
  
But this was not the case anymore.  
  
Turning to Jubilee, his steely gaze softened slightly. He looked less stern when the harsh wrinkles disappeared from his brows. "I'm not a bad man," he told her hoarsely.  
  
She tried to hide her shock at the disclosure. This was a far cry from the Bill Drake she encountered the day before. The man standing at the door came across as broken. He sounded desperate, hoping against hope that she would take credence in his words. It was as if something monumental was dependent on her believing him. The silence that followed was deafening and she needed to find a way to break it. Frantically, she racked her brain for something to say or do. She moaned inwardly with defeat when she came up with nothing.  
  
Bill was dismayed when she did not say anything. Immediately, he was afraid. He had laid himself on the line, willing to appear vulnerable for a brief moment. Simply put, it was not an easy thing for him to do. He had expected some sort of reaction. What he received was frighteningly ambiguous. Her face was inscrutable, leaving no clue as to what she was thinking or feeling. The inferences he began to make were endless. Maybe he had made things worse between them. Maybe she was writing him off as a pathetic old man...  
  
Maybe he should leave.  
  
He cleared his throat, which made a raw sound that sliced through the quiet and stillness that hung in the air. "I'll be outside," he announced. He made a point of not looking at her since it brought on intense feelings of embarrassment. His fingers gripped the handle of his cane tightly as he led himself onto the porch. With the other hand, he grabbed the doorknob to the front door and closed it firmly behind him.  
  
Jubilee's cerulean eyes widened with confusion. She rested her forehead against the door. I What just happened? /I she asked herself, shaking her head. Tapping her fingers against her small mouth, she was aware of how difficult it was for Bill to make his statement. She didn't know him all that well, but from what she was able to observe, he seemed to pride himself on being the rock of the family. He exuded this air typically associated with men who identified with traditional values and ideas. It was his role to be strong and invincible. Trying to justify anything he did was usually out of the question.  
  
Adding to her puzzlement was the fact that his declaration was totally self-initiated. Neither Maddy nor Bobby was present to coerce him. Jubilee knew that she did not provide him with any prompts. At least, none that she was conscious of.  
  
The young girl sighed. Obviously, there was no way she could allow things to remain unresolved. Being someone who was proactive in a lot of things in life, it was not in her nature. Something had to be done. In terms of what exactly, she was again at a loss. The only thing she was certain of was that she was now feeling even more out of sorts than she was already.  
  
Outside, Bill removed the covering Maddy had draped over the porch furniture. With an unexplained surge of energy, he managed to toss the tarp-like material on the ground and settled himself on the rocker. He gingerly settled in. It was rougher on his hip without the cushioning between him and the chair. The cold air also began to aggravate the pain in his hip. Yet, he resigned himself to the current conditions. There was nothing he could do about it now.  
  
He had come to a similar conclusion when it came to his encounter with Jubilee. Heaving a weary sigh, he only hoped that Maddy and Bobby would come around, allowing this holiday to fade from their memories as they had done previous times. As far as he was concerned, the weekend was a total wash. It was too late to take back anything he said or did. More disheartening was the fact that his lame attempt to defend his character was met with damning indifference. Granted, it was not quite the olive branch, but it was what he could manage.  
  
Nevertheless, he could not help but feel a bit perturbed about the whole thing. He did not like the idea of the girl operating under the impression that he was some kind of monster. For some reason unknown to him, it truly ate away at him. The more he ruminated about that, the more he felt misunderstood and alienated.  
  
His reflections were shattered when he heard the front door open with a soft creaking sound. He jerked his head up to see the girl standing there. She had since thrown on her coat and a brightly colored scarf over what she was already wearing. "Can I join you?" she asked.  
  
Bill nodded briskly, trying to hide his surprise. This was quite unexpected, to say the least. His gray eyes carefully watching her as she glided from the doorway to the glider nearby. She looked like a winter angel with her cascading, dark hair that rippled down her shoulders, creamy skin, and fine features. Her brilliant eyes put the sky above their heads to shame. He was able to witness how truly blue they were. Despite his reservations that lingered about her relationship with his son, Bill could see what drew Bobby to her in the first place.  
  
Gracefully, she peeled back the tarp that covered the nyatoh structure and sat down. Beneath the calm mask she was currently wearing, Jubilee was screaming inside. Truth be told, she didn't know what she was doing. There was no plan, no prepared speech. She simply found herself at the door, watching him rock dourly back and forth in the chair. Part of her wanted to run back inside and put what transpired between them in the back of her mind. Tension from the uncertainty she experienced whenever he was present returned, coiling tight knots in her stomach.  
  
For several minutes, the two of them sat on the porch. There was a palpable silence that descended between them. They did not look upon one another, but chose to stare across the street at the various houses and cars that lined up and down the neighborhood. Every once in a while, Bill would tap his cane on the floorboards of the porch lightly.  
  
Jubilee tucked her slippered feet under herself. In younger days, she was attracted to chatter and noise. To her, it represented some excitement (most of the time for her, this was gossip) yet to be discovered. Now, applied to this scenario, talking promised something else. It offered her a way to deal with Mr. Drake and everything that transpired last night.  
  
Her gaze still focused ahead as she drawled, "I know I'm not what you had in mind for Bobby."  
  
Bill raised a brow at her. Not that he bothered to make his disapproval implicit, he was still taken aback when she made her observation. He slowed the pace of his rocking in response.  
  
When he did not bother to cut her off by attempting to cover up what he had been thinking, she decided to press on. Shrugging her shoulders, she stared down at her folded hands. "I suppose I have two things going against me," she continued in a low voice. "I'm not going to pretend I don't know what they are."  
  
He pressed his lips together firmly. The nostrils of his slightly crooked nose flared. "It's more complicated than what you're thinking," he said without looking at her.  
  
"Is it?" she asked, tucking a lock of dark hair behind a delicate ear. Her tone reflected her skepticism.  
  
His mouth formed a grim line. "Yes, it is," he replied flatly. "More than you know."  
  
She drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on one of them. Her sapphire eyes were thoughtful as she mulled over his words. She wanted to believe that he was simply a racist and nothing more. It would have been so easy to do. Casting a quick glance at him, she came to the realization that he was being candid.  
  
Before she could say anything, Bill spoke up. "It's not personal," he said, avoiding her blue-eyed stare.  
  
Jubilee's forehead wrinkled as she frowned quizzically. She thought about telling him that she felt otherwise, that his attitude was personal to her. However, she was aware that this was not going to accomplish anything. The fact that he was even talking to her like this---blunt and cryptic as he was---proved that he was conscious of how he made her feel. The tight manner in which he held himself as they talked was also evidence of this.  
  
But there was nothing that answered the question that pulsed through her mind. "Then what?" she finally inquired.  
  
The elder Drake swallowed hard, still refusing to make any sort of eye contact with her. His steely gaze was focused on the houses across the street. He wanted her to give up on pursuing anything and simply leave. Briefly, he considered saying something out of line, which would force her to leave. In a way, he would find some comfort in that. For him, it would confirm that this girl was not good for his son like all the others. There would be no need to explain himself to anyone else. Yes, it would be easier for him if Jubilee disliked him.  
  
However, Bill Drake was tired of taking the easy way out.  
  
His shoulders sank while he exhaled. Wisps of air escaped from his chapped lips. "You have no idea what it's like to be a parent," he said in a calm and even voice. "You're entrusted with this life to guide and teach. Sometimes, you have your doubts in anything and everything you do because that person is dependent on you and all the decisions you make." He paused and turned to her hesitantly, raising his brows. "Are you with me so far?"  
  
She nodded, curious as to where he was going with his argument.  
  
He looked away from her again. "There are triumphs and there are mistakes made," he continued, finding it easier to stare at a frost-covered, green minivan across the street. "It's not an easy task, being a parent. So, you learn along the way. All the while, your first concern is the well being of your children. You want to keep them safe."  
  
A light, but cool wind rumpled Jubilee's dark hair. "From what?" she inquired, pulling her coat closer to her slender form. Her cheeks and nose were beginning to flush pink from the chilly air.  
  
Bill peered over at her. The corners of his mouth tugged downwards slightly. There was nothing defiant or mocking in her challenge to his logic, but she was still confronting for an elaboration. Apparently, she did not fit into the fragile china doll mold as he expected. He had to respect that.  
  
"Whatever...poses as a threat," he finally answered grimly. He rocked back and forth in his chair, keeping a steady rhythm across the floorboards of the porch. The cold, combined with his growing apprehension, was making it harder for him to speak. His voice sounded thick and foreign to his own ears.  
  
Her brain pulsed as she attempted to decipher the logic behind this rationalization. "People who are different... You consider them a threat?" She tried not to sound incredulous. How could she, and others before her, possibly pose a threat to Bobby? Other than the incident with Opal at the restaurant, it was difficult for her to come to terms with what Bill was saying.  
  
He inhaled sharply. Sitting near her, he felt as though he had already disclosed too much. To delve any further would probably prove to be painful. It was better that he keep his end of the conversation concise. "Yes... It's complicated."  
  
"You've already said that," she pointed out quietly. There was no impatience or anger in her tone. Rather, it was just a confusion that could only be assuaged with the proper responses.  
  
His fingers held onto the handle of his cane fiercely. "It's worth repeating," he told in a tone of voice he had often used with a more headstrong version of his son years ago. Usually, it was enough to keep the recipient in line.  
  
However, Jubilee was not conditioned to this voice. She was not ready to let him shrink back from his broad assertions without a sufficient explanation. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean," she said, remaining as neutral as she could. "How are people...No, wait. How is someone like me a threat to Bobby?"  
  
The elder Drake did not want to look at her. He tried to will his head not to turn in her direction. Yet, the impulse was irresistible. Staring at her delicate but strong face, he was fixated by what he saw. Her sapphire eyes reflected her genuine inquisitiveness. Overall, her presentation was devoid of any annoyance that might have resulted when dealing with someone as reticent as him. This seemed to make it more problematic for him to continue.  
  
He grimaced. After several seconds, he told her flatly, "You're different."  
  
"Different because I'm Chinese and a mutant?"  
  
"I never said that. I'm not... I'm not what you think I am."  
  
"I could say the same thing."  
  
"Maybe so. Still, it doesn't change the fact that you're different."  
  
"No, I suppose it doesn't."  
  
"Perhaps you're too young to understand what I'm about to tell you, but what you represent... It's not good for Bobby. In spite of what you're thinking, I'm saying this as a concerned father."  
  
"What do I represent that's so bad for Bobby?"  
  
"People nowadays they're afraid of what's not normal."  
  
"Like you?"  
  
"That's not fair. I'm just protecting my son. My _only_ son." Bill sighed and ran a hand through his silvery hair. He looked somewhat diffident, realizing the last sentence came out much harsher than originally intended. "You can think what you want about me, but I do care about Bobby. He and Maddy are all I have in the world. There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do for them."  
  
Jubilee clasped her hands together, trying to generate some warmth on her numb skin. "But what if he's happy? Wouldn't you want to do everything you could to make sure he stays that way?" she piped up, her voice unwavering. Normally, she would have initiated some spark from her hands to combat the cold. She knew that this would not be the best course of action to take given her present company. Shivering, she settled for simply rubbing her hands.  
  
"You make it sound so simple," the Drake patriarch said to her, shaking his head. "There are other things to consider. Because of what you are, life is more difficult. It's no secret that there are some people willing to hurt you simply due to the fact that you're not...normal."  
  
She pressed her lips together firmly in an attempt to hide her chattering teeth. "Under your definition, Bobby wouldn't be considered normal, either."  
  
Bill drew back slightly, his gray eyes surprised. Briefly, he was at a loss as to what to say. Then he recovered. "No, but he would still have a chance of having a normal life with someone who was not..." Desperately, he searched the channels of his mind for the appropriate word to use in this conversation.  
  
"Like me?" she supplied almost too quickly.  
  
He stopped rocking in the chair and turned away from her once again.  
  
She leaned back in her seat. Suddenly, it became all too clear where he was going by using his flawed logic. Hard as it was to conceive, she found herself understanding his position. While he had not articulated things explicitly, he was quite clear. At the same time, she was not inclined to support or agree with him. She had her own position to convey as well. "How do you know that?" she asked quietly.  
  
"How can I not?" he retorted, the nostrils of his slightly crooked nose flaring slightly. "I watch the news and read the papers. I also know what that crackpot Xavier's been teaching you. But here's the reality: you're going to spend the rest of your lives being chased down for being different. Being a mutant on your own is dangerous enough, but having a mutant couple together. That just brings more unwanted attention. Now, what kind of existence is that?"  
  
Jubilee tucked a lock of silky hair behind her ear. "I'm not going to deny the possible validity of what you've just said," she said in a low voice. "Unfortunately, it's something we have to live with. But---"  
  
"I tell you what, it's not something I want for Bobby," the elder Drake said fiercely, as if he were arguing for his child's life. "My son deserves to have a long, happy life, free of any persecution. What makes you think you can give him something remotely similar to that?"  
  
In her younger years, she would have responded with a sassy retort. Even better, she would have shown him an impressive demonstration of fireworks on the porch. But she was older now, able to rationalize situations and make more levelheaded decisions thanks to some life experiences that came too soon. With a burst of deep-seeded courage, she determined looked this man, whom she found unapproachable at first, in the eyes with honesty that seemed to go beyond her years.  
  
"I love him," she finally told Bill quietly. "I'd like to think that I've made him just as happy as he's made me. Other than that, I don't know what else to say. I just hope that's good enough for you because it's the truth."  
  
Then the young girl rose from her seat and glided to the front door, leaving an old, broken man in the cold, wintry air.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two All Mixed Up

I'm back. Sorry for the delay. I was moving and was without internet access until yesterday.

Thanks again for the reviews. They're much appreciated and please do keep them coming. Special thanks to my beta, Jo the Phoenix. She rocks.

The characters belong to Marvel, but the story is all mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Two: All Mixed Up**

The passing of the Thanksgiving holiday paved the way for the onslaught of reminders that Christmas was soon approaching. Late winter saw more snowstorms and chillier temperatures. Blankets of white snow appeared to be a familiar accessory on the ground and on surrounding structures. The marketing campaign was now in overdrive. Potential customers were lured with the promises of incredible sales and bargains never seen before. Television programming now centered on themes related to Christmas, Hanukah, or Kwanzaa. Spicy scents of cinnamon and pine hung in the air, evoking warm memories of seasons past. Holiday music, classical or contemporary versions of well-known songs, seemed to blare from every direction.  
  
Similar changes could be noted in people traversing from place to place in Westchester. The strident pace their steps slowed down. Many stopped to admire various displays of holiday décor. It was not uncommon to observe the eyes of children widen in fascination and excitement during these moments, especially while in toy sections of the department store. Squeals from the young echoed throughout the town as they caught glimpses of men dressed as Santa and his celebrated elves.  
  
Despite his adult status in the world, Bobby Drake was equally charmed by the wonder brought about by this time of the year. There was a levity he always experienced ever since he was a small child. While some men his age were more reserved about Christmas, he was unabashed about his bliss. He found himself enjoying the many delights he associated with the holidays, such as singing carols with the students at the top of his lungs in order to annoy Scott, imbibing copious amounts of Cook's eggnog, pretending to chase Rogue and Kitty with his mistletoe cap, and helping Hank and Kurt assemble snow forts for harsh winter battles against the older students. The fact that the air was consistently cold was an added bonus as well.

This late afternoon found him in downtown Westchester. Specifically, he was in a gourmet grocery store with Jean, who was perusing goods for the annual holiday party for the students and instructors. Normally, Ororo would have assisted her in the preparations. However, the weather goddess was away from the mansion on mission with Logan and Gambit. Being the chivalrous lad that he was, Bobby volunteered to help. But his motives were not all that altruistic. The young man's stipulation to the woman he considered his older sister was that he be designated as her official taste-tester.

Standing behind Jean in the cutlery aisle, he sighed. The low rumbling from his empty belly reminded him that she had yet to keep her end of the bargain. He began to wander away from her, towards the confectionary section. Pausing in front of a small pedestal, the young man with the boyish face scooped up a handful of chocolate-dipped nuts and caramel marshmallows. He popped the samples into his mouth greedily. Then he peered over his shoulder, looking for any reprimanding employees before stealing another round of candies.

The sugary-sweet taste in his mouth reminded him of his mother and the treats she would make around this time of year. His usually cheery mouth formed a grim line. It had been two weeks since the excursion to Long Island home of the Drake family. While the rest of the visit was low-keyed and rather uneventful, he felt as if the damage had already been done. He remained upset, but for the sake of his mother and Jubilee, did not confront his father. Instead, he was curt with him, just as the elder Drake had often been with him. He made efforts to lessen the likelihood of engaging in a conversation with his father. Even that had proved to be rather difficult. The strained tension between them was uncomfortable, making him regret his decision not to leave immediately.  
  
Bobby's gray eyes narrowed bitterly. Clearly, his father was in the wrong. The not so subtle cues Bobby and his mother provided should have made him cognizant of this. As forgiving as Maddy often was, this time, she could not quite bring herself around to be her husband's steady support. She, too, shared her son's outrage as to how her husband treated their guest and ruined their gathering. Throughout the remainder of the visit, she slept in the other guestroom. Yet, she kept her sunny façade while she was with him and Jubilee. When faced with attempts on Bobby's part to discuss the fallout from dinner, she quickly dismissed them and changed the subject in that serene manner she was known for. During these moments, she wore her genteel smile that lit up her beautiful face. Had he not seen the pain in her cornflower blue eyes, Bobby would have bought her act. Sensing his mother's response to the situation made him all the angrier.  
  
So, Bobby stayed at the house for the remainder of his visit as promised. Not to sound egotistical or arrogant, he was aware that his presence was the only thing salvaging her holiday. Like Jubilee, she was an innocent soul in all of this, but a victim of his father's indiscriminant behavior nonetheless. The only thing she was guilty of was trying to host a wonderful dinner in her home. It pained him to think that she was hurting inside because of that ungrateful bastard she called a husband.

What really provoked Bobby's ire was the fact that his father was rather unrepentant over the whole thing. There were no approaches towards the family or Jubilee regarding his behavior. Bill Drake went about his business the day after, acting like his usual surly and laconic self. He even had the audacity to close himself off, spending long hours in his study alone. It was as if he honestly believed that his behavior was not at all inappropriate and was waiting on the rest of the world to see that. For Bobby, it was simply embarrassing that someone in this day and age still clung to outdated ideas like his father did. One often associated such ignorance with individuals who were rather provincial. The fact that Bill seemed to espouse these beliefs so freely was even more mortifying.

At the same time, it was rather baffling. Unlike the caricature of ignorance portrayed by Archie Bunker, Bill was a reasonably intelligent man. He was the first Drake to graduate from college. In his spare time, the elder Drake devoured crossword puzzles from the newspaper and indulged in his tastes for classical music. Prior to the assault that battered his body, he often made trips with Maddy to vineyards in the northern part of the state. For all this refinement, it was strange that such a man held such crude and flawed convictions.  
  
Growing up, Bobby learned to live with his father and these unsound beliefs, as did Maddy. Back then, it was something the family dealt with behind closed doors. Dealing with something in the Drake household meant not directly discussing it. At least, that was what his parents implicitly told him. To Bobby, his father's hatred for people deemed different was something he increasingly resented. The way he saw it, his father's strict notions of what was normal was beginning to impinge upon Bobby's development as a person. As a young boy in elementary school through high school, it kept him from bringing friends over to the house for fear that they might be offended.  
  
After the onset of his abilities, Bobby secretly hoped that his father had altered his belief system. Given that his own son was now considered different, surely Bill would not be able to justify his attitudes and values. Unfortunately, Bobby was quickly proven wrong. His father viewed Bobby's mutation as a wedge, driving the two of them farther and farther apart. The shame that radiated from Bill's steely gaze was all too palpable to miss. Yet, Bobby adapted to the situation, brushing it off as another one of his father's episodes. In the end, Bobby was the only one being hurt here and he was more than capable in defending himself. He simply chose not to for his mother's peace of mind.  
  
The younger Drake shuddered as he stood in the cookbook aisle of the store, recalling memories of having his parents meet girlfriends or friends who were female before dating Jubilee. Most of these meetings ultimately ended up in disaster. This primarily stemmed from his father's inability to hide his displeasure of Bobby's choice in company. Observing his father's hostile conduct, Bobby could not help but find himself in a state of shock and disbelief. It was one thing for Bill's ignorance and insensitivity to take stage within the family, but it was another thing to expose unsuspecting, blameless individuals to his father. Bobby's sense of loyalty to his mother and his rage made him feel impotent. He wanted to act on his own convictions that Bill was erroneous in his beliefs and should be told accordingly. However, his mother's pleas not to rock the proverbial boat got the better of him.  
  
In spite of his verbal skepticism, there was a small part of Bobby that hoped his father had indeed changed his ways prior to this visit. Given his experience at the hands of those who claimed to share similar beliefs, a change in attitude would have been expected. The logic he used so stubbornly in the face of more compelling arguments for the other side was now shattered. There was no way Bill could defend his position after the hell he had been through. Could he?

In the end, he was saddened to find his father unwavering in his beliefs. He also cursed himself for even having faith in his father. After all this time, Bobby felt he should have known better.

There were many reasons for this yearning, but the most paramount to him was due to the new person in his life. In the past, Bobby did care for his previous girlfriends and genuinely took offense when Bill carried out his vitriolic attacks on them. For some reason, it was different with Jubilee. She elicited feelings from him never experienced before with other women—not even Lorna. It was not only the seemingly nonstop euphoria he felt when he was with her, but the inclination that it was his duty to protect her from anything that might pose harm. Overwhelming sensations of fierce protectiveness surged throughout him when he thought about the potential for any harm coming towards her. He often found himself much more vigilant and on edge about such threats.  
  
His mind drifted, recalling the time she had been attacked by Creed. He was at a loss as to when the last time he felt such concern for someone else's well being. The experience was rather intense. It was as if he had been assaulted by the other man personally. This concern then turned into feelings of rage. He likened it to what Logan felt during one of his crazed rampages in the Danger Room. Any semblance of rational thought was quickly replaced by a singular commitment to exacting the means necessary to make sure Jubilee was safe and secure, including violence. It was then that he realized how strong his feelings were for her.

Prior to their romantic involvement, he considered himself one of her closest friends. As such, he was privy to the information surrounding her lost childhood. The death of her parents, getting lost in the foster care system, living on the streets, and the losses of her friends culminated to make her familiar with misfortune and heartbreak. Added to this were her own traumatic experiences at the hands of people who seemed to share his father's stance that all mutants should be eradicated. Most people, understandably, would be forever haunted by these events—even to the point of developing some kind of maladaptive pattern behavior to deal with the pain, such as substance abuse or other forms of self-harm. It was amazing to find her as well adjusted, as she seemed.  
  
Throughout their friendship, Bobby watched Jubilee further hone coping mechanisms to deal with these sad and scarring episodes. However, the quick wit and cheerful smiles she often used did not truly mask her vulnerability. There were times when he could detect glimpses of fragility she fought so hard to hide. During these rare moments, her innocence washed away the street-smart credibility she sometimes flaunted. Being one of the few people who actually witnessed this facet to her personality, Bobby had the feeling that this was the true Jubilee.

Deep down, there was also a part of her that was eager to please other people, ranging from Logan to the Professor. It was these aspects of Jubilee that made Bobby so wary of having his father meet her. In spite of her cheerful and seemingly relaxed attitude, the young girl was entering the situation, hoping to make a good impression on the elder Drake. Granted, she could have defended herself in a more demonstrative manner, but she was in an impossible situation. Immediately, Bobby feared she was setting herself up for failure, especially given his father's previous responses.

When their meeting did not go smoothly, there was a part of Bobby that felt responsible for the disappointment he saw in her eyes. He was the one who brought her to his home, like a lamb to the slaughter. Furthermore, it was I _his_ /I father who insulted her, made her feel like less than a person. In a way, Bobby believed there was more he could have done to prevent what happened. He was supposed to be looking out for her, and he had failed—miserably. Even now, he could still hear the sadness in her voice from dinner reverberating in his head.  
  
In the days following the dinner incident, he tried to talk with her about what happened. He apologized profusely in order placate the disappointment in her lovely face. While Jubilee was no Opal, he could see his father's demeanor genuinely affected her. There were no threats to break things off. Instead, she was devastatingly understanding about what happened. She dismissed his attempts at atonement. She told him that there was nothing for Bobby to apologize for. She held him close to her as they slept in the guest room in that embrace he knew was only reserved for him.

All of this only served to exacerbate his guilt and increased his sense of inadequacy.

_You should have been safe from him. I should have protected you..._  
  
Yet, despite Jubilee's forgiving front, something had changed. He could pick up on it almost instantly. While subtle, the shift was unnerving nonetheless. He supposed he was anxious due to the fact that he could not place his finger as to what it was, but was able to cite the available evidence at hand.  
  
First, there was an awkward tension that drifted in the room whenever Jubilee and Bill were present at the same time. Not even Maddy's attempts to dissipate things were effective. The two of them acted as if they were embarrassed to speak with or cast a glance at one another. Under the circumstances, this was understandable. As Bobby observed them, he was wracked with the suspicion that the strain was not from the Thanksgiving dinner conversation.  
  
Second, his tries to get her to talk to him about what happened between her and his father found her uncharacteristically shying away from. Yes, she did dismiss Bobby's earlier attempts at fervent apologies. However, this was different. Jubilee would immediately change the subject. If he were holding her, she would pull away from his arms and quickly come up with an excuse to leave him. The apparent skittishness on her part was similar to her behavior during when she and Alex had their misunderstanding. There was something she definitely wanted to confide in him, but for some reason, she was holding herself back. He could not help but be somewhat upset by this since he believed that they had made strides in their communication.  
  
Frustrated and confused, Bobby came to the conclusion that these two pieces of information were related in some way. He was at a loss as to where this idea came from, but was convinced that it was not totally unfounded. Unfortunately for him, neither party involved was divulging much.

"Penny candy for your thoughts?" Jean's soothing voice inquired. She grinned at him, waving crystal-cut candy in the palm of her hand.  
  
Startled, Bobby nearly jumped. Had he been in a more carefree mood, he would have cracked a joke about Jean being able to read them for free. Deciding against that option, he put on a nervous grin. "Depends how good they are," he commented, eyeing the cellophane-wrapped treats with mock caution. His gray eyes twinkled as he took one from her.  
  
The statuesque redhead gave him a wary smile, noticing something seemed to be amiss with her friend. "Supposedly the best on the East coast," she replied.

He unwrapped the piece of candy, stuffing the wrapper in his coat pocket and popping the sugary treat into his mouth. The cool flavor of spearmint flooded his mouth immediately. Nodding his approval, he asked, "Stocking stuffers for the kids and teachers?"

"Maybe for the dishes in the front hall," she replied, fiery ponytail swinging behind her head. A wrinkle creased her ivory forehead as she continued to watch him.

Like the Professor, she was not one to delve into people's minds unless she was explicitly invited to do so. But there was something about Bobby that did not quite sit right with her. He seemed unusually distracted in spite of the fact that he was about to engage in his second favorite pastime, eating (first being playing pranks). While she wanted to confront him as to what was troubling him, Jean was also aware of her good friend's use of humor to deflect the focus on himself. If she was going to discover what was vexing him, she knew she would have to approach things rather delicately. He would have to offer the information on his own accord, without any cajoling from her.  
  
Idly, she pulled at the sash of her mahogany suede wrap coat, which made her eyes appear especially green that day. Her brain raced with ideas as to how to initiate the conversation. "So..." she began in a nonchalant tone.

Unfortunately for him, the weekend of Thanksgiving replayed in his mind over and over again. As he peered into the concerned countenance of his friend, he realized that if anyone had any insight, it would be her. Ever since Jubilee arrived at the mansion as a young waif, Jean took it upon herself to act as an adoptive mother. The two of them were close, which was clearly evident in their interactions with one another. Jubilee genuinely respected and admired Jean, and the same could be said for the redhead.

He stared deeply into Jean's doe-like eyes. Here was the woman he considered the closest thing he had to an older sister. She was the embodiment of wisdom, kindness, and most of all, honesty. Because of these tremendous qualities, it was no surprise that others would seek out her friendship. Despite the time that had passed and the changes experienced since then, their bond remained one source of consistency. As one of her oldest and closest friends, he felt privileged. Yet, it was hard for him to broach certain things with her at times. It was not that he did not trust her, quite the contrary. He could still recall the many conversations they would have about their unique stations in life and how they were dealing with the challenges. While others on the team expressed their doubts about his development, she was one of his most vocal and staunch supporters. When they were on field missions together, the two of them made it a point to watch out for one another in the heat of conflict.  
  
For Bobby, it was something else that went beyond Jean and his friendship with her. The resident light-hearted humorist of the group, he vehemently disliked dealing with situations or feelings that provoked some kind of anxiety. Part of it he attributed to being a person, given that many strive away from unpleasant sensations. The other reason could be traced back to his mother's example. While he tended to handle things somewhat differently from Maddy (cracking jokes versus baking a pie), the notion involved some sort of repression. By not directly discussing the vexing issue at hand, he believed that he would be able to forget and maybe, return to some semblance of normalcy. Sometimes, the approach worked; sometimes, it did not.

In an unexpected move, Bobby decided to forego his comfort in favor of seeking out the truth. "Did Jubes say anything about Thanksgiving with my parents?" he suddenly inquired, trying his best to avert her green-eyed gaze.  
  
Jean's copper eyebrows shot up in surprise. Never in all the years she knew Bobby had it proved to be this easy to elicit information from him. But here he was, sharing his mind with her so freely. His gray eyes were searching her face for some sort of sign. It was as if he were desperate for some information.

Suddenly, the picture became clear. Although Jean had been away with Professor Xavier overseeing an operation in Istanbul, she remembered hearing from Hank via email about Bobby taking Jubilee to meet his parents. Like the rest of Bobby's friends, she was aware of the elder Drake's views and how they had caused a rift between father and son. She felt an immediate sense of apprehension, fearing that old wounds from the last confrontation would resurface. Given what she knew of Bill Drake through various conversations with Bobby, it was quite apparent that he would not approve of his son's latest romantic interest, who happened to personify everything he was against. Tried as she did to be optimistic, there was a part of her that knew better.  
  
Her heart also went out to the young girl involved. While she was confident that Jubilee could fend for herself, Jean was uncertain as to how her charge would respond in this kind of scenario. In most situations, the individuals who expressed their prejudice against her were strangers, people who were not connected to her life in any way. Here, it would be easier to walk away or offer a sarcastic remark. Despite the fact that Jubilee had grown up, there were times when she freely indulged her less mature side. However, this was quite different. The persecutor was related to someone she was involved with, complicating things further. She was not in the position to talk back to this individual without feeling the consequences. There were other people to consider now. Suddenly, the world was not about Jubilee and how she would deal with this situation or that with her snap judgment.  
  
Having returned just yesterday from her trip, she had very little opportunity to process the visit. As someone fairly close to her, Jean knew that this was the girl's first relationship with anyone and this experience was new territory. She wished she had been home to offer her advice and support to the young couple, particularly Jubilee. Originally, she had planned to ask Jubilee to accompany her shopping. Spending the day with the young girl would have presented a perfect opportunity to discuss what happened. The two of them seemed to miss each other around the Summers' home.  
  
Her green eyes swept over Bobby once again. The usually laid-back young man with the boyish face and twinkling gray eyes was now subdued. His handsome features were arranged in a rather perplexed and concerned expression. He did not have to say anything else, nor did his mind need to be scanned to relay what had happened. His somber presentation spoke volumes.

Jean tossed the remaining candy in a nearby sample bowl. Then she placed her hand on his shoulder. While it was a simple gesture, it conveyed so much—her empathy, compassion, and steadfast support no matter what. "No," she replied candidly, leaning against an empty wall, "she hasn't."  
  
Bobby pressed his lips firmly together, hunching his shoulders slightly. "Oh." Then he shook his head quickly and waved his hand dismissively. "Forget I asked, Jeannie. It's not important."

"Apparently, it is," she pointed out. Her forehead creased when he pulled away from her touch. She sighed. "Bobby..."

"Jean, it's OK," he cut her off, looking rather sheepish. Inwardly, he cursed himself for dredging the subject at all. His first instinct was to brush things off and try to put on his typical front. Allowing her to know that something was bothering him in the first place made him all the more uncomfortable.

The redhead instantly picked up on his shift in behavior. It was a defense mechanism her friend always resorted to when things were less light-hearted and focused upon him. Like the humor he employed, the purpose of this was to deflect the attention from reflecting upon the situation. It pained her to watch Bobby suppress whatever it was he was thinking or feeling. If she wanted to be overly analytical without using her abilities, she would have surmised that his parents and their personalities might have been influences. While it might have been adaptive in that environment, it was clearly affecting him to this day—and not necessarily in the best way. As she watched him struggle, waves of empathy and compassion washed over her. Thoughts of wanting to assist him in alleviating his worries raced through her mind.  
  
But standing there with him in the store, Jean found herself in an unexpected stupor as to what to do or say without pushing him into further isolation. It was surreal to her. Prior to this moment, she considered herself rather adept at figuring out the delicate nuances. After several minutes of silence that descended upon the two of them, she finally cleared her throat.

"She's crazy about you, you know," Jean began, smoothing out a tendril of fiery hair. The solitaire diamond from her engagement ring sparkled under the track lighting.

Bobby turned his back to his friend. For some reason, he could not quite look her in the eye. "I know," he said.  
  
She did not need to delve into his head to know that he was sincere. He was confident in his current relationship with Jubilee. However, she noted something was amiss from the way he sounded.

"Then why the long face?" she asked, trying not to sound too light for fear of coming off as condescending.  
  
He exhaled loudly. His trepidation of disclosing what weighed on his mind was slowly waning. Subtle as Jean was being in her method, he knew she would not relent. "Let's say that the holidays weren't so jolly in Long Island," he told her.

"Oh." She sounded just as disappointed as he did, but was aware that there was no way she could match in comprehending his sober outlook. "I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Me, too."

"Nothing that happened... You know that's not your fault."

"You think so?"

"Of course not, Bobby. Why? Don't you?"

"I'm not as confident about my innocence as you are, Jeannie. Fact is, I'm just as culpable, if not more so."

"Really? How do you figure?"

"I...I brought her there, knowing what he was going to do."

"Bobby... You were hoping he had changed. There were some indicators that this hope was not unfounded—"

"Yeah, that was a dumbass move on my part."

"Bobby..."

"It doesn't change anything. I took her there."

"And that's all you've done. Now, what? You're going to take responsibility for another person's actions? That's what it sounds like to me, Bobby. Both assertions are equally ridiculous. You know that and Jubilee knows that."  
  
Bobby turned around to face her. "That might be true," he replied, gray eyes casting a steady gaze on the statuesque redhead in front of him. "But she still got hurt. No matter how you spin it, I can't help but feel responsible. And, Jubes... She says she not upset with me. I want to believe her, Jeannie. I really do. The thing is, she's pulling away from me."  
  
Jean's green eyes widened in disbelief. That certainly did not sound like Jubilee. The girl she observed was starry-eyed, often wearing a dreamy smile even at the mention of Bobby's name. "That can't be right," she protested. "Maybe she's stressed out because of school or other things..." She chewed on her lower lip, feeling guilty herself. It was no secret she and Scott were having problems. No doubt Jubilee was conscious of the tension present in their once harmonious home.

"I wish I was wrong about this whole thing," he told her, eyeing some ribbon candy on one of the shelves. "Ever since we got back, Jubes has been...distant. She tells me things are fine and that nothing has changed. I want to believe her so badly—more than anything in the world. But something has changed and I'm scared because I know I'm to blame."

Mid-day found Jubilee seeking refuge from the wintry winds that blew across town. She found warm refuge inside the Silver Platter, a 1950s-style diner in the heart of the shopping district. Known for its chrome fixtures, red vinyl-upholstered furniture, energetic vibe, and thick milkshakes, the diner attracted younger crowds than the surrounding establishments. Waitresses in salmon-pink, shirtdress uniforms with white canvas shoes took orders with chipper and bright smiles, adding to the environment. In the background, the jukebox blared classic Elvis.  
  
Normally, Jubilee would be tapping her foot or bobbing her head to the infectious beats of the music. Perhaps she would have ordered the diner's special peanut butter brownies to go along with her drink. The combination of the stimulating ambiance and the array of sweet treats would have captivated her attention, raising her spirits. While she had grown up, in some ways she continued to hold on to her childhood ways.

However, this day was different. The young girl stirred her straw idly in her Snickers milkshake as she sat in her booth seat. Her sapphire eyes stared out the window with a vacant gaze. Despite the din that enveloped her surroundings, she managed to block it all out. There was only one thing that reverberated in her mind.  
  
_"I love him."_  
  
She cringed slightly, shaking her head. The admission was so spontaneous and so candid. On one hand, it was refreshing to actually hear herself make the truth known. Over the past couple of months, she had known nothing but happiness when she was with Bobby. The young man with the boyishly handsome looks and wry sense of humor came to mean a great deal to her. He was the one who lifted her spirits. He was the one who caused the flurry of butterflies in her stomach. He was...her everything.  
  
_"I love him."_  
  
Yet, on the other hand, it was frightening. The confession left her feeling vulnerable and very much off-balanced. Confiding in Bobby's father did not help her sense of anxiety. In retrospect, it was difficult for her to fathom that he was the person she disclosed this information to. Bill had been cold and hostile—the epitome of a curmudgeon. Having any semblance of a conversation with the old man was painful to say the least. His behavior was indicative of the disdain he held for her and her relationship with Bobby.

This was quite clear as they sat on the porch that morning, tension and discomfort hanging thickly in the air. Jubilee fought the urge to walk out on him many times during their conversation. His assertions that he was not a monster were hard to swallow. Bill's tenacious insistence that his son could never know bliss while he was with her was quite painful. In spite of evidence that pointed to the contrary, he was convinced there was some merit to his argument.  
  
It would have been easier for her to write him off as another racist. In her young life, she had encountered many like him before. Lumping Bill Drake with the rest of them would have been so simple to do. In addition, she could be more detached about the situation. Thoughts like, "It's his loss that he doesn't want to get to know me" or "Just another stupid jerk" would have helped her to deal with things. They did before.

However, she found that she could not do any of those things. She knew that Bill sincerely cared about his son and what was in Bobby's best interests. She certainly could not discount that. To her amazement, it was something they both shared. Granted, there were differences, but the core sentiment was the same.

Despite her conclusion that was reached as they spoke, there was still a palpable unease that existed. Bill was bound and determined to inform Jubilee of his views and how strongly he felt about them. When confronted with such antagonistic circumstances where any hope of an understanding was slim, most individuals would have given up. Those with less patience would have avoided additional headache by walking away. But against her better judgment and rational thought, Jubilee found herself affixed to the spot. For some reason, it was important for him to know that he was wrong.

_"I love him."_  
  
As soon as she uttered those words, she soon realized that they did not have her intended effect upon him. Instead of swaying him in any way, she noticed that he was surprised and very uncomfortable. His steely gray eyes bore into her face. The gaze pierced past her flesh and into the depths of her very being. It was as if he were searching for something else in that simple sentence. Apparently, the elder Drake seemed unconvinced of the sentiment presented. He was the one to depart the porch first, speechless and pondering the events that had unfolded early that day. She could still hear the front door closing sharply in her ears days after with a resounding and deafening _THWACK!_

_ "I love him."_  
  
Following that encounter, Jubilee mentally admonished herself for her faux pas. To say that it was awkward to face Bill Drake was the understatement of the century. She found simply being in the same room with him rather difficult. All she could think about were her startling admission and the undesired reaction it received. Exacerbating the tension was the fact that Bill was doing his best not to address the situation. He avoided her when it was possible. The elder Drake took things even further by refusing to speak to her or even look her in the eye when he was unable to leave gracefully. By not acknowledging what happened, he appeared as if he were refusing to believe her. Maybe it made it harder for him to cling to his position if he was persuaded.

She was not sure if she was fortunate in this regard.  
  
For her part, she followed his lead and conducted herself in very much the same way. When Bobby and Maddy were nearby, she turned to them for conversation. Her time was spent plastering cheery smiles on her face and engaging in discussions about what a wonderful time of year the holidays were. She fought valiantly to conceal her anxiety during these moments. It was all she could do to keep up this front.

Unfortunately, this task grew more and more difficult in the days that passed since she talked with Bill. She found herself counting the days until she and Bobby could return home to the mansion. Only then could she put the situation and Bill Drake behind her.

Complicating things even further was Bobby. Like the caring and concerned soul that he was, he immediately picked up on her mood. It was eerie as to how easily he could read her. Next to Logan and Jean, Bobby was able to discern her state of mind so readily. She supposed years of friendship and months of dating were responsible for that.  
  
She remembered Bobby's boyish face, the features arranged in a worried expression. His usually playful voice sounded uncharacteristically tense as he questioned her. It hurt her to see him like that. She was aware that he blamed himself for his father's behavior in spite of the reassurances provided. Now, he was filled with angst over how she was acting. She knew she was responsible for this concern.  
  
Jubilee tried to dismiss his probes. She lied to him, hating herself all the while. Telling him that nothing was wrong was her way of trying to assuage his troubled mind. She hoped that he would buy it.  
  
He did not.  
  
Instead, Bobby persisted in his queries. He cajoled, almost to the point of begging her to tell him what was going on. His gray eyes lost their mischievous twinkle as they pleaded with her. Being the recipient of his caring but worried attention, she wanted to tell him everything. After the misunderstanding about the clinic visit, the two of them made an implicit agreement to be open with one another no matter what. There would be no fear of scorn or ridicule, but only acceptance. In line with this value in their relationship, she should have disclosed what was going on. But she could not.

Because that would mean doing something she was not ready to do.  
  
For Jubilee, it was one thing to feel the way she did about Bobby. She could have extended the logic to include making the disclosure to another person, not involved in the relationship. Those things were easy to deal with in her mind.  
  
Actually verbalizing it to Bobby was another thing altogether.

_ "I love him."_

She plucked a piece of fuzz from the green cardigan she wore over her oxford shirt and blue-gray corduroy pants. Simply mulling over the prospect provoked a jittery response. She struggled to keep her hands still, but found that they had a will of their own. When she was at the Drake home with Bobby, the young girl resorted to shoving them deeply into the pockets of her jeans. Had the circumstances been different, she would have been amused with the funny picture she might have made. 

So what was so daunting about confessing her feelings to Bobby? Jubilee racked her brain furtively. She was at a loss initially. However, after much soul-searching, she was able to discover the elusive answer. By telling Bobby, it would mark the first time she told anyone other than her parents that she loved them.

Even Logan, the man she considered the closest thing she had now to a father, had not heard those words from her. He had shown her such love, caring for her as he would his own child. There were times when she tried to tell him; she wanted to let him know. Yet, there was always something that held her back. The sentence was constantly trapped in her throat, unwilling to be pushed out. Her mouth failed to form the words she wanted to express. This inability to do this simple thing was a constant source of frustration for her.

In the end, it was not an issue for the two of them. Logan, perceptive being that he was, simply knew. The warmth that radiated in his normally cold, stony eyes relayed this knowledge. Using words to communicate her feelings to him would have been futile.

_I love you._

For Jubilee, the prospect of saying those simple words to another person had implications of astronomical proportions. After years of being in the mind frame that she was alone in this world, she was coming to the realization that this was not true anymore. No longer would she have to be wary of letting her guard down. Following the death of her parents, the young girl found it rather difficult to truly let other people in. In response to the pain from the loss, she developed a front, which allowed her to keep people at arm's length. With the exception of Logan, it was rare for others to see past the cheerful smiles and sarcastic comments.

But things had changed.

She was with someone now, someone who was worthy of these new intense feelings.

Upon further reflection, being open with Bobby about her feelings would have meant that the relationship was going to change. The two of them were going to move beyond "just dating" to something more serious. There were hints that both were aware of this shift. Bobby had taken her to meet his parents while she had taken steps to prepare for that moment when she would be ready to consummate their relationship. Yet, neither one of them had moved from implicit to the explicit.  
  
Another source of anxiety was the possible reaction that was in store once she told Bobby. What if he turned in a similar reaction to his father—simply walking away and being completely dumbfounded? Worse yet, what if Bobby did not feel the same way? Immediately, flashbacks of Everett flooded her brain. His soft voice echoed as he told her that he could return the sentiment. Granted, her relationship with Bobby was miles apart from her crush on Everett, but the deep-rooted fear was as strong as ever.

Like other women, she was aware of 'The Rules' and how they dictated against such an act. Of course, a woman should not show her hand immediately to the interested party. This piece of advice was drilled into her head not only by casual knowledge of the book, but by other women as well. She remembered overhearing Paige's anguished cries mixed with Rogue's repeated moans of "Why did I tell him?" Their negative experiences definitely clouded her decision.

"So, what's it gonna be, hon?"  
  
Startled, Jubilee blinked as she proceeded to stare up at a middle-aged waitress with frosted, short blond hair and sunken-in green eyes. She chewed a large wad of gum as she tapped her pen against the pad of paper she held in her hand. After serving Jubilee her shake, the waitress had informed her that she would check in on her to see if she wanted anything else.

Finally, Jubilee sighed and shook her head. "Could you come back later?" she asked quietly. "I'm not ready."


	23. Chapter Twenty Three Where is The Love?

Here's the latest chapter. Thanks again to Jo the Phoenix for her comments and support. I kind of upset her with this one, but read on to find out why...

Thanks to everyone who's left feedback here or sent over email. You guys are awesome.

As usual, the characters belong to Marvel, but the story is all mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Where Is The Love?**

For some reason, as the holidays neared, an infectious sense of pressure hung in the air like the scent of pinecones and evergreen trees. Despite the advanced notice of sales and other associated activities, an abundance of procrastinators still flocked to stores in the hopes of finding gifts for loved ones and themselves. The bustle provided by these individuals made those in the business community eager to watch additional profits roll in. The steady rate of snow that fell to the ground, accompanied by icy and swirling winds also assisted in this pursuit as well. Both wintry elements worked together to encourage these procrastinators and other people desiring to soak in the holiday atmosphere to seek shelter in the warmth of the many establishments in town. All the while, seasonal music continued to blare from speakers that lined the streets.  
  
This day, which left less than a week before Christmas, was no exception. The semester at the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters had wrapped only two days earlier. The mental toll of focusing on academic commitments caused some to forget what time of year it was. As a result, many of the students and instructors scrambled not only to arrange plans for the upcoming holidays, but also to complete some much needed shopping as well. In a gesture of good will (not to mention getting some of their own purchasing out of the way), Kitty, Ororo, and Kurt led a group of students into town's shopping district.

Meanwhile, Jean, Cook, and the Professor were in the midst of putting in motion the preparations for the annual school party, which was to be held the day after tomorrow. Since the students' parents were to attend the event, the Professor seemed especially involved in the planning. His intention was to make the atmosphere was to be lighthearted. However, at the same time, he wanted to convey the message that his school was a safe haven for the children.

Given that the party was a school-related activity, most of the instructors were recruited to assist in the effort. Scott, Alex, and Cain were carrying various boxes of decorations from the storage room in the basement to the main floor. Rogue and Gambit had the task of decorating the mansion's many walls, staircases and doorways. They seemed to take great care and delight in hanging the mistletoe. Emma was in the living room, barking orders at Dani, Amara, Xi'an, and Rahne as they struggled to decorate the large, fragrant Frasier fir tree. Warren was seated in the dining room with Roberto, sampling various bottles of wine from the mansion's cellar to assign to the party's menu. Meanwhile, Logan, Bishop, and Sam carried in the fresh wreaths and garlands Jean had mail-ordered, as well as groceries Cook requested from town. A not-so-somber Jono was battling with Tabitha over the music selection in one of the rec rooms. The moody Englishman was advocating for a play list of jazz standards while the self-professed wild child argued that more modern versions of holiday tunes was very much needed.  
  
In the midst of all of this, Bobby found himself walking inside the foyer with Hank following close behind. The two friends had been assigned to shoveling duty. While most would bemoan the prospect of clearing various paths to the mansion in the icy air, both men rather enjoyed the task. Hank had been feeling a bout of cabin fever setting as one of the busier instructors. The opportunity to get some fresh air for an extended period of time was welcomed. As for Bobby, he never argued against the chance to roam around in the cold. Plus, pelting Hank with a couple of snowballs were added perks.  
  
Hank was still brushing the flakes of snow from his rear as he and his friend sauntered towards the kitchen. "Made my brown eye blue with that last one," he noted with a hint of amusement in his twinkling blue eyes. His smile broadened when the scent of Cook's chocolate mint tumbles, gingersnaps, and sugar cookies reached his nostrils. The hulking man quickened his pace.

"You really think I'm going to let you sneak by me that easily?" Bobby snorted, giving Hank a playful shove against the wall. Like his friend, he shared a notoriously bottomless stomach and fierce penchant for anything Cook produced. With a cheeky wink, he quickly darted past the doorway and slipped inside the warm, glowing kitchen.  
  
Warren had just finished sampling wines. He was rinsing out a series of wine glasses to load into the dishwasher. Dressed in a royal-blue polo sweater over a pink shirt, pressed trousers, and tan penny loafers, he appeared the archetype of refinement. His blue eyes were amused as he watched his friends enter the kitchen. "Whatever it is you two think you're going to get in here, forget it," he told them.

"What are you talking about?" Bobby demanded, feeling rather pedestrian next to Warren in his heavily lined, suede car coat, white T-shirt, baby-blue V-neck sweater, and jeans. When it came to style, he and the rest of the men around the mansion accepted the truth they could not compete with Warren's tastes and unlimited bank account.  
  
The blond Adonis smiled as he turned off the sink and closed the dishwasher door. "Cook's put almost everything edible under lock and key when she's not around," he informed a crestfallen Bobby and Hank. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he wiped his hands dry with a nearby dishcloth.

"Are you serious?" Bobby gawked. His cheeks suddenly turned pink when he realized how squeaky his voice just then.  
  
Hank rolled his eyes, pulling off his red ski cap and unzipping his black, quilted down jacket. "It's Warren," he whispered loudly, "the man has no idea how to tell a decent joke."

Warren opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it closed. It was true. His sense of comedic timing was rather lacking. There was no sense in arguing against that fact. Shrugging his shoulders, he said nonchalantly, "It's true, guys. You're going to have to either order out or beg Cook when she gets back to whip up something."  
  
Bobby walked over to the kitchen table and seated himself in a vacant chair, followed by Hank. He peered over at his feline-faced compatriot. "I'm not sure if I'm the one who should do the sweet talking," he declared glumly, raking a hand through his sandy hair. "Cook caught me sneaking a piece of her fruitcake this morning. I still have the welts on my arm. Do you want to see?"

"That's all right," Hank told him, waving his hands quickly as Warren pulled up a chair next to him. "I'll take your word for it, Bobby. Perhaps I can be more persuasive." He wagged his furry eyebrows slyly.  
  
Warren grinned, confident that Hank McCoy would be able to formulate a convincing argument tinged with trademark charm. "So, gentlemen," he began, "it's the last week here at school with the students... I think after this little party, we're free."

"Don't sound too depressed about not seeing the kids for a while," Bobby smirked, cupping his chin in the palm of his hand. While teaching came naturally to Xavier's former students, Warren found himself struggling with his occasional impatience and problems relating to the children. The fact that Warren was an only child was a possible factor. Over the past few months, Bobby watched with pride as his friend improved his skills in the classroom.  
  
Warren shook his blond head and laughed—an act that was occurring with greater frequency much to the relief of those who knew him best. "It's not that," he said casually. "I'm just looking forward to spending some time away from the school. For the next two and a half weeks, I'll be skiing and lounging around my Swiss lodge."

"We should all be so lucky," Hank observed, grinning enviously. He folded his hands together and smiled humbly. "Unlike you, milder temperatures are in my future. It's not necessarily the best thing for someone with my features."  
  
Bobby gave him a quizzical look. "Where are you going to be?" he inquired. The last time he checked, Hank was not in touch with his Wisconsin family. It was not that the McCoys had turned their respective backs on him. Rather, the decision was rooted in Hank's desire to keep them safe from possible persecution they might face.

"I'll be flying to Zaire to meet with some colleagues from Doctors Without Borders," Hank explained, slipping off his black-rimmed spectacles. "There's this village that's desperately in need..."  
  
Warren clapped a broad hand on his friend's shoulder. "That's great, Hank," he commented warmly. An active financial supporter of the organization, he was pleased to know there were genuinely committed doctors providing their services.  
  
If it was possible to see beneath the thick, blue fur that covered Hank's face, one could instantly tell he was blushing bright pink with embarrassment. A grounded person who preferred to stay out of the limelight, he preferred to avoid accolades when it was possible. He volunteered his time for the people, not for the glory and admiration.  
  
Quickly, he changed the subject in the hopes of throwing the attention on someone else. He turned to Bobby. "So, what are your plans for next week? Another pilgrimage to Long Island for your mom's plum pudding?" Just talking about the dessert filled with English ale made his mouth water.  
  
Bobby nodded. "Why break with tradition?"

"Is Jubilee going with you?" Warren asked. While he and Bobby never directly discussed how Thanksgiving went, he was able to pick up on the fact that the visit did not go as well as Bobby might have hoped. If Jubilee was not going to accompany him, it was no surprise.  
  
Bobby shook his head, his gray eyes peering down at his folded hands. "No," he said quietly, "she's going to be with Logan for the holidays. I guess he has a cabin up in Alberta he's taking her to."

He did not bother hiding the disappointment in his voice. Even if he could, he simply did not feel up to it. While the explanation for the couple spending Christmas apart was reasonable, Bobby could not help but feel somewhat slighted. Yes, Logan was the closest thing she had to a father, and the two of them had not seen much of each other because of his mission schedule. The old man should be able to have Jubilee's time and attention for the holidays.

But Bobby wanted Jubilee for himself.  
  
Not that he was a particularly clingy person, but it was Bobby's view that he had not seen much of his girlfriend. Both of them were occupied with school. While he spent much of his time in his room grading assignments and exams, she seemed to make a home at the university library. If she was not there, Jubilee was holed up in her room, studying or passed out from lack of sleep or caffeine. The moments he was able to have with her often had been in her bedroom, sleeping in each other's arms. Any substantive attempts at conversations were left behind.

It would have been easy to chalk up Jubilee's distant behavior to holiday stress. This was her first year of college, an academic and social experience that was disparate from Xavier's. If she was feeling the pressure, it was totally understandable. After all, such sentiments were common with young people in her position.

But Bobby knew that accepting such a proposition would be like lying.

Though weary physically and psychologically, Bobby was aware there were outstanding issues still lingering between them. The visit and Jubilee's strange behavior had yet to be addressed. In addition to her continued dismissive façade, there was also the lack of time they were able to spend together. Neither of these things facilitated much discussion. 

Since things failed to be resolved, he felt as if he were languishing. It was as if he were not allowed to move forward. Adding to this was his apprehension that the piece of happiness he had longed for was now in trouble.

As her boyfriend, it was up to him to care for her and keep her safe. Perceiving himself as Jubilee's protector was not some grandiose conclusion Bobby came up with on his own. He found that when she was around, there was a surge of feelings that she could only elicit. Her presence, which filled him with such euphoria, also instilled a sense of strength and intensity he had never known before. It was as if he could immediately to Logan—doing almost everything in his power to keep any harm from coming to Jubilee.

He let her down so badly.

Guilt seemed to be a constant companion to Bobby nowadays. The disastrous nature of the weekend in Long Island plagued him like nothing else. He could see the pain in Jubilee's eyes every time he closed his eyes at night. Each time he relived that dreadful dinner, he was only reminded of his failure. He should have done more to protect Jubilee from his father. Hell, he should have prevented the entire fiasco by not bringing her home in the first place.

In the end, he viewed himself as culpable as his father. 

His gray eyes narrowed as this deduction reverberated in his head. As much as it pained him to consider the validity, he knew it would be difficult to counter. With his shoulders slumped, he slowly rose from his seat and began to make his way out of the kitchen. There had to be some way to make things right again.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know... Are you trying to look forty?"

"Jubes!"

"I'm sorry. I thought you wanted me to be honest. Can I have a do-over?"

"No, you can't a have a do-over!"  
  
Paige Guthrie placed her hands over her hips, grimacing. The Kentucky native and Jubilee were in the fitting room area of Halliwells, the major department store in Westchester. In addition to shopping for gifts, the younger Guthrie found herself concerned with selecting a holiday wardrobe. This Christmas, Warren had invited her to fly out to his winter home in Switzerland. The promise of skiing, long nights by a large hearth, and socializing with the cultural elite in Europe should have made her quake with excitement.

Instead, she was filled with a sense of dread. While her accent had been shed after she left home, she felt provincial in so many other ways. Until only recently, she had thought that Versace was a city in Rome. Simply ruminating about what was held in store for her those next two weeks was anxiety provoking. She imagined herself at Warren's side, listening to his friends go on and on about the stock market, the latest gallery openings, and other various topics that normally failed to pique her interest. Given the intimidating factors involved in this situation, Paige only prayed that she did not embarrass herself too badly, or her new boyfriend for that matter.

Not one to shrink back from a challenge, Paige decided to tackle the elements that she could control. She caught up on the latest business news by watching CNBC between classes. Her cultural knowledge was expanded thanks to some brief tutoring sessions from Hank McCoy. Jean and Ororo lent her copies of their fashion magazines so that she could catch up on the latest styles that season. Kurt, who had spent some time in Switzerland, taught her some key phrases in order to get around.

All of this much-appreciated assistance bolstered her wavering confidence. However, she realized that she needed to make some more tangible alterations. Most notably, her wardrobe was, in her eyes, in desperate need of an update. Paige was aware that she could not get away with her normal attire, which was composed of snug, flared jeans, hooded sweatshirts, and baby T-shirts. Following the conclusion of the semester, the younger Guthrie set out to correct things by conducting a shopping excursion.

Knowing that Jubilee had finished with her finals, she cajoled her best friend into accompanying her. It had been ages since the two of them spent any significant time together. Plus, Jubilee was unflinchingly honest when it came to clothing. As she watched a familiar, impish grin descend over the other girl's delicate features, Paige began to regret her decision. There was a part of her that wanted to be indignant and hurt. She _was_ trying.

Her pale blue eyes focused on her reflection in the mirror. Under the track lighting of the store, she scrutinized herself in a violet evening gown with a low-cut, halter-top covered in sequins and floor-length skirt. What met her eyes was almost comical. The beginnings of a sheepish smile curled her pink, glossy mouth. Jubilee was right; the dress added twenty years.

When she noticed Jubilee suddenly smirking behind her in the mirror, the younger Guthrie immediately whipped around and pasted a mock stern expression across her features. "This isn't funny," she tried to scold, fighting the urge to giggle. She pretended to cough. "Listen, I'm really trying here..."

"Yeah, you're trying," Jubilee acknowledged, fiddling with her blue-and-light-green, striped scarf. Her tan pea coat was draped over her chino-clad legs as she nodded vigorously in agreement with her friend. Then she added, "You're trying to be the cover girl for 'Trophy Girlfriend Weekly'."

Paige shook her head, straw-colored hair spilling over her shoulders. "That bad, huh?" she asked, blushing.

Jubilee pushed up the sleeves to her long-sleeved, aqua T-shirt, which she wore over another long-sleeved T-shirt with multi-colored stripes. "Did Warren say anything?"

"No, but I—"

"So then what's the big deal? Just look at this whole thing as some insanely luxurious vacation a lot of people dream about. Driving yourself crazy over who's going to notice your non-designer clothes is going to be counterproductive, you know. Warren wouldn't want that... I mean, at least I hope he wouldn't."

"No, he doesn't. It's just that I want to make things right. I don't want him to think he's made some kind of mistake. Things have just I'm not going to chance anything, Jubes."

"That's great and all, but don't let yourself walk on eggshells because of what he might or might not be thinking."  
  
Paige bit her lower lip, shaking her head. "You're right, Jubes," she finally said and turned away from the mirror to face her friend. It still amazed her as to how insightful the younger girl was. There were so much wisdom and life experiences permeated from that brilliant sapphire gaze. She supposed Jubilee's early entrance into the adult world had a great deal to do with that.

Then she sighed resignedly and stared down at her hands. "You know you're really lucky, right?" she asked, disgusted with her uneven nails and torn cuticles. No matter how many times she shed her skin, her new layer never brought well-groomed hands.  
  
Jubilee looked perplexed. "What do you mean?" she countered.

"You don't have to worry about this kind of stuff," Paige replied, feeling the price tag attach to the gown scratch at her skin.

"I don't?" Jubilee tried to hide her continued confusion. _What did she know about anything? _ she wondered.

"No," Paige went on, "Bobby's an easy-going guy. The two of you have been really happy together. It seems like there's none of this anxiety or angst. It's like you guys can share whatever's going on in your respective heads and not be afraid. Do you know how blessed you are to have something like that?"

Jubilee could not quite meet her friend's wistful eyes. She wrung her hands with guilt, as if she had somehow deceived Paige. Not that she had lied to the other girl by telling her that things were well, especially after the visit to the Drake home. In fact, she had disclosed absolutely nothing to anyone, not even Logan. She simply answered inquiries about the weekend by telling people that the entire endeavor was "an adventure". Hoping to duck any further questions from other people and in particular, Bobby, Jubilee decided to immerse herself in school. It was a valid front. No one would dare to call her out or fault her. Plus, studying allowed her time alone to think about many things.

Deep down, Jubilee was cognizant of the lack of quality of time with Bobby. Half-coherent mumblings between moments of slumber hardly constituted the healthy communication Paige gushed about. If Jubilee were pressed to recall the content of these conversations, she could only guess that they involved asking him to roll over or to give her more blankets. At least, that's what was she vaguely remembered.

Jubilee was also increasingly aware of Bobby's desire to air things out in spite of her repeated assurances that all was well. While he was hesitant when approached her, his intentions were clear. He wanted to get to the bottom of whatever it was that seemed to be bothering her. Confronted with his determination, she responded the only way she could—avoiding.

In a way, she felt as if she were cheating Bobby, denying him some sort of peace of mind. Simply thinking about this filled her with tremendous amounts of guilt. At the same time, Jubilee wasn't quite sure how comfortable she would have been with the alternative. The idea of hashing things out made her stomach somersault inside. She wanted to believe that she had been doing the right thing, avoiding all this talking. There were brief moments during the past few weeks that she came close to doing so. She was not prepared to talk about what happened between her and Bill Drake.  
  
If she were ready, that would mean she could tell him. She could say those three words to him. They were simple but meaningful words that rendered her paralyzed with apprehension.

"I love you."

It was not that she did not want to tell him. In fact, she did and even often contemplated the prospect. She thought about the moment: where would they be, what were the circumstances, and when. Knowing her lack of romantic graces, she knew that there would be no classical orchestra playing sweet music in the air, nor would they be sitting in some lavish garden. Perhaps they would be at some fast food restaurant, eating greasy burgers and fries with some awful easy music in the background.

As much as she considered the possibility of telling Bobby, Jubilee could not place his reaction. She always drew a blank. As fearful as she was of him turning away from her, she could not quite see it. Such a response would be out of character of the Bobby Drake she had come to know. He had shown a tender, romantic side few knew existed. It was one that continued to make her weak in the knees every time he was around. Surely, spurning her confession would contradict all that he had come to mean to her.

Yet, she was unable to picture him jumping up and down for joy, though she wanted to believe that was what he would do. Bobby had dated many women before her, who probably expressed similar sentiments to him. During the course of his dating career, Bobby had been hurt many times. Would he even believe her? Would he be mentally comparing her to the women who preceded her? Would he automatically take her words as a harbinger of a bad omen as he did in other relationships?

In the end, she decided it was Paige who was the lucky one.  
  
Pulling her coat on, Jubilee cleared her throat. She had to get some air. Mulling was instilling a fear that pushed her close to talking to her friend about her lone burden. "Listen, Hayseed," she said, invoking a nickname she knew her friend desperately despised. "I'm going to run next door and grab a mocha latte before I pass out."

The Java Hut was the last coffee establishment in Westchester that had not been converted to a Starbucks. The owner/manager, a stodgy-looking man with multiple facial piercings and green, spiky hair was a staunch opponent of the company. He made a point of informing each customer of the evils the corporation possessed as he took orders at the counter. Many people, including Jubilee, opted to avoid such confrontations by seating themselves at the tables outside of the stand. Taking that approach, they could have their orders taken by less openly political servers.

Jubilee had found a small table tucked right outside of the counter. As she waited for her server to approach her for an order, she took in the atmosphere. Her nostrils were filled with the aroma of coffee beans of various flavors mixed with the sweetness of creams and pastries that were added to some orders. The whirring sound of the coffee grinders was soft background noise, which was countered by the chattering of the staff interacting with customers. In contrast to the stores that surrounded the Java Hut, the music playing was strictly folksy-rock with no signs of any Christmas or holiday music. The owner was heard to make a comment as to how the holidays were invented by corporations to squeeze money from unsuspecting saps.  
  
She drummed her fingertips against the plastic tabletop. Fortunately, Paige was too involved in shopping to notice anything was amiss with her. In a way, this filled Jubilee with dismay. Not that she was fishing for her friend to talk to her, but it seemed to represent a growing rift between them. There was a definitely a noticeable change since Paige started dating Warren. Unlike previous relationships, this one appeared to consume the younger Guthrie, dominating her every waking thought or comment. Slowly, she was becoming a different person; someone Jubilee was finding less and less in common with. Gone was the ambitious and driven girl she knew from their formative years. This person was replaced with an individual who was needy and dependent on someone else's whims and emotions. Warren seemed like a nice enough person, but there were times when Jubilee questioned whether or not he knew what kind of effect he was having on Paige.

Sighing, she began to engage in one of her favorite hobbies, people watching. For her, it did not matter who they were or what they were doing. The fact that they were simply there in the first place was what mattered to her. While Logan and Scott likened the activity to a form of spying, Jubilee considered it to be something less intrusive than that. It was like her way of informally studying human interaction without writing up any data.  
  
This day found her interested gaze falling upon one of the servers at a nearby table. The girl, who could not be older than sixteen, was clearing up a vacant table of the used cups, saucers, and napkins. The girl's hair, brassy and unruly, spilled down her round shoulders. She tried to disguise her overweight figure by wearing an all-black uniform. The black seemed to bring out the pink in her face, which was the result of acne and scarring. Her head was bent low and she was breathing rather heavily. It was as if she were terrified of being noticed by anyone, hoping to retreat to a place where she would be less noticed.

The girl seemed oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. Instead, she was absorbed with busing her table as quickly as she could. After gathering the dishes and napkins into a large bin placed on one of the chairs, she began to straighten up the shakers and other condiment containers. When she picked up a sugar dispenser, the cap suddenly popped off. Sparkling, fine white crystals sprayed onto her arms, her shirt, and across the table.  
  
Jubilee frowned with concern as she continued to watch. She immediately felt sympathetic when the girl simply stood there, shocked and despondent. However, she soon found herself distracted when her ears picked up on snickering and guffaws. She turned her head in the direction of the increasingly loud laughter.  
  
Her sapphire eyes narrowed when she located the source. Across from the Java Hut stood a group of four boys. All of them were dressed identically in camel-colored, hooded, toggle coats over navy blazers, blue dress shirts, red-and-navy striped ties, khakis, and loafers. Their clothes and pearly white smiles were indicative of students from St. Albans, a Catholic school for the upper class in Westchester. Jubilee had heard stories about the children who attended the school, most of them not very flattering. According to Amara, who knew several acquaintances from the school, the students and their parents thought they were the crème-de-crème of the town and felt they should be treated as such.  
  
_Apparently, Mommy and Daddy aren't keeping them busy, _Jubilee mused, her mouth forming a firm line. While she had come from a prosperous family herself, she never recalled her parents instilling such attitudes. As a result, it confused her to no end as to how people could develop an inflated sense of self-worth because they had money.

"Look at the stupid cow," one of the boys hooted, pointing at the server. "She doesn't know if she should clean up or eat it!"

A taller boy with lank, shaggy hair and sunken-in, dark eyes snickered. "Yeah," he echoed in a squeaky voice, "I bet she's one of those goddamn muties. She's gotta be. Look at how fat and ugly she is! God wouldn't create such a beast!"

Next to him, a blond-haired boy with smattering of freckles and bright green eyes slapped his shoulder. "I bet she's never had a real date before," he commented loudly. He whistled at the girl, who was still standing over her table. "Hey, baby! Why don't you give my friend here a chance? You're everything he wants...and more!"

"Shut the hell up!" The taller boy snapped, but was still snorting with laughter. Then he called over his shoulder, "Why don't you do the rest of humanity a favor and kill yourself? You're just another worthless mutie!"

Jubilee cast her gaze upon the girl, wondering if she was aware of the boys. The girl looked as if she were fighting tears, blinking furiously. Her lower lip was trapped by her crooked, stained teeth. She continued to stare down at the table, appearing unable to move. The caustic, hurtful words the heckling group tossed trapped her in place.

Furious, Jubilee wondered who the hell these boys thought they were, terrorizing an innocent person. Their smirking, sneering faces represented the twisted and ugly countenances she had come to know over the years. While the features were different, the emotions behind these expressions were the same. As one of Xavier's students, she learned about the fear and hatred behind such behaviors. During her time with the X-Men, she knew enough that something like this was wrong and should not be tolerated any longer. Under Logan's tutelage, she developed the mental fortitude to deal with the hurtful actions and remarks.

Hopping out of her chair, she marched towards the group. A harsh scowl marred her lovely features. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

The blond boy's green eyes widened with surprise, as did those of his friends. Then his expression softened when he noticed how pretty this girl was. Her dazzling looks put the other girls he went to school with to shame. "Why do you care?" he asked coyly, flashing her what he thought to be a flirtatious smile. "She's just another dumb mutie. No one cares about trash like her."

"The world would be better off without people like her," another boy added, his full mouth forming a sneer.

Jubilee crossed her arms over her chest, raising a brow at the smug-faced boy. "And who appointed you losers to judge?"

The group stopped their sniggering, a hush falling over them. It was Jubilee's turn to smirk. Obviously, they were not used to being spoken to in such a way. _It's about damn time someone did,_ she thought, unaware of passer byers whispering.

The blond boy suddenly glared at her, his ire overcoming his fascination. "What's it to you?" he asked crossly.

Jubilee shook her head, dark hair rippling down her graceful shoulders. "I'm not too crazy about a bunch of spoiled little punks ganging up on someone for no reason," she replied nonchalantly. "It's like you guys have nothing going on in your pathetic lives than to boost your sorry egos by pulling bullshit like this. That's okay... I understand. I guess it's hard day in and day out having Mommy make sure you can do important things, like wiping your own ass."

The boy with full mouth snorted. "I would only expect to hear something like that from a mutie," he spat out. Then he added with a scowl, "Or a mutie lover."

She pursed her lips at him and the rest of the boys. "Think what you want," she told him, not bothering to answer him. "The fact is, that stunt you pulled was really shitty and if any you were real men, you'd give that girl an apology."

"Why should we?" the blond boy demanded, leering at her. "Like all muties, that girl is a mistake. It's in the Bible, you know. Oh, wait... You don't know. You're probably one of those damn muties, too."

Up until that remark, Jubilee thought she was going to be able to shame these boys into doing the right thing. It was becoming quite clear that their contempt for the girl and those they considered different ran too deeply. The frustration that pulsed through her veins was almost too much. "God, please save me from your followers," she groaned, rolling her eyes.

The taller boy edged closer to her, brushing his shaggy, lank hair out of his sunken-in eyes. "What was that?" he demanded.

She smiled sweetly up at him. "I'm sorry," she drawled in the most girlish voice she could muster. "I don't speak moron."

He leaned towards her, his breath warm and smoky against her forehead. "I wouldn't be so high on myself if I were you," he warned. "Pretty little thing like you wouldn't want to get on our bad side."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong," she replied, staring him straight in the eye. If he thought getting in her face was going to intimidate her, then was sorely mistaken. Having confronted the likes of Omega Red, this kid was like nothing. "From what I've been able to gather about you and your lady friends here, there's no other place I'd rather be."  
  
The blond boy stepped from behind his taller friend. "You're going to regret that decision," he hissed at her. "We could make someone like you disappear right now and no one would care."

Sizing up her would-be attackers, she found this assertion highly suspect. None of them looked as if they saw any kind of serious exercise other than making the walk to the yacht club to watch the springtime regatta. "I'd like to see you do that," she countered, blue eyes flashing. "But you were just stupid enough to threaten me in a public place. If your tactics are this brilliant, then you've got me shaking in my boots."

The taller boy's sunken-in eyes widened as he peered around him. There did not seem to be anyone closely monitoring things, so he felt less apprehensive. Given his lack of experience of verbally sparring with people outside of high school, he decided to resort to taunting. Pretty or not, she had a mouth on her and that needed to be dealt with.

"So, are you going to use your freak mutie powers on us?" he asked sarcastically, feigning fear as his friends laughed. "Don't tell me. You can hurl lame insults at people who are better than you." He joined in, his own laughter resembling a barking of an angry dog.

She shrugged, raising her brows as he towered over her. "If that delusion helps you sleep at night, then go right ahead," she said flatly, shoving him away from her finally. He was a little close for her liking.

He stared at her, astonished that she dared to touch him. "Who do you think you are, putting your hands on me like that?"

"Oh, please," she retorted, her crystalline eyes narrowing into razor-thin slits. "That's the most action you're going to see... Well, until you get home and when your mommy gives you your nightly sponge bath."

There was a muffled laugh from one of the other boys, which was quickly silenced from a glowering look from the taller boy. His scowl deepened as he took a step towards her, grasping for her arm. "Let's see how you like being touched."

Jubilee ducked out of his reach. For a brief moment, she considered summoning a spark from her hand—just to see what would happen. Granted, it would go against everything the Professor taught her over the years. The discipline she worked so hard to have over her abilities and her less mature ways would disappear for that instance. All of this would be lost so that she could show this brat some manners. Before she could respond, someone intervened. It was the last person she expected to see that day.

Bobby.  
  
Jumping between her and the boys, he wore an expression that communicated calm mixed with playful ease. "What's going on?" he inquired, gray eyes mirroring his confusion.

Jubilee recovered from her shock to explain. Her apprehension over Bobby and the surrounding issues in their relationship were placed on the backburner. There were other fish to fry. "Dickless and his crew of idiots here—" she began.

The blond boy with the freckles flared his nostrils, not quite believing that someone was talking about him and the rest of friends in such a way. "You little..." Then he stopped himself, taking the time to collect himself. "It seems our friend here misunderstood something we were talking about. She got emotional and started barking at us irrationally. You just walked in on our attempts to straighten things out."

Bobby flicked his gaze to his girlfriend, who appeared quite indignant and even angrier over the fact that the boy referred to her as a friend. Then he peered over at the boys, who were wearing angelic expressions of innocence. Upon closer inspection, he could see the hint of smirks on each face. More importantly, he was able to recognize them as students from the prestigious school in town. He was mindful of who their parents might be and what kind of power they were likely to wield.

While he was not the savvy politician that Xavier was, he quickly surmised that it was not worth making things worse by joining Jubilee. The school was already under heavy scrutiny since the Professor outed himself to the world. Parents and activists were closely watching the activities of the school thanks to increasing media coverage. Everything that Xavier and his institution represented were part of what was being perceived as a growing threat to society. People were frightened, quick to judge any possible misstep and lash in any way they could.

His boyishly handsome face clouded with concern as he assessed the present situation. As someone who stood on the front lines often torn between defending himself from such individuals and protecting them, what was playing out was becoming all too familiar. The young girl, possibly justified in her verbal assails, had placed herself in quite the predicament. She was alone, facing off against a group of boys who could have easily overpowered her in spite of her abilities and training given how many of them were around. While he wanted to have faith in her, there was a part of him that was fearful for her safety. Who knew what could have happened had he not shown up?

Bobby clenched his jaw. He had let her down before by not being there for her, protecting her. It was not going to happen again. Quickly, he regained his relaxed composure, lines of worry disappearing from his forehead.

"Well, I'm glad you guys settled things," he began, slipping an arm around Jubilee's slender shoulders. "People kind of get emotional when the holidays roll around, _if you know what I mean_." He raised his sandy brows expectantly at the group.

The blond boy with the freckles and his taller friend exchanged knowing glances before elbowing their other compatriots. To their credit, the group did not snicker outright. However, they did not bother hiding their smirks. The satisfaction of watching the good-looking girl with the caustic tongue being cut down to size was too delicious.

Bobby nodded sharply at them, his own impatience with them threatening to boil over. "Happy holidays then," he said woodenly. It did not bother him that the words sounded hollow to his own ears. He simply wanted to end this whole thing as fast as he could. Anticipating for any kind of confrontation was the last thing on his mind.

Then he turned on his heel to head towards Halliwells, taking Jubilee with him. As he marched on, he managed to block out the stares of people who happened to witness the encounter. The chortles of laughter from the little hooligans mixed with the holiday music from the speakers that echoed behind them were pushed out of his consciousness. Their leering and taunting expressions, which usually would have been a source of irritation for Bobby, dissipated in intensity. Even his ruminating thoughts about the awkwardness between himself and Jubilee, which dominated his waking moments, were brushed aside.

He had more important things to focus on.

Keeping his Jubilee safe.

When they were several yards away from where the boys were standing, Bobby was surprised to feel Jubilee jerk away from him. As she faced him, he noticed something was amiss. Her radiant face was now flushed pink. Those old-soul blue eyes that often looked upon him with such kindness and understanding were flashing with an undeniable rage. She was breathing heavily now, as if it trying to contain whatever it was that was vexing her at that moment.

Perplexed, he reached for her arm but was quickly rebuffed when she stepped away from him. His gray eyes filled with concerned, eyeing his girlfriend with a great deal of trepidation. "Jubes?"

"What the hell was that?" she asked slowly, the coolness in her tone very apparent.

He shook his head, still confused. "What?" he asked earnestly. His heartbeat began to speed up as it thudded in his ears. She had never spoken to him like that in all the years of friendship. Most of the time, she was playful and flirty with him, but never The change put him off balance, filling him with apprehension and dread. Unfortunately for him, he was in an oh-so-familiar position. However, he was hoping he would not be making a return in this relationship.

It was her turn to shake her head. For Jubilee, it was in disbelief. Though her anger was very apparent, her sense of astonishment seemed to be more overwhelming. "You're not that dense, so don't even try it," she said, edgy. "You know damn well what you did. I mean, how could you humiliate me like that?"

He frowned at her. At first, he continued to find himself thoroughly lost in what seemed to be riddles in her statements. He honestly had no clue. Reading her expression and mulling over her words, he quickly recovered and realized where she was going. His frown deepened in response. Obviously, she did not know how wrong I she /I was.

"Humiliate you?" he countered, taking on a harsh tone of his own. "You're interpreting my saving you face humiliating you? Come on, Jubes. What are you thinking?"

Crossing her arms over her slim chest, she continued to regard him with a mixture of scorn and shock. "You were trying to save me? I don't know if you've noticed, Bobby, but I'm not some insipid, little damsel in distress type. I can take care of myself. Hell, I've been doing it all my life, before I came to Westchester. I don't need someone to look out for me."

"Maybe you do," Bobby snapped, his annoyance more than apparent. Why was she so persistent in being so off? Didn't she realize what kind of trouble she could have gotten herself into? From her response, it would appear that Jubilee did not. Instead, she was more concerned with taking care of business by herself.

Unconsciously, her small hands balled into tiny fists. "What was that?" Her voice was hoarse even though she had not raised it. It was as if her emotions were making it cumbersome to communicate.

He shook his head with incredulity. "I can't believe you sometimes," he told her, annoyed and frustrated. "You think you can run around and pick fights with anyone—"

Her face turned a deeper shade of pink. She could feel her chest tightening with anger. "I didn't start it," she protested sharply, scowling. "You know I would never do something like that." Her stomach twisted inside, creating a wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.

"So, what was it then, Jubes?"

"I... You know what? It's not important. You're already determined to harangue me anyway. What good is it going to do, justifying things?"

"I'm not haranguing you... Just tell me what compelled you to act the way you did in the first place."

"I don't owe you a goddamn explanation. Not after what you did."

"After what I did? You know what, that's OK if you want to keep things to yourself, but you should be thanking me."

"Are you kidding me? You made me look like some out-of-control, irrational girl who didn't know her place. I'm supposed to be grateful for that? Forget it."

"Oh, I beg to differ. I come here to do some last minute shopping and end up having to diffuse some kind of showdown between you and those kids, who happen to be the offspring of some influential people in the community. Do you have to be reminded of the times we're living in? With the Professor and the school?"

"No, I—"

"God, Jubes, I don't even want to think about what might have happened if I hadn't been around to step in."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Didn't you realize where things were going? There were four of them and only one of you. Despite what you might think, the potential for something bad happening to you was staggering—powers or no powers."

"Give me some credit, Bobby. You really think I would let things get to that point?"

"That's what it was starting to look like. Jubes, you have no idea what those guys were capable of. They could have really hurt you."

"Really, Bobby, do tell. Because I don't know what it's like to be hurt or worse. It's not like I've been tortured before. You know, that's something I've never gone through, so go ahead and enlighten me."

"You can be such a child sometimes. Would it kill you to think about the bigger picture and how your actions affect other people? You should do that instead of being so self-involved."

Her eyes widened, resembling brilliant blue saucers. For a moment, she did not believe her ears. Bobby had been the first to befriend her when she first arrived at the mansion. He was her partner-in-crime when it came to playing pranks on the other residents, fostering a close friendship. Their motto had been "Us against the world", the world being the rest of the X-Men. During their friendship and their ensuing romance, never did Bobby give the impression that he believed Jubilee was less capable due to her age or her temperament. He had always treated her like an equal, someone able and ready to care for herself. It was refreshing, especially when her self-appointed protectors (Logan and Scott) tended to be overbearing at times.

But his assertion undercut all of that. The trust and faith he supposedly had in her was apparently some lie. He was like the others. To him, she was helpless and in constant need of his saving. In his eyes, she was a spoiled child to be dealt with. The worst thing of all was his deception, making her think he was different by not acting like another authority figure.

She took a deep and shaky breath. Her sapphire eyes were blank with that sort of emotional catatonia people got when they were upset, but found it nearly impossible to explain to others why. What was in reality seconds, felt like eons, as she struggled to compose herself. So many thoughts and emotions flooded her while she stared at Bobby in utter disbelief.

After a brief lapse into an awkward silence, the young girl managed, "You're a bastard."

Bobby winced slightly, her declaration cutting into him painfully. He never thought he would be on the receiving end of such a remark from her. The way she uttered those words was so unsettling, as if she honestly believed them. Her expression, a mixture of fury and sadness, punctuated the sentiment in her statement. It hurt him to see her so upset. What pained him even more was the knowledge that he was responsible for it.

Yet, he was not prepared to concede to her. It was quite obvious that she did not understand where he was coming from. Granted, some of his underlying frustration with her over their lack of communication spilled into his part of the argument. But it was his fear for her safety, over what might have happened that really inspired him. He only wanted to keep her out of harm's way like he should have done Thanksgiving weekend. Contrary to what Jubilee was thinking, Bobby had no intention of embarrassing her. He was simply determined to do whatever was needed to protect her.

As convinced as he was on the validity of his position, Bobby continued to be troubled by persistent questions that raced through his mind. Why was she so bent on fighting him on this? Couldn't she see that he was only looking out for her? Why was he suddenly the antagonist here? What happened?

He needed to make her see his side of things. Then she would be able to understand. Extending a hand to touch her arm, he sighed. "Listen, Jubes..."

She shrugged out of his grasp. "Are you going to tell me again how childish I'm being?" she asked warily, backing away from him.

A flash of exasperation flickered in his gray eyes. His lips formed a tight, thin line, which made his boyish face take on a grim look. Crossing his arms over his chest, he could only exhale loudly. For that brief moment, he resembled his father as he stood there in front of her. It was quite chilling how the younger Drake evoked memories of the laconic, surly patriarch.

Finally, Bobby shook his head wearily. "You don't understand..." he began, a hint of what sounded to like superciliousness creeping into his voice.

Her lower lip trembled while trapped under her white teeth. She could feel her heart drop sharply inside her body. So painful was it that it almost hindered her ability to breathe. Somehow, she managed, facing the person she both loved and hated with a steady, unwavering stare.

"Happy holidays then," she said, invoking the words he had used earlier with the group of boys. Her tone was equally hollow and empty as Bobby's had been. However, this belied the stinging tears in her eyes. She had to leave. It was uncertain as to how much longer she could look at him without breaking down.

Quickly, she turned away from him and was swallowed into a crowd of people exiting Halliwells. Bobby was momentarily stunned and reeling from the events that had just transpired. He then began to weave in between people in an attempt to search for his Jubilee. His sense of desperation surged as he frantically shoved other holiday shoppers aside. When he was unable to find her, he realized he had lost her in more ways than one.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four Walls

Here's the latest chapter. Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her edits and comments.

Thank you all for your reviews and comments on the board here and over email. Please, please keep them coming! It's great hearing from all of you!

As usual, the characters belong to Marvel, but the story is mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Walls**

The following day found the grounds of the mansion enveloped in a fresh blanket of snow, contrasting against the black, barren branches of the many trees. The snow was undisturbed, left pure and white, as it had fallen from the sky. While outside was the epitome of a serene, winter day, inside told an entirely different story. Inside the walls of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, there was a flurry of activity. The annual holiday party was going to be held in several hours. In spite of the advanced planning, there were still small tasks left to complete.

The Professor, Jean, and Ororo were overseeing most of the details that still needed to be addressed. Jean, being the borderline perfectionist that she was, rearranged the furniture in both of the rec rooms. Ororo and the Professor were working together to remove the thick snow from the roads and paths that led to the mansion. Per the Professor's instructions, Hank was providing a second-check of the mansion's security systems. Meanwhile, the students were scrambling themselves. Not heeding the advice of their instructors, most were conducting last-minute preparations of their own, straightening up their respective quarters while packing their belongings to go home to their families.

Out of everyone, Cook seemed to be the most frazzled. Her reputation and that of her cooking were on the line as they always were for every large-scale function such as this. The Englishwoman seemed especially focused, placing a great deal of pressure on herself to produce masterpieces. In addition to the existing kitchen staff, she had recruited several instructors and field team members to provide assistance. Inspecting their work and checking on the status of certain dishes, she began to calm down by the end of the morning. She even managed to consume a cup of tea, a ritual that often eased her mind from the frenzy that resulted from the daily running of the kitchen.  
  
Kitty and Tabitha were standing at the island in the middle of the kitchen, chopping celery and onions for braised lamb shanks. Neither woman was particularly adept at the culinary arts. However, that did not stop them from doing their part to help, which also provided each of them a welcomed distraction from thinking what awaited them post-party. For Kitty, she still had to submit grades for her computer-programming course. This was not unusual for the instructors, many of whom often waited until the end of the month to turn in grades. However, she was facing the prospect of failing one of her students—something she was not looking forward to doing. In her eyes, the student in question had truly put in a concerted effort, but simply did not have the propensity to do well with the material.  
  
Meanwhile, Tabitha was dealing with the strong probability that she would not have any holiday plans outside of the mansion. Spending the holidays with her family, with all of its dysfunction, was completely out of the question. The thought of spending five minutes with her recently paroled, abusive father and her passive-aggressive mother was enough to contemplate a month-long bender. The previous year, she had spent the holidays with the Guthrie clan in Kentucky. However, that option was no longer viable given the fact that she and Sam were no longer dating.

Kitty put down her knife and gathered the diced onions into a small glass bowl. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Kurt sauntering into the kitchen with a large, white box in his arms. "Hey, there," she greeted with a friendly grin. "What have you got there?"

"Hors d'oeuvres," he replied, placing the box on the kitchen table and looking cheerful in an olive-green, hooded sweatshirt, black-and-white Rugby shirt, red T-shirt, and faded jeans with hiking boots. "Cook hid them in the basement freezer so Bobby and Hank couldn't get to them."

Then he circled around the island and paused in front of Tabitha. He found himself staring at her momentarily. His brows furrowed together in a bewildered expression. "Um, Tabitha?"

"Yeah, Blue?" she answered, putting down her knife. Her blue-green eyes peered into his demon-like features with an unflinching intensity. Blue was the nickname she had given him when she first met him. For her, the name was derived from not his appearance but from the pleasant qualities she associated with the color and with his calming personality.  
  
He nervously bit his lower lip, relieved that it would be impossible to detect the blush that burned his flesh. The way she looked and talked to him aroused a myriad of feelings too complicated to sort out at the present. Instead, he decided to press on, but averted her gaze. "Er, perhaps you might vant to change your shirt before the party starts."

"Why?" Tabitha stared down at the red T-shirt she was wearing over her camouflage pants and Doc Martens. Printed across the chest was 'You Say Tomato, I Say Fuck You'. "I think it's pretty bitchin'," she told him.  
  
Kurt sighed wearily, racking his mind for something tactful to respond. While he was no longer a priest, there were some tenets of the faith he continued to adhere to. Mild discomfort with swearing was one of them. "Vell, some of the parents might not feel the same way," he finally said, choosing his words carefully. He did not want to come off as too much like Scott in that regard.

She shrugged her shoulders in a nonchalant fashion. "Oh... No problem." Without blinking an eye, she yanked the shirt over her head. She proceeded to flip it inside out before pulling it back on. A smug smile tugged at her magenta-painted lips, as she leaned towards Kurt.  
  
Kitty rolled her eyes, slapping her palm against her forehead. _What a piece of work..._ she mused.  
  
As for Kurt, he made what could only describe as a squeaking sound. Words seemed to escape him as to the emotions he was experiencing at that moment; never mind that she had not been wearing a bra or the fact that she made him uncomfortable in the first place. The fact that she had disrobed in and took great relish in his reaction was too much for him to comprehend. There was only one thing left for him to do.  
  
BAMF!  
  
Coughing, Kitty backed away from the cloud of sulfur smoke left in Kurt's stead. She gave Tabitha an exasperated look when the fumes subsided. "Why do you have to provoke him like that?" she asked, tempted to search for her best friend. However, she stopped herself, realizing that he was probably so mortified he would have rather been alone. She made a mental note to check in on him before the party.  
  
Tabitha cocked her head to the side, chunky blond bangs falling into her blue-green eyes. She looked as if she were considering the question with great thought. Then she said in a breezy voice, "Oh, I guess it's a habit. Besides, wasn't he cute when he just teleported right out of here?"  
  
Kitty's catlike, brown eyes widened with astonishment. She was aware of the other girl's reputation for straddling the line between bad and crazy. In fact, that was one of the things she found entertaining about being around her. However, the girl's little strip show was a bit surprising. Up until that moment, Kitty always believed that Tabitha had been all talk when it came to Kurt. Had Kitty been in a more reflective mood, she would have made a series of speculations about the encounter. For now, she could only shake her head at the blonde.  
  
She was about to suggest that they call Cook into the kitchen when Sam Guthrie ambled into the kitchen from the dining area. Relieved to have more grounded company, Kitty waved to him in greeting. The tall, lean Southern gentleman nodded back, but appeared uncharacteristically anxious. When he noticed that Tabitha was in the room, this only served to compound his feelings. For her part, Tabitha mumbled something about having to wash her hands and dashed to the sink on the other side of the room. Though the two had not been dating for some time, there was still an awkward tension that lingered. It was hard not to notice it. While many were not privy to the details surrounding the breakup, it was evident there were hurt feelings on both sides.

"Hi," he said with his trademark twang. Unlike his sister, the elder Guthrie made no effort to shed his accent. To him, it was part of his identity, part of his home that he carried with him. "Have y'all seen Jubilee?"  
  
Both Kitty and Tabitha shook their heads. Kitty noticed that he was holding an overstuffed Christmas stocking. The fact that he had a present for Jubilee was not what caught her attention, but how nice it appeared to be. The stocking, packed with care, was made of printed, sateen toile with red velvet trim. Her mind immediately recalled a recent conversation she had with Logan. He had expressed some suspicions about Sam's feelings towards the young girl. Initially, Kitty scoffed at the proposition. She argued that Sam was aware that Jubilee was already in a relationship and being the person he was, would completely respect that. As she eyed the stocking, she soon realized there might be some merit behind Logan's reservations.

She blinked, returning to the present and Sam's guileless face. "Um, I think she and Logan are getting ready to, like, leave for Canada today," she told him, her tone ambivalent. "They should still be around, though. I don't think they're supposed to leave for another hour or so."  
  
Sam raked a hand through his straw-colored hair. He looked preoccupied as he nodded his appreciation. "Ah just wanna catch her before she leaves," he said. "Ah tried her at Scott and Jean's, but Scott says she already packed and was on her way t'get Logan. But then Ah ran inta Logan and he says he ain't seen her yet."  
  
Kitty wiped her hands on the blue apron she was wearing. She could hear the urgency in Sam's voice. Her heart-shaped mouth formed a partial smile. It was one of those expressions people often wore when they saw how distraught the other person seemed to be, but had no idea how to respond. She was about to suggest that he check in with Bobby. Given the possible ramifications of such a statement, she refrained herself.  
  
Sam heaved a sigh, rubbing the blond stubble on his face. He could tell she was putting a concerted effort in providing her assistance, as she always did. "Thanks anyway, Kitty," he told her in a low voice, gratitude conveyed through his pale blue eyes. He began to saunter towards the door that connected the kitchen to the garage.  
  
Kitty leaned against the island, watching him slip out of the room as the wheels inside her head turned furiously.

Jubilee was trudging in the thick snow that covered the grounds of the mansion. While her waterproof, rubber boots helped to warm and protect her feet from the elements, they did not do much for mobility. Combined with the thickness of the snow on the ground, her trek to the garage took longer than she anticipated. In between cursing under her breath, she wished for the ability to either teleport or to fly. The fact that she was getting winded was not a pressing matter in mind. Rather, it was the sense of urgency that flowed through her veins, compelling to move at a faster pace.

Logan had estimated that the drive to his cabin would take about two days. Hence, he surmised that it would be in their best interest to get on the road as soon as possible. Much to Jubilee's chagrin, this meant having all of her things packed and taken care of, as well as getting up early. After a week of final exams and papers, this was not welcomed news. She wanted to have the opportunity to relax, sleep in. However, she realized there was no way she could argue or attempt to manipulate a determined Logan.  
  
Begrudgingly, Jubilee accepted the terms and uncharacteristically gathered her things together the night before. She even set her alarm so that she could awake at some ungodly hour. Unfortunately, she managed to sleep through the blaring of the buzzer. Scott had to come in and wake her, disheveled and grumpy that he was awakened. She almost knocked him over when she became aware of what time it was. Her usual morning routine was rushed. She was like the Tasmanian Devil from the old Warner Brothers cartoons—a burst of frenzied energy that sped about from room to room. Surprisingly, she managed to slow down enough to hug Scott goodbye, wishing him happy holidays before running out the door.  
  
She exhaled loudly when she reached the entrance to the mansion's main garage. A gloved hand pulled the remote from the pocket of her dark green hooded, corduroy sherpa coat. Her sapphire eyes were glazed over with mild fatigue as the retractable door swung open. The purring of its motor shattered the tranquility of the winter air that surrounded her. When there was enough room for her to enter, she darted inside. Slinging her travel bag over her shoulder, she sought Logan's beat-up 4 x 4. Silently, she prayed that he had not been waiting too long for her. In all the years they had known one another, Logan had a strange obsession with punctuality.

To her surprise, there was someone else waiting for her.

"Sam?" she said in greeting, puzzlement dancing across her delicate features. She rewrapped her green-and-navy, striped scarf around her neck.  
  
He smiled, face brightening. "Hi," he said warmly and stepped away from the truck and towards her. "Can Ah tell ya it's been tough trackin' ya down?"

"Really?" An amused and curious smile tugged at the corners of her small mouth. For some reason, she found Sam's cheery mood infectious. While some people feigned smiles or happy appearances, there was something very genuine and pure about what Sam was radiating.  
  
He nodded as a lock of blond hair fell over one of his brows. "Really," he told her earnestly. "Ah've been searchin' high and low for ya, Jubilee. Ah was beginnin' t'lose hope."

"Losing hope? That's awfully dramatic for you. I would have expected that kind of talk from your sister."

"Hard t'find other words what was goin' through mah head," he admitted sheepishly, regretting his choice of words.

"OK... Um, did I do something and now you're out to warn me? I can honestly tell you this time that I've been too busy to pull any pranks." She winked at him playfully, trying to alleviate his frustration.  
  
He laughed at the light tone in her voice and twinkling from those brilliant eyes. "Nah, ya ain't in any trouble," he informed her, feeling at ease for the first time that morning. "It's just that Ah really needed t'see ya before ya left, is all."

"Well, you have me now right where you want me," she said, still confused as to why he would be looking for her. Other than passing one another in the hallways of the mansion occasionally, the two of them rarely spoke. It was not that they were on unfriendly terms or anything remotely like that. As a full-time field team member, Sam was often off on missions or involved in training. It was a rare occurrence for him to be at the mansion for long periods of time. Jubilee had her own hectic schedule to contend with as well.  
  
His lashes fluttered at her words. While he was no longer the naïve Southern boy archetype, he was sometimes lost in the nuances of social interactions, particularly with the fairer sex. There were so many possible connotations in her statement. None of them he was prepared to consider right at this second.

Nervously, he cleared his throat. "Paige left early this mornin' for Switzerland and wanted me ta give ya this," he explained, handing her a stocking. He could feel his face begin to burn with a bright blush.

To his relief, Jubilee was oblivious to his self-consciousness. She was already poking her fingers through the tiny gifts Paige had stuffed into the stocking. Most of them were specific to private jokes between them, which elicited a series of giggles from her. While she wished her friend were still here to watch her, there was a part of her that was eager sort through the rest of the stocking. In the end, she decided to wait for the long car ride.  
  
Looking up at Sam, she flashed him a smile that lit up her lovely face. "Thanks," she said softly. She lowered her bag to the ground and opened it to put the stocking inside. "I hope Paige likes my present."  
  
He watched her rearrange the contents of the bag with interest. "What did ya get her?" he inquired, thankful that his blush was subsiding.

"Men Are From Mars, Women Are Venus: The Board Game," Jubilee replied, struggling to zip the bag closed, "so she can play with Warren on the long plane ride."  
  
Sam knelt down beside her. "Nice," he told her, pale blue eyes twinkling with amusement. He held the sides of the bag tautly so that it would be easier to close the bag. "Ah'm sure ya'll hear all about it when she gets back."

"That's the idea," she chided gently as she pulled the zipper. When she finally sealed her bag, she pumped her fist with flourish. She jumped to her feet and hi-fived Sam. "Excellent!"  
  
He chuckled again, intrigued as he always was with her energy. "Glad Ah could oblige," he drawled as he rose to his full height. "So, how long are y'all gonna be in Canada?"

Jubilee decided to leave her bag on the ground, propped against Logan's truck. "About two weeks. What about you? What are your plans?"

"My momma's coming up for a visit, so Ah'll be here... The Professor's set aside guest rooms for her and the rest of the kids."

"That sounds nice. I know you don't get to see them all that often."

"Yeah, Ah can't wait. Still, it's gonna be real strange without ya around."

"Why's that?"

Sam rubbed his calloused, coal miner's hand across his stubble-ridden cheek. His classic Scots-Irish features arranged themselves into an unreadable expression. "Oh, wait," he said rather quickly, pressed to correct himself. "Ah meant without everyone... Ah'm used to havin' everyone around, ya know?"

Jubilee nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I guess it'll be strange not seeing everybody. But at the same time, it might be nice to have that break."  
  
While she appeared completely serene, there was something amiss. His ears picked up on the slight inflection at the end of the sentence. There was a hint of sadness that crept into her girlish voice. It was unnerving and disconcerting to hear. Concerned, he wanted to ask her as to what was weighing on her mind. But he was reluctant, feeling as if he had no right to know in spite of every fiber of his telling him otherwise.  
  
She was the one to break the silence. "I should go see what's keeping Wolvie," she announced, unaware of the internal conflict brewing inside the Southern gentleman. "If I don't see you again, I hope you have a merry Christmas."  
  
He was about to return the sentiment verbally when he felt her arms slide around his neck. It was a chaste hug, one that was exchanged between friends and did not conceal a great deal of intense emotions. In fact, it was similar to other embraces they had exchanged over the years when she was still so young. Yet, there was something different. For the life of him, Sam could not figure out why. Perhaps it was how strongly her perfume of bubblegum and cinnamon was under his nose. It could have possibly been how silky her hair was under his fingertips. Maybe it was warmth of her cheek pressed against his jaw.

"You're shivering," she remarked softly, breaking into his reverie. Her smooth forehead was wrinkled with a worried frown. She peered over at the garage doors, which were still open. Quickly, she grabbed the remote from her pocket and hit the close button. "I'm so sorry."  
  
He shook her head, waving his hand dismissively. "No need for ya t'be," he told her and gestured to his outfit—a blue corduroy shirt over a long-sleeved green T-shirt with orange trim and maroon chinos with boots. "Ah ain't exactly dressed for outside."

"That's the trouble with you Southerners," an amused voice observed from the back of the garage. "You're all so used to milder temperatures."  
  
Sam and Jubilee turned around. Bobby was closing the door that led to the kitchen corridor. The boyishly handsome Long Island native made his way towards them with casual strides. Sam, desperate to hide how flustered he was feeling, stepped back from Jubilee. He watched as the other man draped an arm around her slim shoulders. Jubilee peered up at him, her facial expression indecipherable.

"How's it going, Sam? I haven't seen you in ages." Bobby grinned, looking quite at ease in a black, zip sweater, broadcloth, tattersall shirt and faded jeans. Obviously, the icy air that swirled inside the garage was no problem for him.  
  
Sam nodded, brushing a lock of straw-colored hair from his forehead. He was suddenly filled with guilt as he eyed Bobby. "Ah've been away for awhile," he managed through now-chattering teeth. "But overall, things are pretty good." He wrapped his lean arms around himself. "Well, Ah should get inside before Ah catch mah death. It was real nice runnin' inta both of ya. Happy holidays."

"Bye, Sam," Bobby and Jubilee replied in unison. Together, they watched the Southern gentleman hurry out of the garage. The door that led inside closed with a loud, sharp bang behind him.  
  
Bobby was dismayed when Jubilee extracted herself from him. "Jubes..." he began, his relaxed façade fading quickly. "I... I tried to see you last night, but the lights were out."

She stiffened. "I know," she replied curtly, sensing her insides twist into knots. As much as she did not want to, she felt as if she were reliving the hellish fight they had had. In her mind, it was one of the worst days of her life. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever believe she would be in this situation...not with Bobby, at least. He was the man she was in love with.

He also happened to be the man who roused a great deal of anger and frustration.

A large part of her wanted to forget the whole affair and throw herself into his arms. However, this was restrained by the other part of her that wanted to hold her ground. This was the part that had been deeply hurt by his words, by his sentiments. It was the same part that cried out into all hours of the night, "He doesn't respect you. He never did. He still thinks of you as kid."  
  
Bobby sighed. He was trying to contain his own impatience and frustration, which was mixed with trepidation. It was no surprise that he did not sleep well that night. Instead, he spent much of it ruminating over their altercation at the mall. He racked his brain as to what he could have done differently. In retrospect, he supposed his intervention could have been more graceful than it actually was. He had to admit that probably looked like a conspirator when it came to the way he spoke to the boys. The image of himself implicitly telling them that Jubilee was being overly emotional replayed in his mind continuously. Each time, he would wince as if he could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into his perceived duplicity. In regards to how he conducted things, it was easy for him to see things from her point of view.

At the time, he was only concerned about diffusing the situation. It was apparent to him as to the dangerous potential of it all—Jubilee confronting a group of hostile teenagers with powerful parents. As much as he did not want to think about it, the boys could have done been true to their word. Their faces, twisted with anger, revealed intentions Bobby was all too familiar with as an X-Man. The possibilities of how they could have manifested their hatred were endless in his mind and much too horrifying for him to stomach. This resulting fear for her safety was what compelled him to act then.

It also made it difficult for him to fathom why she continued to be upset.

"I don't want to leave things between us like...this," he finally said as he leaned against Logan's pick-up truck. His boyish face looked despondent when he saw her travel bag, packed. "Were you going to just up and leave? Without saying goodbye to me?"  
  
It was hard for her to look at him, detecting the wounded quality in his words. Her sense of guilt was already tremendous considering the other unresolved issue that was also in the forefront of her mind. She kept her gaze on the cement ground under feet. "I don't know," she confessed, tucking a lock of dark hair behind a delicate ear.

"It looks like that's what you were planning to do," he remarked dully. He felt a sharp pain in his chest at the thought. In spite of their differences, it was unthinkable that things had come to this. "So, working things out was the last thing on your mind?"  
  
Her head snapped up abruptly. In this situation, he was depicting himself as the offended party? _He has a lot of nerve..._ "You can't really blame me, can you?" she asked crossly. "I mean you have no idea how upset I was."

"No, you made that clear when you started getting all irrational on me," he retorted with a bitter expression marring his handsome face. What was killing him was his arguing with her constituted the most the time they interacted since their arrival back. "Contrary to what you think, my goal in life is not to inflict a constant state of mortification upon you. Call me crazy, but I thought being your boyfriend meant I was supposed to care about your well-being. How foolish of me. The next time you get yourself into trouble like that, I'll consider thinking twice."  
  
She glared at him hotly. "Who the hell do you think you are, getting all sanctimonious?" she demanded, her guilt quickly disappearing. It was replaced by indignation, which was spurned from his stance. "You called what you did protecting me? On what planet is that considered protecting me? Tell you what; I don't need your version of what you think is good for me. I have enough people around here who do that already."

"I can't even believe you're saying that." He shook his head in disbelief, disheartened. "Listen, you don't mean that—"

"No," she cut him off coolly, " _you_ listen. I meant every word I said."

He frowned at her. The way he saw things, his intentions were honest and good. He had made that painstakingly clear. Making sure she was out of harm's way was priority. It was something he was supposed to do always. He had failed her once. His sense of responsibility surrounding the incident with his father did not allow him to forget that. Knowing that he played a part in causing the grief in those old-soul blue eyes was too much for him. It would be a cold day in hell (no pun intended) before it would happen again. He was atoning for all that now. 

Staring deeply into her face, he could see that same anguish in her expression. The familiar feelings of culpability returned, washing over him. Just as he was about to kick himself once again, he paused. This situation was different. He was doing what he should have done that weekend. She was simply misinterpreting things. In regards to why she was so bound determined to paint him out as the bad guy, the answer totally eluded him.

Jubilee felt his eyes cast their gaze upon her. With an equally pensive look, she studied him. There was a different Bobby Drake in front of her. The usually playful and flirtatious young man was replaced with someone else. He stood there, open and conflicted. His remorse for how he approached things was palpable. There was no denying that. She softened inside with this knowledge in hand.  
  
_"You can be such a child sometimes. Would it kill you to think about the bigger picture and how your actions affect other people? You should do that instead of being so self-involved."_

She flinched unconsciously. His voice echoed inside her head, the words sending a stinging blow to her stomach each time she recalled them. She wanted desperately to believe that he did not mean any of those things. He was just perturbed and consumed by the heat of the argument. It was no secret she shared similar feelings of frustration, saying some things she did not entirely mean.

Yet, she was not ready to accept these speculations. There had to be a part of him that truly found merit in his words. Why else would he say them? As someone who was close to her, he had to have known the effect of his statements. They dredged up a multitude of insecurities she continued to carry to this day. She battled against them internally within herself, and externally with various figures at the mansion that refused to allow her to grow up. The sense that she was not on equal footing, that she was something less than a functioning member was a source of great injustice for her. Bobby knew all of that and sympathized with her. Hearing his biting remarks again in her mind, she could not help but doubt his support, his friendship.

Which was why it was so agonizing to be around him now in this way.

She was the first to break the silence, the thickening tension weighing heavily in the air. "I don't want to do this anymore," she said in a low voice. She bit her lower lip and shoved her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat. "I don't want to fight like this."

He breathed a sigh of relief inside. Perhaps they would be able to settle things before spending the next two and a half weeks apart. The thought of leaving things so up in the air ate away at him. A worse prospect was having Jubilee believe that he was some kind of asshole over the holidays. "I don't either," he agreed quietly.

"I hate it."

"Me, too."

"Well, that's something we can agree on."

"So..."

"I'm sorry for how I tried to mediate things. Not my smoothest moment, I can assure you."

"OK."

"But I'm not going to apologize for stepping in. I had to do it. I wish you could understand that, Jubes."

"I... It's not even about that anymore. Well, I mean not completely."

"Then what? Believe me, Jubes, I would never do anything to hurt you. I was only trying to... I feel like I've said what I was attempting to do."

"You have. I'm not on board with it, though."

"Why not?"

"Because it's like you don't have any confidence in me."

Bobby frowned at her. "Where did you get that?" he demanded. "You know that's not true at all."

"So you don't see me like some little, helpless kid you have to defend all the time?" Jubilee challenged, her voice cracking slightly. "That's why you did it, didn't you?"

His jaw nearly dropped. To his credit, he composed himself immediately. Surely, she had to have known it wasn't that. Did she have that low of an opinion about him to even consider that notion? During their months of dating and years of friendship, she was left with that kind of impression? While he was dejected about the possibility of this, he was also incensed and had no problem with letting her know.

"Is that what you honestly think?" he asked, stunned that she came to such a conclusion in the first place. His gray eyes flashed with indignation. "If you _really_ _cared_ about me, you would understand. You wouldn't be acting so...so childish."

Jubilee could feel her face drain of all color. _How could he say that?_ Her sapphire eyes widened as she stared at him blankly. If she were pressed to provide a description of what she was experiencing at that moment, she would have compared it to being mauled over by several large trucks. The impact nearly knocked her to her knees with shock. For a second, she doubted she was hearing him correctly. However, this was soon brushed aside when she saw the hardened look on his face.  
  
Finally, she summoned up the self-possession to speak. Her mind recalled the sentiments from yesterday. They seemed to be fitting to express what she was feeling now.

"You're a bastard," she said, annunciating each word slowly and sharply so that there was no mistaking her. Unlike her declaration yesterday, she was not on the verge of the tears. She had moved beyond that. She was somewhere else now.  
  
Bobby inhaled sharply. "Jubes..." Instinctively, he reached for her only to be shoved against the truck roughly. He winced as his back slammed against the metal. For someone of Jubilee's size and stature, it was surprising how freakishly strong she was.

Staggering back to his feet, he stretched a hand to her retreating back in order to stop her from leaving. Unfortunately, she moved too swiftly, leaving him to grasp at air instead. He watched rather helplessly and to his disgust, mutely, as she raced to the door on the other side of the garage and slipped inside. Just as the door was closing behind her, Bobby could have sworn he saw a concerned Sam Guthrie standing close by.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five Out of My Head

Sorry for the delay. All I have to say is that school is crazy with a capital C.

Thanks to all of you who have submitted reviews on the board or via emails. It's great to hear from you. Please keep the feedback coming.

The characters belong to Marvel, but the story is my own creation.

Again, thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her suggestions, comments, and support.

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Out of My Head**

Unlike neighboring houses, the Drake family did not put up bright and colorful lights or seasonal lawn ornaments to shepherd in the holidays. No lopsided snowmen or snow forts had been constructed in the front yard. Instead, a simple wreath of juniper berries and spruce pinecones interwoven with bay laurel and silver dollar eucalyptus hung from the front door. The décor, with its minimalism, evoked images of a winter forest scene from times not too long ago.

Yet, the somewhat austere exterior (compared to that of nearby houses) did not imply the family was not partaking in Christmas celebrations. The Long Island residence of the Drake family glowed from within, resembling a luminous flame in the midst of the pristine, winter wonderland that surrounded it. Inside, the home was filled with the scent of pine needles mixed with cedar, cinnamon, and thyme. A compilation album of holiday songs performed by various artists like Dean Martin and Nat King Cole was playing faintly in the background. The music mixed with the crackling sounds of the fire burning in the hearth.

While the family was not religious, they did make an effort to observe the spiritual side of the season. Bill had managed to find his late mother's nativity scene figurines, which he set up in front of the evergreen tree with uncharacteristic care. During quieter moments, he curled in his favorite chair in the study, reading passages in the Bible that referred to the coming of Christ. At his gruff insistence, he and the family attended Christmas Eve mass, marking the only time in a year they stepped inside of a church. Maddy, having recently discovering her Jewish roots, became immersed in reading the Torah in her spare time. When she had afternoons to herself, she made trips to the local synagogue. She had even introduced elements of Jewish cuisine to the table. Much to her surprise and delight, Bill and Bobby were instant fans of her matzo ball soup.  
  
This year, Bill and Maddy found themselves entertaining a larger crowd than usual. Bobby's cousins, Mary and Joel, along with Joel's wife, Grace, had made the pilgrimage to Long Island for Christmas. Their mother, Bill's sister, was on a cruise that was sailing in the Caribbean in the hopes of meeting other singles. While his sister's free-spirited antics often irked the conservative Bill, he did not hold them against her children. The two of them were remarkably well adjusted despite having a mother who represented the extreme side of flighty. Joel was tax attorney in Manhattan, who married a fellow attorney at his firm. Mary, with a butterfly tattoo on the inside of her wrist and eyebrow ring, was a second-year doctoral student in economics.

For Maddy, having a full house was a great blessing. As a middle child in a family of six, she often yearned to recreate the boisterousness of the holidays from her childhood. There was also the fact that she loved to entertain and often found it difficult to limit her meals to servings for three people. With three more young people under her roof, she was presented with an opportunity to indulge her nurturing side a bit more. She considered Joel and Mary as her own children given how close they were to Bobby growing up.  
  
Bill also shared his wife's sense of contentment. However, the rationale behind his feelings was somewhat different. He was more jaded and hardened when it came to the sentimentality of the holidays. Granted, he was pleased to see members of his extended family, saccharine-sweet images of togetherness seemed quite distant in his mind. No, he had other reasons for the relief that washed over him with the arrival of his niece, nephew, and new in-law. With other people around, there would be a convenient buffer between him and his immediate family.  
  
He stood in the doorway that connected the foyer to the living room, which was cast in an amber light from a combination of the fire burning merrily in the hearth and the light fixtures. His gray eyes narrowed at the scene being played out in front of him. Bobby sitting on the chino-upholstered, firmly cushioned sofa with Mary. The younger Drake was animatedly talking with her and Joel and his wife, who were seated in overstuffed armchairs across from them.

As the group talked over their post-dinner coffee and treats, it was clear that Bobby was not concerned about the fact that his father was not included in the conversation despite knowing his father was practically in the room. Maddy, meanwhile, was in the kitchen, clearing dishes from the evening's feast. Otherwise, Bill concluded, she would have been in the invited in their gathering. Feeling like an outside observer in his own home, he clutched the handle of his aluminum cane tightly. It was as if he were attempting to combat the bitterness that threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
The Drake patriarch smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his plaid, chambray shirt and chinos with his free hand. He had hoped that the act would aid in distracting him from his current familial problems. Perhaps, he could be free of any rumination involving his fractured relationship with his son. Maybe he would be lucky enough to forget the strained tension between himself and Maddy.

Unfortunately, it only served to remind him how truly uncomfortable he was.

In the days that followed the disastrous Thanksgiving weekend, Bill continued to experience reverberations. He had anticipated that all aspects of the visit would be water under the bridge once Bobby and his friend were leaving. It was what occurred following previous encounters. Why should he expect anything different?

Much to his surprise, this was not the case. There was no awkward goodbye that was a staple of every departure from the Drake home. In fact, there had been no goodbye. Instead, Bobby threw him a withering look as he and the girl began their departure. It was one of countless glares his son had given him in the aftermath of dinner. From the scowl that etched across Bobby's boyish face, it was apparent that the younger Drake wanted to confront his father verbally. Bill assumed that Maddy (and possibly, Jubilee) pleaded for Bobby to demonstrate some self-restraint.  
  
Maddy. Bill's mouth formed its usual grim line. The unconditional, loving demeanor he always associated with his genteel wife had changed. Her immediate response to his behavior was uncharacteristically cold and distant. However, by the time Bobby and his girlfriend had left, she was more receptive to him. She began speaking to him again. Granted, the topics of conversation were rather superficial, but it marked an entry point towards deliverance for Bill. Within a couple of days after that, she started sleeping in the same bed with him. Never did she ever bring up the subject of Jubilee or how she was treated during her stay with them. It was as if she were struggling to purge all memories of what transpired.

Yet, there was something off about her. The change, while subtle, frightened Bill like nothing else. Usually expressive, she chose to be less open with him in almost every aspect. She began to venture outside of the house for long periods of time—without him. For the first time in their marriage, he felt as if he were desperately trying to hold on to her. Thoughts of her suddenly picking up and leaving him were never too far from his mind.

At the same time, it was rather baffling to him. Bill had treated the other women Bobby had introduced them to with much more contempt. At least with this one, he felt as if he were trying. What was it about this incident that commanded her simmering ire? Why was she so upset this time?  
  
Because, as a good parent, she was empathic to her son's pain.

And Bill was not.  
  
Or so it seemed.

Bill licked his chapped lips nervously. It was not that he was impervious to his son's feelings. He was quite aware of Bobby's contempt for him during Thanksgiving dinner and the days afterward. The younger Drake perceived him as some kind of bully, attacking Jubilee with his arrogant assumptions and ignorance. Her hurt automatically became his, which was reflected in the way he treated Bill. Evidently, Bobby perceived himself and his girlfriend as the parties who were unjustly wronged.  
  
It was this postulation that Bill was some kind of monster who was indiscriminant in his treatment that ate away at him. There was his long-standing history of wanting to protect his son. It pained him to think that his son believed he was out to inflict some kind of suffering upon him. His intentions were quite the opposite. But once again, Bill's lack of polish in operationalizing things resulted in friction.

Then there was the girl, Jubilee. Part of him wanted to blame her for the tension in his house. Given that the conflict primarily centered on her, it would be easy to do so. Who the hell was she, turning his son against him?

She was someone who shared a common, core truth with him.

She loved Bobby.

It was unnerving to hear her make her confession that cold morning. Her soft, but dignified voice rang clear in his ears. He supposed much of his discomfort stemmed from their initial bad footing with one another. In retrospect, Bill had not given her much incentive for being candid. He had touched upon sources of great sorrow for her, unknowingly. Still, he felt a great sense of guilt. When he saw her in the foyer, he was hoping she would be hostile towards him. In a way, it would have made things easier. His culpability and shame would be lessened. Disliking her would have come more readily to him, as it should have. In spite of everything, she was still different, still dangerous for his son.

To his amazement, she did not retaliate in any way. Though she was ill at ease around him, the young girl was patient and even kind. He recalled as she helped him into his coat and later on, with the front door. She was the one who approached on the porch. Her lovely countenance was thoughtful as she listened to him, as if she were considering his position with great care. Not exactly the behavior from someone who should have held a grudge against him.

Then she told him. She was in love with his son. Bill remembered staring at her. For a moment, he thought she was merely testing him. There were other women who preceded her, attaching themselves to Bobby's side under the guise of caring for him. In the end, they found some reason to leave him. None of them had even come to close to expressing anything serious when it came to Bobby. Bill had expected the same of this girl. She was young. Her involvement with Bobby would be transient at best.

_"I love him. I don't know what else to say. I just hope that's good enough for you because it's the truth."_

Obviously, he was very wrong. The sincerity that was exuded from the depths of those sapphire eyes added to her words. The knowledge of Jubilee's feelings for Bobby was a complicating factor for Bill to deal with. Faced with her admission, he found it challenging to view her as another girl Bobby was going to parade around. There was now an element of significance not observed with previous girlfriends. This one was declaring some kind of commitment to Bobby by opening herself up. She made herself clear that she wanted nothing more than to make him happy. It was a common goal he discovered he shared with the girl.

It also made it harder for Bill to be dismissive any longer.

He studied his son as he leaned towards Mary, whispering something in her ear as Joel was relaying stories of summer jobs the trio held when they were younger. Bill wondered if Bobby was aware of the conversation. Not that the elder Drake was especially privy to the intricacies of his son's romantic life, but he assumed that this was the first time anyone had expressed serious intentions. Given Bobby's reaction to the way he felt his girlfriend had been treated, the feelings were probably reciprocated. The fury that flickered in his son's usually playful gray eyes was like nothing Bill had seen before. Unlike previous disputes between them, Bobby's anger did not dissipate with time. Instead, it remained quite fresh and in the forefront of all his dealings with Bill.

The nostrils of his crooked nose flared slightly as he exhaled. There was so much he thought he understood. With a sinking sensation that dropped to the pit of his stomach, he realized that this was not the case at all.

Meanwhile, the younger Drake was chiming in on his first summer employment experience. "I learned a lot," he piped up, finishing the last of his iced cappuccino. "I mean working as a dance instructor up at this resort in the Adirondacks was an eye-opening experience. I got to put together a production and fell for this rich girl..."

"That wasn't you," Joel cut in, rolling up the sleeves to his cream, cable-knit sweater that he wore over a pair of creased khakis and loafers. "That was Patrick Swayze in _Dirty Dancing_. Your first job was working at the local Burger King."

Mary was playing with a lock of her recently dyed tresses, which were now black and provided a striking contrast to her alabaster skin and gray eyes. Turning to her sister-in-law, Grace, she said, "Joel was the manager. He totally hooked Bobby up with the job."

"Well, that's something we have in common," Grace told Bobby. She was a leggy woman of Nordic descent with striking bone structure and light hair. The young woman appeared especially dazzling that night in a periwinkle sweater set and a wool wrap skirt. What she was doing with a pudgy, bald tax attorney with a Type A personality was a great mystery to the rest of the Drake family.

He thought he would enlighten Grace as to what it was like to work for her husband. "Maybe so," he said, unconvinced. "But I bet you never had to deal with an oppressor like Joel here."

"Bobby..." Joel began, using the most cautionary tone he could manage. It was a rather difficult feat given the copious amounts of eggnog he consumed. His Aunt Maddy's homemade recipe was addictive and intoxicating. He could feel his tongue buzzing as he uttered Bobby's name.

Bobby ignored him and went on without missing a beat. "You'd think Joel would be cool because we're family, right?" he asked, pausing for a dramatic effect. "But guess what? He was a jerk."

Grace peered at him quizzically, wrapping an arm around her husband's husky shoulders. "What do you mean?" she inquired as she raked a manicured hand through her short, platinum blond hair.

"I mean he thought he was the Burger King, if you know what I'm saying." Bobby raised his brows at Joel, who shook his head in fervent denial. Then he leaned over the coffee table to snatch up a chocolate brioche his mother had set out after dinner.

Mary laughed. "Oh yeah, I remember that summer... Didn't you stick poor Bobby in driver thru every Friday night?" Her gray eyes twinkled at her older brother.

Grace played with the strand of pearls around her neck. "Joel, did you really?" she asked, feigning great shock. For some reason, the image of her husband as an overbearing supervisor did not strike her as all that surprising. She seemed to recall an incident where she caught him screaming at one of his paralegals, much to her dismay.

"Yes, he did," Bobby declared, nodding vigorously. "Oh, Grace, it was terrible. He made me wear this ridiculous uniform..."

"We all had to wear that uniform!" Joel's irritation with the tinkling laughter from his sister and now his wife was beginning to show. A series of wrinkles etched into his fleshy forehead. Granted, there were times when he took advantage of the fact that he was Bobby's manager at the time. However, he felt as if his cousin was stretching the truth for the benefit of some chuckles. He narrowed his gray eyes at Bobby. It was time to get even.

"Bobby liked taking orders," he explained, trying his best to sound nonchalant. "Besides, it was the only way he could get dates. In fact, here's how one of the orders went. I clearly remember it." He cleared his throat and began to speak in an exaggerated whispery and high-pitched voice. "I'll have some pickles and chicken tenders... With some sweet sauce all over my body."

Mary began to screech with laughter as Grace began to double over in her seat. Joel snorted, trying not to smirk at Bobby. To his credit, Bobby did not seem all that embarrassed. On contrary, he appeared quite calm and collected as he continued to wolf down the sweet, chocolaty pastry.

"What can I say?" Bobby mused, licking the corners of his mouth slyly. "The customer wanted it _her way_." He grinned when that comment earned a series of disgusted grimaces and laughter from the others.

As he became lost in the sound of the merry laughter, Bobby could not help but note the cliché quality of the situation. Outwardly, he provided his usual comedy relief as the family jokester. It was his role, something he cultivated over the course of many Drake family gatherings. Anything less would attract much unneeded attention. The thought of his mother or Mary coddling him, attempting to cajole him into spill his feelings was almost too much to bear. Discussing his innermost thoughts was not something he was accustomed to. The stirrings of discomfort that pulsed through his entire being associated with the prospect of doing such a thing was overwhelming. Therefore, he worked that much harder to put on façade of normalcy, and of the Bobby they knew and loved.

Yet, the boyishly handsome man was in turmoil. He was consumed by a plethora of charged emotions. First and foremost, there was a sense of gloom and desolation. Both imprinted a deep kind of pain he had never known before. They haunted him at all times, never allowing him a moment's peace. Try as he might to refrain himself from not allowing his anguish to intrude upon the gatherings with his family, he was hopelessly failing at this task.

Not that he deserved any kind of reprieve.

It was Christmas, a time of togetherness and peace. He normally associated the holiday with an unwavering sense of happiness. There were so many wondrous memories that automatically came to mind: the sound of his mother's comforting, gravelly voice singing along with her piano playing, the succulent meal she prepared, and most importantly, the promise of presents. He should have been content, relaxed, and at peace.

But he was not.

While he was pleased to see his family to the fold, Bobby longed for some semblance of solitude. These past few days were filled with familial mingling and engaging in the yuletide traditions from Christmases past, such as watching all the cartoon specials with Mary and helping his mother find ornaments for the tree. They provided welcomed distractions from other things that weighed on his mind. He temporarily lost himself in making fun of Joel's off-key singing of various carols, or stealing sugar cookies from his mother's kitchen. It was not that he forgot about his troubles. Rather, it was that he was occupied with other things, other people.

His gray eyes clouded over as the familiar feelings of despondency, tinged with guilt, set in. He remembered fielding questions about Jubilee and her absence from the Drake Christmas celebrations. His mouth always dried out, making his words taste bitter and harsh. What made things even more distressing his mother's continuous gushing about Jubilee to Joel, Grace, and Mary. According to her, Bobby's new girlfriend was so lovely, so intelligent, and so pleasant. He was hard-pressed to remember the last time he had seen her so enthusiastic. It pained him to consider the possibility that he might have done something to rain on her parade.

Because he had hurt Jubilee.

After she fled from the garage in order to get away from him, he tried to follow her. While he was unsure as to what he was going to say, he knew he had to talk to her. Bobby felt consumed by this need. Consequently, he proceeded to search for her all around the mansion. When he was able to find her, he tried to enlist the assistance of Sam Guthrie since he presumed the Southern gentleman to be the last person to see her. Sam, earnest and solemn as ever, informed Bobby he honestly had no idea where Jubilee was. His pale blue eyes expressed concern as he spoke, revealing his knowledge of how some sort of problem between her and Bobby. It was then that Bobby heard the familiar rumblings. Instinctively, he raced to the garage only to see Logan's pick-up truck speeding away from the mansion, along the winding road.

While he wanted to lay a great deal of the blame squarely upon his father's shoulders, Bobby knew better. Bill had nothing to do with the series of confrontations that took place prior to the holidays. His ignorance was not a reason as to how things between the couple were open and stinging, like wounds that were freshly inflicted. The fact that they did not exchange presents could not be traced back to anything Bill might have done. Hell, for the first time in several weeks, the younger Drake was unable to find any fault with his father in this situation. Bobby, in his more cynical moments, mused that this was truly a Christmas miracle.

The day of the annual Christmas party was possibly the worst day in recent memory. The anguish that hung in the air between them as they exchanged another series of heated words made the first argument pale in comparison. That second encounter was filled with much more charged emotions. It left Bobby completely paralyzed with a myriad of things that frightened him. He was quickly reminded of his past missteps in other relationships. Again, he found himself in the role of the romantic klutz in spite of the great care he had taken this time, and the promises he made to himself and to her that he would be a better man for both of them. In the end, none of his good intentions mattered.

When he was alone at night, he often ruminated about what happened during the second argument. He mulled over the details obsessively, unable to find solace given how things had been left very badly between them. Soon, he found himself solely focusing on Jubilee, and in particular, her lovely eyes. His greatest fears were mirrored in them, which were crushed and heartbroken in his recollections. The intriguing and hypnotic depths communicated more than the words she used. They spoke of the monster she perceived him to be at that moment. Her gaze, which was usually filled with such affection, reflected pain he had never seen before and never wanted to again. The apprehension that followed was vast in intensity, stemming from one ultimate concern that was remained.

Losing the one thing he cared for the most in this world.

Maddy sauntered into the hallway from the kitchen, the fragrance of butter, sugar, and other assorted ingredients used in tonight's meal swirling about her. Despite the work entailed in entertaining a large group, she thought the effort put in was all worth it. Hearing the compliments and seeing the satiated smiles from her loved ones was enough for her. She was in the midst of rubbing some of her favorite lavender-scented cream on her hands, which were dry from the wintry weather and washing the dishes. Her footsteps were light as she ventured towards the living room.

When she reached the doorway, she found her husband hunched by the frame with his hand clutching the handle of his aluminum cane. His craggy features were twisted in a grimace. It was an expression that seemed to be always present on his face these days. Those who did not know him very well could have easily attributed it to residual physical pain. After all, he had suffered a great deal following his attack.

However, Maddy was aware of the truth behind her husband's sour face. As one of the few people who had the opportunity to see past the detached façade that Bill had cultivated, Maddy was all too aware of what motivated some of the things he did or said. She did not agree with a great deal of it, but she understood where he was coming from. Thirty years of marriage afforded such knowledge. Bill's Stoic nature made him a stranger to dealing with complex emotional issues. Coupled with his insistence that he be the rock of the family, relating to people was not an easy feat. He was often perceived as reserved and standoffish. On any given day, Bill would have rather tackled something more tangible than someone else's feelings.

Perhaps it was this aspect of his personality that made it difficult for him to connect with Bobby. It was not that he was a bad father who was abusive or neglectful. On the contrary, Bill was a good father. Granted, he was not one of those fathers who took their sons on special outings or acted as the kindly patriarch filled with great wisdom. But, he always did what he could to make sure Bobby was never left wanting. The elder Drake worked diligently at his job so that Maddy could be a stay-at-home mother. In short, Bill wanted to do what was best for their son.

Given this, it was difficult for Maddy to fault him for his past transgressions over the years. He was looking out for Bobby, like any good father would. Underneath the scolding, harsh glares, and disapproving tones, there was that fundamental truth. Much as she disagreed with his position on many things pertaining to their son, Maddy went along. Deep down, she hoped that Bill was right on whatever he was cautioning Bobby against.

However, her loyal stance soon changed. This past Thanksgiving, Maddy decided she could no longer be complicit with him any longer. There was a new element in the situation. It was something she had not seen in a while, not since her son was a small child. It was something that brought her back to a time that she believed was lost when he became older, saddling adult concerns upon his shoulders.

Pure, unadulterated joy.

Her insides softened at the memory of that first night as she observed him with this new girlfriend. There was so much that made her stand out from the others, but in a positive fashion. Most notable was the young girl's effect on her son. Bobby was lighter, carefree, and earnest when he was in Jubilee's company. His gray eyes took on a playful twinkle Maddy missed from his childhood days. It was so refreshing to witness. Much to her dismay, this relaxed state did not last very long.

In spite of what she was cognizant of when it came to Bill, Maddy was upset. It was devastating to watch Bill crush that small bit of hope and contentment in one evening. Part of her knew that he was being guarded for Bobby's sake. Jubilee was a mutant and consequently, someone who would bring the wrong kind of attention to their son. He had enough as it was. Clearly, as Bill saw it, Bobby did not need more.

Meanwhile, another part of her was aware that there was a bit of Bill's fear attached to some aspects of his behavior. As long as she had known him, he always had this irrational phobia of what he did not know. Things that were vague and uncertain were usually avoided. Jubilee, as the new girl in Bobby's life, was a living, breathing embodiment of these reservations. Her status in this world probably kept him off balance. Throughout the weekend, Maddy could almost see her husband studying the girl, unable as to what to make of her and her intentions toward their son.

These past few weeks were trying for Maddy. She missed being close to Bill. There were many times she felt guilty for distancing herself from him. It hurt to be isolated from one's soul mate, especially when he was in the same house. Over the years, she was possibly the only person who truly understood him. The ability to see past the various booby traps to keep others at arm's length was no match for her tenacity and devotion. Now, he seemed to be alone in the world.

Yet, she fought her urges to break her resolve. In her mind, that would be letting him off too easy, and she was not about to do that. This time, he had gone too far. The hurt in their child's eyes spoke volumes. No, if she were going to welcome him back, Bill would need to atone for what he had done. He would have to come to the realization that his beliefs were straining his relationship with Bobby.

But he would need some help in getting to that stage.

She stood next to him, pulling the turtleneck part of her brown, cable-knit sweater over her chin. Her blue eyes stared into the living room. She watched as Mary inquire if anyone needed a refill of coffee, while Joel and his wife were helping themselves to some additional desserts from the pastry tray. Bobby sat back, smiling absently but appearing like a lost little boy.

"He's unhappy," she mused casually, making sure Bill was the sole person who could hear her. With a steady hand, she brushed an errant lock of blond-silvery hair from her cheek.

Bill nearly jumped at the sound of her throaty voice, her scent of lavender, and the warmth that always emanated from her. It felt like ages since the last time she had been this near. He began to fear that he was losing her. For him, this was a prospect that shook him to his core. Imagining any part of his life without her was unthinkable. However, in trademark Bill Drake fashion, he restrained his expression of his surprise and happiness. The waters had to be tested first.

"How do you know?" he inquired, stealing a quick glance at her. She was so lovely that night—her hair flowed around her face like a golden-silvery halo and her blue eyes were ever so kind in that genteel face. Looking at her now, he felt so at home.

Maddy stopped playing with her collar and crossed her arms over her chest. "He has that expression on his face," she informed Bill, her voice husky. "You know, preoccupation fused with something else."

Bill was incredulous. "You can tell by just looking at him from the doorway?"

"I am his mother, after all." Maddy's mouth formed a wry smile.

Her husband sighed wearily, gripping the handle of his aluminum cane with disdain. "Maybe you're also a better parent then." His voice, while quiet was also bitter.

"Talk to him."

"He doesn't want me to."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. He's made that all too clear since... It wouldn't be a good idea, Maddy."

"You know this for a fact?"

"Sure. The boy's dropped all kinds of signs, letting me know that he wants nothing to do with me while he's here. Let's face it, Maddy. Bobby's only here for you."

"That's a great deal of information you've gathered on your own. Given that the two of you have tried to avoid one another since he came home, it's awfully shocking to me."

"Maddy..."

"Bill, please. Has it ever occurred to you that he might want to air things out?"

"Air what out? I'm already aware of what he thinks of me. According to him, I'm the worst person in the world. He's ashamed that we're related in the first place. Before you tell me otherwise, I can tell. He implies it every time he looks at me, in his words..." Bill grimaced again.

Maddy watched as Joel raced to the kitchen to gather some napkins for Grace, who had chocolate smeared across her mouth. "Even if you were right," she began thoughtfully, "don't you think he has reasonable grounds to be upset?"

Bill shrugged his slightly crooked shoulders. He was silent for several seconds, mulling his wife's question. The elder Drake wanted to pretend that he was not affected by what she was saying. As much as he wanted to defend himself by utilizing the argument of looking out for Bobby's interests, he had the suspicion that it would not work this time around. Astonishingly, he did not need his wife to enlighten him. Deep down inside, there was something that recognized this fact.

Before he could respond, Maddy continued speaking softly in her throaty voice. "He tries so hard to show people that he's happy and that he's normal because that's what he's been told he should do; not only by you, but by me as well. We were selfish, Bill. We asked him to do that so that we could have our peace of mind. It made it easier to sleep at night, knowing that our child was fine."

"It's not like that anymore," Bill protested, licking his chapped lips nervously. He was beginning to believe he was not going to like where Maddy was going with this discussion.

She raised her brows skeptically as she observed Bobby offer his shirttail to Grace as a napkin. "Maybe not completely. Like most children, our son has gotten to be more assertive as he's gotten older, and I've learned to give him his space."

The Drake patriarch sucked in his breath. He felt as if he were being backed into a corner. Hunching his shoulders in a defensive stance, he asked, "So does that make me in arrears?"

Maddy finally turned to him. Her eyes were earnest and empathic as she peered into his grim features. It never ceased to amaze him as to how such a look could combine compassion with steadfast determination. Then again, she was always remarkable that way.

"For the first time, our son was _genuinely_ happy," she whispered. "There was no pretending for us this time. All I know is that he's not anymore, and it's breaking my heart because there's nothing I can do."

Later that night, Bobby found himself sitting alone in the family room. Clad in his favorite navy, T-shirt from the Salty Dog Tavern and plaid, flannel pajama pants, he relished the silence that enveloped him. The bustling and din that dominated the past few days began to fade from memory. He had forgotten how clearly he could think when it was quiet.

Everyone else had retired for the evening hours ago, catching up on some well-deserved rest that eluded them while preparing for the holidays. His mother, who had been up early both Christmas Eve and Christmas day, looked weary but ecstatic as she ascended the stairs. It was a rare, but precious thing for her to entertain this many people. Joel and his wife were planning on flying out to Munich to visit her family for Boxing Day. Meanwhile, Mary was simply grateful for a chance to avoid thinking about graduate work for the next week and a half. As for his father, Bobby assumed the elder Drake had drifted off to sleep thanks to his cocktail of painkillers.

He sat back in the recliner, running his hands over its' wide, arched arms. The thick, leather-clad cushions cradled his body. Normally, he was comfortable in this room. There was a relaxed quality to the décor in this space, which reflected his mother's laid-back perspective. The red oak furnishings with their hand-applied finishes were characterized by strong lines and meticulous craftsmanship, but were gently worn by time and use.

For Bobby, there were good memories from his younger days that were forever encased in these golden walls and the hardwood floor. This was especially true of previous Christmases. As much as he bemoaned his parents' less spectacular qualities, he had to admit they ensured he had everything he could ever want then. He was never left wishing he received something else, with the exception of the gifts from his Aunt Kathy, who seemed to be under the impression that he was twelve years old from the packages of white briefs she always gave him. All that he could possibly desire could be located in his yearly booty.

Until now.

He remembered tearing into the colorful, festive wrapping paper covering his gifts in a mechanical fashion. Half-heartedly listening to the exchanges of thank-yous and other assorted comments, Bobby's mind was elsewhere. The young man with the boyish features and the sandy hair desperately wanted something that was not present in the piles of present he received. He was thinking about hypnotic sapphire blue eyes, hair and skin that smelled of bubblegum and cinnamon, and lingering kisses that tasted like sugar on his lips. Brief flashes of holding his beautiful angel in his arms flooded every fiber of his being. At times, he swore he could feel her next to him.

There were times when he contemplated calling Jean and asking her if she had any contact information for Logan in Canada. Bobby was unsure as to what he would say. He was doubtful he would be able to formulate anything eloquent. Just hearing Jubilee's voice, though far away, would be soothing to his frayed nerves. He craved that reassurance and unconditional acceptance that seemed to radiate from her.

It was as if he were truly at home when he was with her.

Yet, in the end, he suppressed the urge to phone the Summers' home. Bobby cursed his inability to act. It was similar to when he was sorting out his feelings for the young girl. There was the fear component that manifested itself in his impotence. But in this situation, he felt he had more at stake.

"What are you doing up at this hour?"

Startled, Bobby turned his head in the direction of the doorway, which connected the dining room to the family room. The gleam from his father's aluminum cane identified the elder Drake. In the glow of the art nouveau-inspired light fixtures, his father looked haggard. His sharp gray eyes were lined with fatigue. Pulling his red plaid robe closely to him with his free hand, Bill slowly made his way inside the room. Clearly, he was doing so with great effort. The breaths he was taking were quick and raspy as he ventured closer.

Bobby turned his eyes away quickly. "Couldn't sleep," he replied brusquely. He glanced at the clock on top of the nearby bookcase. _What are the odds that he would be up, too?_ He jumped to his feet and proceeded to make his way out of the room. His father was the last person he wanted to see tonight. There was no way he was about to force himself to be civil.

With a surge of uncharacteristic energy, Bill guided himself in front of Bobby so that he blocked his son's path. "Wait..."

"I don't think so," Bobby told him curtly. He could feel his teeth grinding together already. Frustrated, he raked a cold hand through his sandy hair and shook his head. There was so much bottled up inside from Thanksgiving. While he wanted to verbalize it all, he held back. He had promised his mother to keep the peace. After letting down Jubilee, there was no way he was going to disappoint his mother. He did not need to have that weighing on his conscience as well.

Bill grasped the handle of his cane tightly to the point where his knuckles turned white. He could tell Bobby was determined to leave. His son's playful eyes were brimming with unspoken resentment, which he was struggling to keep contained. It appeared to be quite difficult for the younger Drake to be in the room with him any longer.

However, Bill was not prepared for his son to depart.

Before Bobby could take another step, he blurted out, "She said she loves you." For a moment, he wondered if he really said what he said.

Bobby spun around, his gray eyes widening in disbelief. He was not quite he heard his father right. "She said what?" he asked nervously.

Bill looked embarrassed. He was reluctant to repeat himself. However, the look of astonishment mixed with desperation in his only child's eyes made him reconsider. It brought him back to when Bobby was a little boy and would stumble and skin his knees, seeking reassurance that he would be fine.

The Drake patriarch exhaled loudly, allowing his steely eyes to soak the floor for some time. Evidently, he was very wrong in inferring that Bobby was aware of the girl's feelings. "The girl... Jubilee said she loved you," he finally said, eyeing his son warily.

"When?" Bobby's bewilderment was increasing with each passing second.

Bill's mouth formed a firm, impassive line in an attempt to hide his ambivalence about disclosing this information. Emotions, particularly that of other people, was not an area he was well versed in. "That weekend you came to visit," he replied quietly, "the morning after... She just told me."

Bobby refrained from gaping and gawking at this piece of news. He was still reeling from all of it. "She did?" was all he could manage at the moment.

"She sounded like she meant it, too." Bill winced, inwardly scolding himself for his lack of forethought. He was feeling entirely out of his element from the way this conversation was going.

For his part, Bobby continued to experience an overwhelming sense of shock. Never mind the fact that Jubilee decided to confide in an unlikely candidate as his father, but it was the nature of her feelings and the adjective she used to describe them. Love. It was a powerful word with connotations that pointed to intense emotions. He usually associated it with familial relationships. He _loved _his parents. He _loved _his extended family.

As far as his long-term romances were concerned, the word love really never entered the picture. It was not that he did not care about these women. Simply put, these relationships never evoked such intense feelings, just attachment. But with Jubilee, things were different... Things felt different, in a way that never truly affected him before. With her, it was more than the attachment. It was...

Love.

And what did Bobby do? He attacked her. He questioned her feelings.

_"If you really cared about me, you would understand..."_

Hearing his voice echo in his head, the young man winced. "Jubes was right," he sighed glumly, raking a hand through his sandy hair. "I am a bastard."

Bill frowned at his son. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"I..." the younger Drake paused, clearing his throat awkwardly. He averted his father's curious stare and shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."

Steely gray eyes studied him in response. Instead of impatience or scorn, they were filled with curiosity. "What won't I understand?" Bill asked slowly.

The younger Drake shook his head, as if to dismiss the question. "Dad, it's not... It's complicated. Besides, I know you're not comfortable talking about this aspect of my life. Also, it's no secret how you feel about Jubes. Why don't we just drop it, OK?"

"Because that would make you feel better."  
  
"I'm talking about you. You're the one who's clearly uncomfortable here. Listen, I'm just doing you a favor. Just take this free pass and go back to your nice bed."

"Is that what you think of me?"

"Oh come on, Dad. You're only interested in me if I do something to embarrass you and Mom. Then I get your attention when you pick me apart."

"Bobby—"

"If it's not my place at the Institute or what I am, it's the women I date. Since none of them have met your lofty and intangible standards as to what's right, then I guess I'm constantly in the hot seat. Well, do you know what? I'm tired of trying to figure out what you think is appropriate for the family and me."

"So, what are you saying, Bobby? Are you saying that you're serious about this girl?"

"What do you care?"

"I... If you knew what I've done to build for you..."

"What you've built for me? If you're talking about deconstructing any shred of happiness I manage to attain, then you've done a bang-up job, Dad."

Bill flinched, stung from what Bobby said. His body was almost wracked with the shock he was experiencing. He was aware of the resentment his son carried from previous disagreements over the years. Still, he never dreamed that Bobby perceived him to be such a monster. It was an impression he did not strive for. As a father, he was supposed to be seen as a protector, a guardian of knowledge and good things, and a man to look up to. Not the dark character Bobby was referring to in his tirade.

Finally, he spoke up. "It's not like that," he said candidly, licking his chapped lips. "I'm not saying I'm a perfect father, but I tried to do right by you. In this world, you're all your mother and I have, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to ensure you and this family were going to be safe. Everything I did served that purpose. This might not have crossed your mind over the years or even now, but it's the truth."

He sighed and turned his face away, his crooked profile illuminated by the light from the lamps in the room. "I won't waste time, arguing that everything I've done was executed perfectly. I'll admit that there have been some missteps. I just didn't know what else to do. All I know is that I love you and your mother, and I would do anything to keep you two protected—even if it means both of you despising me for my actions. At least, I'll know I've given my all in ensuring the safety of my family."

Bobby blinked, aghast with the speech his usually laconic father gave just now. This was the first time he had ever heard his father rationalize his behavior. It was a great deal of information to process. Not that he entirely agreed with what was said, but it certainly shed some light as to what was going on in the elder Drake's head. Apparently, his father was not the irrational ogre he thought he was. The man was more complex than he first suspected. There were layers to his motives.

He also realized they now shared something in common.

Bobby was so lost in his analysis of the situation that he did not hear the shuffling of slippered feet across the hardwood floor. His gray eyes caught his father guiding himself out of the room, using his hated cane. Bobby realized that he was not ready to stop talking with his father. The younger Drake racked his brain to devise a way to stop him from leaving.

"I love her, Dad," he admitted finally, his voice cracking. He could feel his heart racing wildly in his chest. It was a frightening and exhilarating confession to make. "I love her. She's the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Bill turned around, his lips forming a grim line. He inhaled sharply and stole a glance at his son. "I figured as much," he sighed. Then he gripped his cane tightly to steady his gait. He could already feel the throbbing in his leg coming on. "So, this means things are pretty serious."

"Yeah," Bobby replied, still disoriented from the events that transpired. He still could not believe he was talking to his father like this. "I guess they are. I mean I hope they still are." His gray eyes were suddenly somber at the thought of his current dilemma with Jubilee.

Bill's brows knitted themselves together. "What does that mean?"

Bobby held out his arm for his father to use as extra support in addition to his cane. When the Drake patriarch accepted, he answered, "We had a fight."

"A big one?" Bill inquired, holding onto Bobby's arm firmly. He was taken aback when he felt the cool skin underneath his hand.

Bobby grimaced, nodding wordlessly. He was not completely comfortable spilling the gory details. Informing him that it happened in the first place was hard enough. Almost immediately, he wanted to take it back.

"That's why you've been sulking?" His father inquired, the lines around his steely gray eyes softening slightly.  
  
The younger Drake looked indignant. "I don't sulk, Dad."

"Of course not," Bill said quickly, bemused by his son's facial expression. For a moment, Bobby looked like he was a little boy again, petulant and insistent that he could do things a certain way. It was hard for Bill not to melt just a bit inside, something he was not accustomed to doing. He left that kind of thing to Maddy.

Bobby sighed, feeling his father's grasp on his arm tighten. Concerned, he turned to him and asked, "Do you need to sit down?"

The elder Drake shook his head. "No," he replied, the nostrils of his crooked nose flaring slightly as he inhaled. "I'm fine."

"Good." Bobby pressed his lips together, forming a firm line with his mouth. Then he cleared his throat and said, "I'm fine, too, Dad. You... You don't have to worry about me anymore. I know you think my life is kind of crazy and maybe it is, but I can take care of myself now. I know what's in my best interests. As for Jubes, she's good for me. She makes my life better, not worse. I... I just needed for you to hear that."

Bill narrowed his steely, gray eyes. After a few minutes of silence, he tugged on his son's arm and mustered his most authoritative voice. "Take me to the attic," he commanded.

Bobby raised a brow at him, confused. "Why?"

"I have something to show you."

"What is it?"

"Never mind your questions. Just come with me."


	26. Chapter Twenty Six Whatever Happened?

I'm back with another update. I've been really bad, but school has been kind of nuts. We're heading into midterms here...

Thanks to all of you who've left feedback and comments on the review page or through individual emails. Please keep them coming. It really helps to know what people think.

The characters belong to Marvel. The story is all mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Whatever Happened?**

Outside of Edmonton, stood a solitary, log cabin nestled in a secluded forest. Surrounded by 60 acres of blanketed meadow and woods, the home came with a panoramic view of the nearby lake. The warmth from the cedar wood it was constructed from and the gray smoke from the chimney were contrasts against the pristine white of the fresh snow. Winter, woodland creatures moved about in their surroundings, occasionally breaking the placid silence. So remote was the location that the consideration of civilization was improbable. While most people would consider the location isolating and lonely, the owner would not have it any other way.

Inside the old-fashioned cabin, exposed beams and pine floors were showcased. A stone fireplace harbored a crackling fire in the open living room to ward off the winter chills. Hickory wood mixed with the faint smell of cigars hung in the air. The kitchen was rustic, equipped with a wood burning stove and a compact icebox. Cedar stairs led to the two bedrooms. A small washroom with a scratched, porcelain sink, toilet, and bathtub with feet was situated between the living quarters.

Minimal and sparse were words that could best describe the décor inside the cabin. Items were present for their function for the homeowner. Given that the cabin was far from the nearest town, the pantry was stocked with canned and preserved foods. Most of them were reminiscent of military rations—contained in tins and with no expiration dates. While the amenities were few in number, the owner of the property did break down and made some needed repairs and renovations. The pipes were fixed to supply running water, and wiring had been laid underground for electricity.

A laconic man with stony, green eyes was standing over the stove in the kitchen. He was warming two tins for the afternoon meal. Meanwhile, his companion, a stunning young girl with long, black hair and midnight blue streaks, sat at the kitchen table—a slab of pine laid across two large stones. Although the two of them could not be mistaken for father and daughter, there was an unspoken bond that implied otherwise. Every once in a while, the older man would flick his gaze to the girl, the hard lines around his face softening ever so slightly. This was not motivated by any romantic or lecherous feelings. Rather, it stemmed from a sense of pride and affection that had grown over the course of their relationship.

After several minutes, he removed the tins from the heat and ambled towards the girl. He set each tin on worn, gray towels, which were used as makeshift placemats. Then he wandered to the icebox, retrieving a bottle of beer for himself and a glass of milk for the girl. His steps were quick as he returned to her.

Jubilee peered at her tin meal with skepticism and wariness. For the past week and a half, she and Logan had been subsisting on bland, canned foods and the occasional beef jerky and trail mix. Privately, she yearned for the warm, hearty meals Cook would have prepared for those staying back at the mansion. When she approached her beloved Wolvie about a change in menu, her attempts were met with gruff rejection. According to him, food was food. He also bluntly informed her that he had survived on this stock for years and nothing happened to him.

Her sapphire eyes flicked to her mentor, who was now sitting across from her. She watched as he scooped the contents with his fork and lifted it to his lips. "How is it?" she asked.

"Tastes like chicken," Logan spat out, grimacing. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

She gave him a quizzical look. "What's wrong with that?"

He rose to his feet and tossed the canister in the trashcan. Clad in his usual white T-shirt and faded jeans with boots, he resembled a sleek animal. "It's macaroni and cheese." His green eyes were amused when she pushed away her own canister in disgust.

She pushed up the sleeves of her gray, turtleneck sweater, worn over a pair of dark-blue, boot cut jeans. Her movements towards the pantry were light and swift. With accumulated familiarity, she began to seek out a substitute for the offending tins of food. Her eyes scanned the shelves, past several unlabeled cans and jars. When she discovered a stash of beef jerky, she grabbed two sticks and dashed to the table, where Logan was sitting with beer in hand.

As she seated herself in front of him, she suddenly realized what day it was. January 1st, the first day of the new calendar year. Automatically, her thoughts turned to a tradition associated with this time. The corners of her mouth lifted in an amused smile.

"New Year's resolutions?" she inquired, offering him a stick of jerky.

He raised a brow at her and took the jerky. Tearing the cellophane wrapper off, he shrugged. "Don't usually think about that kind of thing, kid," he told her flatly.

"Why not?" Jubilee was already biting into the salty, preserved meat. "I mean it's like starting anew. You get the opportunity to tackle new things and meet new goals."

Logan took a swig of beer. "It'd be great if you remembered by the end of the year," he countered. He raised a cynical brow at her, his expression softened by the warmth that glowed from the gold flecks in his eyes.

"I remember my resolutions," she said, somewhat defensively as she chewed. "Sometimes, it's too much of a hassle to keep them." Her cerulean eyes twinkled mischievously.

The usually surly and terse Wolverine was not a man who smiled easily. Indeed, it was rare to observe Logan smiling. Smirking, yes. But smiling? It was almost comparable to a UFO sighting. Yet, here he was, wearing an expression that could only be construed as a genuine smile.

With his dark and tortured past, he found that life, for the most part, gave him very little to smile about. He was a man who had no past. He was a man whose body and mind were used in a series of cruel experiments. He was a man who had known briefly of love and lost it as soon as it was realized. Most of all, he was a man who did not deserve to become acquainted with any semblance of belonging. Even with the others at the mansion, Logan considered himself an outsider, only worthy of scorn and impatience by the likes of Summers and Worthington. Simply being in the same room with these men only served to remind him that he was a freak. Yes, he had decided, keeping himself closed off to the rest of the world would make his life uncomplicated.

However, all of this changed during a chance meeting with a skinny pixie. Granted, he was not totally comfortable with completely opening himself up to her. There were things that lingered in his closet of secrets, but he became aware that living life was not about taking the easy route. His firmly entrenched defenses were challenged by a child who did not know or care about his what he might have done years ago, and who shared his deep sense of pain and loss.

Logan supposed it was their common dealings with grief that drew him close to Jubilee. He wanted to ensure that she never became the embittered soul he once was. She was young and despite her cynical view of things, quite innocent. There was no need for her to follow the road he had taken. So many wasted years, drinking in various dives and spending empty nights with faceless women. Jubilee did not deserve any of that. As her self-appointed protector, he swore to provide her with some normalcy. While his presence in her life in the past was somewhat sporadic, he felt as if he was putting a more conscious effort now.

Take for instance, this vacation at his cabin. Although it was not as glamorous as the trip Summers had taken her on last year, Logan was of the opinion that the intimate nature of this outing was what made it more special. His cabin was located several miles from his closest neighbor, who happened to be away for the winter. It was simply just himself and Jubilee, as it had been when she was younger. For the most part, only the most rudimentary supplies—food, running water, medicine, and heat—were present. He did indulge in what he perceived as extravagances to make the stay more comfortable for his young charge, such as electricity and an AM/FM radio. The latter was used sparingly. His intention was to eliminate any distractions from their time together. That, and he hated the cheesy seasonal music that seemed to play in a continuous loop.

As the holiday season began to wrap up, he found himself mulling over the return trip to Westchester. The very thought of their time together ending made him ache inside. He perceived it as another denouement he was not quite ready for.

In spite of his efforts, there was something in the way. It was not out in the open, but he could still detect it nonetheless. In addition to his senses, Logan relied on knowledge based on their relationship. Nothing had to be spelled out for him to know that she was preoccupied. A barrier was put up, preventing her from being her usual self. Her grins and that light tone of voice she used were devoid of the Jubilee he knew. They were simply empty gestures utilized to throw him off.

Not known for prying into other people's affairs, Logan struggled internally. He wanted to inquire as to what was weighing on her mind. There were many times when the questions were on the tip of his tongue, particularly when it was so obvious that she was somewhere else. For example, as she was opening her gifts on Christmas morning, there was a faraway quality to her expression. Even with the iPod she received from him, Jubilee was restrained. Logan had made a passing remark about her quiet mood, hoping that it would spark some conversation about what was vexing her. Unfortunately, this was quickly dismissed with forced, cheeriness from her.

In the end, Logan found himself holding back. At first, he wondered why. His first instinct had always been to look after her and make things better. Years ago, he had no qualms about letting her cry on his shoulder. It was something that made him feel needed and not so much of the freak he felt he was. She made him belong.

When it came to the heart of the matter, the surly loner I _knew_ /I he could not make things better. Not this time. Things were different; things had changed. Jubilee was no longer a child. She was an adult now, dealing with new issues that were seemingly outside of his comfort zone.

At least, that was what Logan concluded.

"Where are you?" Jubilee's voice broke into his thoughts. She was leaning towards him, her scent of bubblegum and cinnamon filling his nostrils.

Slightly startled, he raised his both brows, which wrinkled his forehead. "Just thinkin' about what you were sayin', kid," he lied. His husky voice was even, not betraying his thoughts.

"Oh." If she was unconvinced of his candor, she certainly was not revealing her skepticism. She tucked a lock of silky hair behind a delicate ear and chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. "So, do you have any resolutions? Maybe quitting smoking?"

His brows furrowed together as he frowned. "Not likely," he said gruffly and took a swig of his beer. Already, his mouth craved a nice Cuban cigar.

She giggled, the sound resembling the tinkling of a bell. It was so light and clear—as she should always be. He almost wrote off his initial suspicions that something was wrong. However, upon further analysis, he noticed that there was a flat quality to her usually sparkling eyes. Then it all came back to him—the hurt she was hiding, their stale dance surrounding their avoidance of addressing it. Logan was tired of allowing things to remain unspoken any longer.

He cleared his throat and stared deeply into her lovely face. "Listen, kid," he began, trying to hide the reluctance that threatened to hold him back once again. Inhaling sharply, he pressed on. "Level with me. What's with you?"

Jubilee gave him a quizzical look while appearing flustered. "What do you mean?" she asked, lowering her thick lashes slightly. "I'm OK. I've been having a good time... I mean you know that, right? Yeah, it's been kind of rough with the food situation, but this place is cozy and..."

The wrinkles in his forehead deepened. His hunches that something was amiss were confirmed. For as long as he knew her, he could always pinpoint signs of anxiety in her behavior through certain cues. She had a tendency to babble when she was distressed. All that was missing from this picture was the snapping of gum in her mouth.

"Ever since we got up here, you've been acting different," Logan informed her, locking his eyes on hers.

She tried to tear her gaze from his. Unfortunately, Logan had this way of captivating one's attention against their will. When he spoke and used his steely, Stoic stare, one had no choice but to focus. For Jubilee, this made it harder for her to deceive him. Despite the fact that she was an adult now, she suddenly felt like the child he had take under his wing so long ago.

Damn him.

"Kid?" Logan's stony face now wore a concerned frown. Without hesitation, he reached across the table for her small hand. Usually, he was not the touchy-feely type. Hell, he was the first to mock such people. However, with Jubilee, he was willing to make a special exception.

Her lower lip was trapped beneath her white teeth. She thought she had him fooled. All those smiles, the quick reassurances that all was well amounted to nothing. Inwardly, she cursed her arrogance and naiveté. The young girl felt as if she should have known better.

As she studied the weathered hand she had come to associate with strength, feral-like behavior, and most importantly, comfort, she pondered her response. In the past, she would have had no hesitation to disclose her problems to her beloved Wolvie. Whether it was combating feelings of loneliness or expressing frustration about being sent away to Massachusetts, she could count on him. He always knew how to handle things.

Yet, she found herself holding back from him. She despised every fiber of her being for it. It was as if she were a prisoner in some painfully repetitive cycle—first with Bobby, and now with Logan. The worst part of it was the fact that she was capable of exerting some control. She could change things. She could tell Logan what was troubling her lately.

But she did not.

It was not that Jubilee believed she was doing a stellar job of handling things. Unless one considered being miserable during the holidays a success, then she was a high achiever. Her somber mood was antithetical to the sentiments of the season. Good cheer, the opportunity to spend time with the man she considered a father, and the booty of presents was unable to lighten her outlook. Compared to her, the cynical Logan seemed to have Christmas cheer pouring out of his nose.

When it came down to the heart of the matter, she was apprehensive about approaching Logan. Not that there was a remote chance that he would laugh or act annoyed upon hearing what she had to say. Rather, she was afraid he would become tense and uncomfortable. It was no secret that he was not a man who was particularly introspective about emotions and relationships. While he never talked about this aspect of his life with her, she was aware of his reputation as someone who preferred hassle-free encounters without any baggage.

Complicating matters was the fact that he was still adjusting to the idea of her romance with Bobby. Like Scott, Logan had toned down the more overt aspects of his protectiveness. He was less inclined to growl or flash a warning glare at Bobby every time he observed the younger man holding her hand or wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The loner's wariness was soon replaced with a sense of "I may not like it, but I don't want to know too much about it".

At first, Jubilee found his demeanor rather amusing, even cute. The ferocious Wolverine spooked by the mere thought of her dating. He would stiffen whenever she would gush about Bobby. Then he would abruptly change the subject or grind his cigar between his teeth. She had even teased him once about it. However, that quickly became a singular episode when he told her to cut it out in that low, rumbling voice he used when he meant business.

But analyzing his response now, the message he conveyed through his actions left her wondering. There were so many unanswered questions that raced through her mind each time she thought about saying something to him. Would Logan understand? More importantly, would he even _want_ to listen in the first place?

It was this uncertainty that compelled her to draw her hand back from his.

Jubilee wrapped her arms around her lithe form. She furiously searched for something to throw him off. Her sapphire eyes soaked up the grain of the wooden table in front of her in an attempt to avoid peering up at Logan any longer. "I'm not ready for my vacation to end," she lied.

His features arranged themselves into a skeptical expression. With anyone else, he would have been more explicit in his conveying his doubt. But given how ambivalent she seemed at that moment, an aggressive move had the potential to make her retreat even further from him. He could tell that she desperately wanted to tell him what was responsible for her despondent demeanor. At the same time, he knew that she was struggling internally with her decision to disclose.

In the end, he decided that if he were ever going to discover what was bothering his protégée, he would have to exercise some patience. As a someone who hunted regularly (stalking animals only to touch them), he was familiar with such an approach. Thoughts of initiating anything would have to be tempered by his determination. Ultimately, he would have to wait for her to come to him.

Rising to his feet, the wiry and sleek Logan circled the table. When he was next to Jubilee, he bent down so that his face was level with hers. "I hear you," he said in his gravelly voice. He pressed his lips against her forehead, inhaling her sweet perfume. Then he drew back and straightened to his full height before leaving her.

Evening had arrived several hours later, bringing with it pitch-black skies and twinkling stars that peeked from behind tall pine trees. The moon was luminous over the snow-covered hills that surrounded Logan's cabin. The arctic air that was indigenous to this part of the country ushered in howling wind. Its cries were a marked contrast against the placid, soothing glow cast by the silvery moon overhead.

For Jubilee, the screeching wind did not act as a deterrent to a peaceful slumber. It did not draw nightmarish images of evil monsters. Fears of being attacked were quite remote in her consciousness. The young girl had already stared down her share of such individuals—and survived. Her strength and the life lessons learned from these encounters were testaments to that.

Nor was it the sparse accommodations that came with the guestroom she was staying in. Granted, the small room with its creaky floors, barren walls, and worn mattress made her space back at the Summers' home akin to an oasis. But given Jubilee's low-maintenance attitude and her experience with living on the streets as young child, this did not trouble her all that much. In fact, she was finding herself getting used to her basic surroundings.

No, it was something else that kept her awake at night. It made the promise of a fitful slumber elude her grasp for the last two weeks. To her, this something else filled her with unprecedented levels of fear and anxiety. She could not remember dealing with anything like it before.

_"If you really cared about me, you would understand. You wouldn't be acting so...so childish."_

"_You're a bastard."_

Jubilee shook her head, forcing herself back into present reality. She blinked rapidly as she laid in the narrow twin bed she called hers for the past two weeks. Sighing, she turned on her side and pulled the scratchy, flannel blanket under her chin. Her mind attempted to will itself to clear any remnants of the echoing conversation. Various thoughts pulsed her brain in a vain effort: catching up on the latest gossip with Paige, eating one of Cook's piping hot meals, being coddled by Jean and Ororo upon her return, thanking Scott for the MP3 player for her car. Yet, in this makeshift list, there was an important item that was missing.

Rather, it was an important person.

Bobby.

Despite her resolve to keep herself distracted, she could not help but be moved as to how vivid the memory of her argument with him continued to be in her mind. She could still see the anguish in his usually playful gray eyes. It was something she had never seen before and did not ever want to see again. Simply thinking about him being in pain made her heart ache deeply inside her chest. Even worse, she was aware that she was partially responsible for it. Her inability to share and communicate with him was still a source of silent frustration for her. It was something she could not quite forgive herself for.

There were nights when she felt completely consumed by her guilt. Lying awake then, she briefly considered picking up the phone and calling information for the Drake's number. Beyond that, any semblance of a proposed conversation escaped her. How she was going to approach him did not seem all that important to her. What was paramount was getting in touch with Bobby, hearing his voice. To her, it was the next best thing to experiencing the closeness of his body to hers.

Yet, she always hesitated from executing this plan. Her rationalizations that her Wolvie would erupt into a series of conniptions from the ensuing phone bill were valid and persuasive. She inferred that the long-distance charges between this province and Long Island were possibly quite hefty. However, this not was the sole reason that held her back. As much as she yearned to contact her boyfriend, she was cognizant of the fact that he had hurt her as well. The feelings of sadness and disbelief were still seared into her consciousness. Having experienced losses and traumas in her young lifetime, this was a profound statement. She could not remember the last time she had felt so betrayed and so utterly alone. Bobby, the person she associated with safety and feelings of wonder and contentment, had inflicted this pain she carried with her during the holidays. Not only did he make her perceive herself as inadequate, but also he questioned her commitment, her feelings for him. It was the latter that seemed that especially painful.

_"If you really cared about me, you would understand."_

Her immediate reaction produced bitter tears that she desperately fought to conceal. In the quiet and privacy of her room, she vacillated between ruminating and crying. The first two nights at the cabin were particularly difficult, as the wounds received from the fight were still fresh. Each time the argument replayed in her mind, she noticed how convinced he was of the sentiment in his statements. The fact that he doubted her in the first place was too much.

Because it was the farthest thing from the truth.

Jubilee turned over in bed so that she was now lying on her back. She closed her eyes tightly. It was incredible that someone who once believed that love was reserved for other people was now struggling with the emotion. She was both exhilarated and frightened at the same time. There was a natural high that was brought on by thinking about Bobby and what she came to associate with him—his kindness, sense of humor, and tenderness. This was coupled with a sense of trepidation as to what was ahead for them. Implied with the word love was a deeper sort of commitment—at least that was what she understood.

Though she had accepted that her feelings for Bobby certainly fell under the descriptor of love, verbalizing it out loud continued to be another issue entirely. Jubilee slid one of her arms under the pillow that cradled her head. Initially, she wondered if Bobby would reciprocate her feelings. Exacerbating her anxiety was the fact that he had expressed doubt about her intentions. She dismissed this quickly, given his demeanor during their fight. He was genuinely upset while he operated under the assumption that she might not care for him the way he cared for her.

She knew that she could have easily placated his doubts by admitting that she was in love with him. Perhaps the altercation would not have gone any farther had she done so. Maybe things would have not deteriorated the way they did. _Then we might not be these miserable losers who spent their Christmases brooding, _she mused.

When it became abundantly clear that she was nowhere near sleep, she opened her eyes. The door to her room was ajar, allowing light from downstairs to filter through. Logan, not one who required hours and hours of respite, was still awake. After they returned to the cabin from an outing into town for dinner, he decided to read through a copy of the local paper he had picked up. He informed her it was a pleasant change of pace from listening to the radio in the cabin.

Jubilee's ears could pick up the crackling of the flames burning in the fireplace. The smell of hickory wood tickled her nostrils. As she continued to lie in bed, she wondered if Logan was still preoccupied with their conversation earlier that day. Well, it was more like a soliloquy from his end since she was not willing to participate. He certainly made no mention of the topic during their dinner at the local greasy spoon. There were no subtle, indirect attempts at dredging up the subject—not even a raised eyebrow in her direction. It was as if his concern had dissipated, becoming a distant memory.

At first, she was relieved. In a way, Logan had provided her with a green light to continue with her little charade. The pressure to talk and reflect upon her current woes was lifted from her weary shoulders. She did not have to worry about whether or not there was going to be any discomfort on both their parts upon talking about her relationship with Bobby. Instead, she could keep plastering on those wide grins, force those girlish giggles, and talk about matters that warranted the least amount of attention on her part. That way, she could deal with her problems by herself. After all, that was what she wanted.

Her slender limbs tensed under the worn, flannel blanket. Suddenly feeling very warm, she kicked off the covers. She placed her hand on her forehead where Logan had kissed her that afternoon. His voice—gruff, rumbling, and surprisingly tender—echoed inside her head. Both of these elements were not unlike other memories she had of the man she came to view as her mentor. Yet, they seemed to fly in the face of the way he was handling this situation...

It was then that she realized what he was up to.

This late evening found Logan stretched out on the couch in front of the fireplace. The piece of furniture was definitely something Jean or Ororo would have attempted to talk him out of purchasing. It was overstuffed and lumpy in some spots. The bright orange velour that was upholstered to the couch was tattered and smelled rather musty and a little bit like old Cohibas. There were a couple of burn holes in the cushions from his less careful moments. Yet, he was able to see past through these obvious flaws. He appreciated the piece for what it was. The self-professed loner was not concerned about whether or not it matched anything in his home. As long it was comfortable enough to cradle his tired, adamantium bones, he was satisfied. Besides, it had been quite a steal at forty-five dollars from the Salvation Army.

Flipping through the classified section of the local paper, he exhaled loudly. While it was partly attributed to the dull writing style that was included in the publication, he knew the true source of the sigh. As he folded the paper in his lap, he could not help but feel somewhat frustrated. He had tried the less invasive approach when it came to Jubilee. By giving her some space and not cajoling her, he believed she would confide in him. He would no longer be shut out or in the dark as to what was troubling her. Furthermore, he would be able to give her guidance as to how deal with the outstanding issue.

But none of this happened. Much to his chagrin, Jubilee was not receptive to his less direct approach. She chose to act oblivious, acting as if he was ignorant of her mood. The smiles she flashed him throughout their excursion into town continued to lack the genuineness and light that were usually present. When she laughed, he noticed that her sparkling eyes were flat as they had been during their entire time at the cabin. Given the cues in her behavior, he reached one conclusion.

She had no intention of letting him in.

For this, Logan felt impotent and powerless. He supposed what was especially trying was the fact that there was very little he could to help in the end. Rather than being her protector and the one she could rely on to mend things, Logan was relegated to the role of bystander. He cursed himself wildly for not being more proactive. Contrary to his confident and self-assured nature, he started to second-guess himself. It was an unsettling experience for a man who prided himself in his ability to read people easily.

His somber and introspective musings were interrupted when he suddenly sensed he was no longer alone. Bubblegum and cinnamon mingled together in the air. Light footfalls crossed the hardwood floor of the living room. They grew louder with each passing second, indicating the other person's closer proximity to him. In addition to the footfalls, his ears picked up on a faint humming. Though it was a tune he was not all that familiar with, he found himself becoming removed from his brooding state of mind.

"What's with the humming?" he asked in greeting as Jubilee circled the couch. In spite of his best efforts to suppress a smile, he felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly. Seeing her sweet face always had that effect on him. She looked very angelic that evening. Her long, dark hair spilled down her graceful shoulders, providing a contrast to her almost alabaster skin and delicate features. She wore a pair of loose-fitting, blue pajamas. The color brought out the hypnotic depths of her sapphire eyes. Looking at her now, he was curious as to how Drake ended up being so lucky.

"I deleted that Black-Eyed Peas song that was already downloaded on my iPod," she sighed as she seated herself next to him. "Now I wish hadn't."

He raised a stony brow at her. "Then why did you do it?"

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "I heard Alex and Kurt say they don't have the urban vibe like other groups."

"Those two have as much street credit as Bert and Ernie," Logan commented wryly, turning his attention from the bright orange flames of the fire to the beautiful young girl next to him.

Jubilee let out a loud snort, which produced a honking sound. Quickly, she covered the lower half of her face sheepishly. "Sorry," she apologized when she observed a mixture of amusement and shock that played out across his face. Had she been in a more jovial mood, she might have made a comment about Logan cracking a joke.

Instead, she decided to press on with the matter at hand. Taking a deep breath, she said quietly, "You win."

He leaned towards her, his craggy face edging close to hers. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She fought the urge to pout. Despite his best efforts to appear neutral and guileless, she was able to discern that Logan was enjoying this. She was playing into his hand like he probably suspected. "I said you win," she told him brusquely. "You win, OK? I'll tell you everything. I'm miserable because I screwed up. Happy now?"

Logan's green eyes soaked up the picture in front of him. Her shoulders were hunched over and she wrung her small hands tightly. This girl was a foil to the Jubilee he knew and loved. Whatever was causing her deep-seeded anguish, he knew he wanted to quash it immediately. "No," he answered, drawing her close to his side. "You being upset doesn't make me happy, kid."

The young girl gazed up at him, wide-eyed. It never ceased to amaze her as to how tender he could be sometimes. This was the same individual known for his feral temperament and his distant ways with people. His hand, which was often used to inflict damage to various enemies on the field, was now stroking her hair in a manner that many did not think he was capable of. Taking all of this in, she realized that it was safe to talk to him. No matter what, he was going to listen and make her feel heard.

She sighed softly and bit her lower lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that." She paused and stared at her clasped hands. "I did something really stupid while I was at Bobby's for Thanksgiving."

"What happened?" Logan rested his stubble-ridden chin on the top of her head.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. "I said something to his dad."

He frowned at her thoughtfully, wondering if she had actually taken his advice about giving Drake's parents hell if they gave her a hard time. At the time, he sensed she was not going to follow that path. "Why? What did you say?"

"I said I love him," Jubilee said glumly, resting her head against Logan's broad shoulder. She sighed heavily. "I'm such a tool."

He raised a brow at her, intrigued. "You're in love with Drake's dad?"

"What?" She pulled away immediately. Her sapphire eyes became as round as saucers, emphasizing her incredulity. Then she slapped his shoulder when she noticed a mischievous glint in the golden flecks of his eyes. "Ew, Wolvie, no... I meant I told Mr. Drake I love Bobby."

Logan stiffened slightly. His features drew themselves into a pensive, but unreadable expression. "Oh."

She stole a hesitant glance, trying to decipher his reaction. Shock? Disapproval? Amusement? No, there was none of that. Instead, he appeared painfully neutral. Immediately, she was consumed with trepidation as she pondered how to deal with the conversation from this point. There was no way she could take back her words. They seemed to dangle in the air rather starkly.

"You think it's stupid," she said, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She shifted on the couch so that she could draw even further from him. Her mind raced with possibilities to salvage things.

His weathered, dry hand immediately shot out, clamping firmly on her knee. He frowned at her with puzzlement and asked, "What makes you say that, kid?"

She bit her lower lip and turned her gaze from his face. "I... I don't know."

"Sure you do." He moved closer to her and draped his other arm over the back of the couch. "You don't think I understand why it's scary for you to admit that."

Her mouth nearly gaped open from astonishment. Then she tucked a lock of hair nervously behind a delicate ear. "Am I that easy to read?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "No. Let's just say that you and I have something in common." He noticed a hint of curiosity washing over her face and immediately; he knew she wanted to query him as to his experiences. Normally, he would have tried to dismiss her attempts and insist that they were talking about her and not him. But he was aware that would not be setting the best example for her.

Finally, he said, "I know what it's like to be afraid to let someone in. It was a hard thing to do. I thought I was weak for doing it. You know, for letting myself be that vulnerable in front of someone else. Looking back, I would have been a weaker person for not doing it at all."

Jubilee nodded in agreement, captivated by the fact that Logan was revealing an aspect of himself he kept sheltered inside. Yes, he made sure to be as general as he could, but he was still putting himself out there. His sage words acted as reinforcement, encouraging her to press on. "You're right," she told him, taking a shaky breath. "It's just...strange. I love Bobby. I love him and I can't even tell him. I mean he has no idea."

Then she laughed bitterly, which made her seem older beyond her years at that moment. "That's not the best part of it, Wolvie. You see, not only does Bobby not know that I'm in love with him, he seems to think that I don't care about him. The fact that we got into this knock-down, drag-out fight didn't really help things." She threw her hands in the air out of frustration and disgust with the situation. "Since he has doubts about me, I guess he's experiencing some uncertainty about us."

Logan sat back on the couch, riveted by what he just heard. The turmoil that emanated from her was quite palpable. It was hard not be empathic to what she was going through. Obviously, this predicament had consumed her in every aspect. She was angry with herself and Drake. She was despondent over this rift between them. He could see that more anything, she wanted desperately to find some way to fix things. Her tone and the way she was speaking conveyed that.

Given all of this, there was only one thing he could do. Calmly, he asked, "So, what are you going to do about it?"

Jubilee's shoulders sank, evoking a comparison to a rapidly deflating balloon. She drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin between them. "No clue," she admitted gloomily. Then she turned to him with her grave face. "What do you think I should do?"

He wrapped an arm around her slender form. "I think you should follow your instincts," he told her quietly.

She looked at him quizzically with those wide, old-soul blue eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means don't spend every minute over-thinking things and making assumptions you don't know are true."

"I haven't been doing any of that."

"Kid..."

"Wolvie—"

"Come on, kid. Do you know for a fact that Drake might not feel the same way?"

"Well, not exactly."

"Maybe instead of jumping to these conclusions, you should try talking to the guy."

"I like how you've taken a complex situation, otherwise known as my life, and simplified it."

"Listen, I don't know Icicle that well and I'm not going to go out of my way to defend him. But from what I've seen, he seems to be pretty decent. A little off, but decent."

"Seriously, Wolvie, it's hard. I don't know if I can do it."

"That fight you were talking about... That's not keeping you back, is it?"

"No. Granted, I'm still pissed. But in the grand scheme of things, that's not it at all."

"Then what is it?"

Jubilee chewed on her lower lip and hugged her knees tightly. "Because for the first time in my life, I know what it's like to be happy with another person. It's territory I've never ventured into before. I'm ecstatic and scared out of my mind at the same time. If he doesn't feel the same way, I don't know what I'm going to do." She grimaced. "I sound like such a dip."Logan brushed a wisp of hair from her soft cheek. "No, I don't think so," he observed. "You found someone who means a great deal to you. In this world and for some people, that's a rare thing. Consider yourself a part of the lucky ones." 


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven We Belong

Here's the latest chapter. I made my beta laugh with this one.

Thanks for all the reviews and feedback. Please keep them coming. It's great hearing from all of you.

The characters are Marvel's. I'm just borrowing them. The story is mine, though.

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: We Belong**

There always seemed to be a strange lull that was associated with the second week of January. It was the period following Christmas, Hanukah, and New Year's. The frenzied activity that had come to be characteristic of the past few weeks was now replaced with a sense of tranquility. In spite of the snow and ice that continued to cover the ground and drape the branches of still-barren trees and shrubbery, there were signs that were consistent with this lull. Retail shops were now in the process of taking down seasonal décor meant to be conducive to holiday shopping, while ushering in new sales and markdowns to attract prospective customers. Radio stations returned their play lists to regular programming. Long vacations to visit loved ones were ending, as the reality of people's normal schedules came back to the forefront of their minds.  
  
The Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in Westchester saw the return of students, faculty, and household and office staff. Throughout the halls, one could easily discern chatter regarding what gifts were received, what kinds of activities people were involved in, and where people had gone for the past two and a half weeks. Some of the faculty and field team members were jet-lagged and weary from their various travels (Rogue and Gambit, Warren and Paige); others found themselves rejuvenated and looking forward to a new, productive year (Hank, Kurt, and Ororo). While most of the children were disappointed over the prospect of homework, projects, and exams that lay ahead, this sentiment was quickly replaced with the excitement of seeing old friends and meeting new classmates.

Prior to the end of the fall semester, Professor Xavier had extended invitations to fifteen children to attend the school. Included in the newest incoming class were the two youngest Guthrie brothers, Jay (sometimes known as Joshua or Josh) and Jeb. In order to accommodate the increase in the student body, the Professor and Jean hired new instructors. Rahne, having overcome her personal turmoil stemming from her formerly dormant abilities, officially joined the teaching staff along with Amara.  
  
Bobby Drake found himself wandering through the front foyer, appearing lost among a mass of students. The boyishly handsome young man had just arrived after driving back from his parents' home in Long Island. His usually good-humored expression was replaced with one of preoccupation. Raking a hand through his sandy hair, he seemed oblivious to the boisterousness that surrounded him. The eager chatter from the students was lost on his ears. A few of the children were somewhat baffled as the instructor they knew as the "Fun One", slipped by them in order to climb up the spiral staircase in an uncharacteristically subdued manner.

Still absorbed in his thoughts, Bobby reached his bedroom and sauntered inside. He then slipped his keys into the pocket of his navy peacoat, which was worn over a green, crewneck lambswool sweater, white shirt, and pair of khakis. Reconnoitering the familiar walls he called his haven from the responsibilities of teaching and fighting for the rights of others, he was amazed as to how everything was still exactly how he had left it. Textbooks and notebooks containing lesson plans were arranged in non-descript piles on his desk. Empty shopping bags were placed against the door, tissue paper strewn next to them. His bed, with its dark-blue, flannel sheets and blanket, was still half-made, reflecting his hurried exit from the mansion prior to Christmas break.  
  
_I'm back.._ The young man heaved a weary sigh, tossing his travel bag on his bed. He listened as the mattress springs creaked underneath the weight. The many presents he had received over the holidays had made the bag quite heavy to carry. Normally, he would have sought out Hank or Warren to check in with the two of them and see how their respective vacations went. Perhaps he would have stopped by Rogue's room, which she now shared with Remy, to chat for a while.

However, Bobby's attentions were focused on someone else.  
  
He turned his gaze to his bedroom window, sauntering towards it slowly. Across the snow-covered lawn, a farm-style, clapboard house stood serenely. An incandescent glow radiated from the home, lights shining from behind drawn curtains and shades. His stare then shifted to a window he was familiar with. It was one he had climbed through on what seemed to be many occasions. Over the past nine months, he came to associate the window with positive and wondrous memories and feelings. He had found a friend through it, and later on, someone to care about.

Yet, as he fixed his gray eyes upon that window, Bobby suddenly felt a wave of anxiety wash over himself.

During the hour drive between his parents' home and the mansion, he ruminated over the current state of affairs with Jubilee. While armed with new information, he still felt lost. Why he felt that way baffled him. He should have been happy and overjoyed with the discoveries he had made over the holidays. For the first time in his life, he was in a relationship that involved intense emotions. Love. He was in love with this amazing, beautiful girl. Best of all, she loved him back. Given this, what was there to worry about?

_Because,_ Bobby groaned inwardly, placing a hand against the cold glass pane. _I screwed up. I invalidated her feelings. I did all of this right before Christmas, probably ruining her vacation. If she feels anything but love for me, I wouldn't be surprised. Hell, I wouldn't blame her. _

He grimaced and shook his head. It was as if he were reliving previous mistakes made with other women in his life. Though he saw disastrous results in those relationships, Bobby was convinced that he had a lot more at stake now. He had his piece of happiness in the world to consider. Furthermore, he knew he would have to rely on more than his good intentions to atone for how he had hurt her.

His mind drifted to the conversation he had with his father several days ago. It seemed like hours the two of them had spent in the attic. Bobby could still remember sitting in the musty area with his father, talking quietly into the wee hours of the morning. It had been the longest amount time he had spent with the Drake patriarch in quite awhile.

To declare that the experience was a surreal one would be the understatement of the year. There were times when Bobby wondered if he was really asleep, dreaming in his bed. Simply put, he and his father were never known for their close father-son bond. This was not something that especially saddened Bobby, but it was something he viewed as a fact of life. Previously, even talking with the elder Drake for more than ten minutes was previously a stretch. Their conversations before were strained at best, and limited to seemingly neutral topics. The primary objective in these earlier interactions was to avoid a confrontation for Maddy's sake.

Yet, Bobby was able to engage with his father in a way he never thought was possible. Gone was the tension he often experienced when he was around his father. Thoughts of how provincial the elder Drake could be faded from his consciousness. Feelings of anger directed at him also dissipated. Instead, he found himself listening and talking openly with the man he believed was so cold, so distant. While he would not go as far as to say that he could empathize with Bill Drake, Bobby thought he learned a great deal about how his father functioned and perceived the world. Yes, there was flawed logic to his rationalizations. At the same time, the motivation for holding these views could not immediately be discounted. One could almost say that they were motivated by some sense of altruism for his family, for their safety and well being.

Much to his surprise, Bobby had learned that this was not the only thing he and his father in common.

As the hours passed in the attic, the subject of their conversation turned to other areas. All the while, he pondered as to why his father decided to bring him up here in the first place. If the elder Drake was looking for privacy, there were other rooms in the house they could have gone. But his father was insistent that they come to the attic without explaining why. Finally, Bobby was unable to take the uncertainty and suspense. He had to find out what inspired his father in the first place.

At first, Bill had sighed. It was a familiar sound Bobby had heard over the years. Such sighs reflected and conveyed his impatience, his wariness, and his absolute exasperation. However, this exhalation had a different quality to it. There seemed to be some kind of pent-up emotion that might have been banished within the depths of mind for some time. After a brief lapse into silence, he spoke.

_"Before your mother and I married, we had some obstacles to overcome. " Bill had pulled himself to his feet and wandered towards a large chest nearby. He stooped over slightly as he fumbled with the lock before pulling it open with a muffled grunt. "There was a time when it looked like we weren't going to be together at all."_

_Bobby's gray eyes had widened in disbelief. "What happened?" _

_His father had frowned thoughtfully at the organized contents in the trunk. "I didn't know if I could be with someone like her," he had said rather calmly, gesturing for Bobby to walk over to him. _

_Bobby had watched his father lean against the wall, sifting through the trunk. "Because Mom's part Jewish?" _

_Bill's weathered hands had shaken slightly. Then his head had snapped up abruptly, his haggard features arranging themselves into an embarrassed expression. "Yes." _

_The younger Drake had been able to discern his father's reluctance as he talked. The Drake patriarch's voice had trembled slightly, revealing a vulnerability not known. Pressing on further as Bill had done was apparently difficult. Still, Bobby was intrigued._

"_What happened exactly?" he had inquired._

"_I... I had my doubts. Your mother, being the perceptive woman she is, picked up on them."_

"_So, what did you do?" _

_Bill's grim mouth had softened at the corners. "I did what I thought I had do," he had said to his son, rubbing the side of his crooked nose with care. "I fought for her." _

Still unpacking, Bobby mulled over the conversation. Initially, he thought what had transpired had served only to create some kind of bridge. Granted, this did not completely erase the years of hurt and misunderstandings, but it was still a start. Reading anything more into it seemed to be out of the question.

_"I fought for her." _

Bobby's gray eyes widened as he inhaled sharply. Instantly, he began to mentally kick himself. He shook his head and raked his fingers through his sandy hair. Needless to say, there were many things that flooded his mind. Included was the sense of amazement over his father's subtle manner of providing paternal guidance.

"Bobby?"

Startled, he whipped around to find Kurt standing in the doorway to his bedroom. The other man's teeth were a blinding white against the dark-blue of his skin and the sable in his hair. His facial tattoos accentuated the curve in his lips as he continued to smile. Wearing a red, rollneck sweater and a pair of brown cargo pants with loafers, the German native appeared at-ease and well rested.

Bobby could not help but to envy him. He forced a grin in response. "Hey, Kurt," he greeted. "How's it going? How was your break?"

Kurt ambled inside the bedroom and towards Bobby, a mixture of interest and amusement etched across his demon-like face. Staring at the walls, he still could not quite comprehend his friend's penchant for old John Belushi movies. He and Kitty had a marathon movie night, where they watched videos featuring the late actor/comedian. The appeal was still lost on Kurt.

"It's going vell," he finally replied, standing next to Bobby by the bedroom window. "I just got back from Munich last night. My body is still adjusting to the time difference."

Bobby nodded empathically. "I hear you. So, is it like an eight-hour time difference?"

"Close to that, mein freund." Kurt observed Bobby's gray eyes peer outside the window. Instinctively, his own golden orbs followed the direction of the other man's gaze towards the Summers' house. "The child must be the only person home."

The other man frowned quizzically at him. "Scott and Jean not back yet?"

"Nein," Kurt informed him, shoving his hands into his pockets. "They von't be back until tomorrow. Rogue says they are still in Alaska, visiting his grandparents."

"Oh. So, I guess you were around when Jubes returned?"

"Ja. She and Herr Logan arrived an hour ago. Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"I am surprised you are not over there vit her."

There was a moment when Bobby briefly considered the possibility that Kurt was insinuating something. Yet, as he looked at the other man's countenance, he noticed that the other man appeared ingenuous. He turned back to the window and sighed.  
  
"I should be," he finally said. He hoped that Kurt would not pick up on his somber tone. The fact that he already addressed the issue with his father still left him reeling.

To his relief, the other man was either oblivious to his turmoil or chose not to address it at this time. Instead, the former priest-in-training said in a low voice, "Then you should go to her, mein freund."

Bobby stared longingly at the bedroom window that led to his girlfriend. Every fiber of his being agreed with the sage words expressed by the man standing next to him. Then his mind replayed that deceptively innocuous dialogue with his father. Together, the counsel relayed by these two disparate individuals began to challenge the anxieties and doubts Bobby had been experiencing over the course of the past two and a half weeks. The fears that plagued him gradually became tenuous as he realized what he had to do to resolve things.

He yanked pushed the window up and proceeded to straddle it. A cold wind rumpled his sandy hair, making him look like the young and carefree Bobby all were familiar with. "Thanks for the advice," he told Kurt, who was already shivering from the chilly air.

Kurt watched as Bobby held out an outstretched hand, sending a stream of solid ice beneath him to form an ice-slide. "Are you sure you don't vant me to teleport you over there?" he offered. "It vould be much faster."

Bobby's boyish face broke out into a grin. "No, thanks," he told the other man, gray eyes twinkling as he stood upon the glass-like structure. "Getting to her is half the fun. Although, you could do me a favor."

"Vat's that, Bobby?"

"Close the window behind me. I don't think I could sit through another lecture from Scott about the billowing costs of utilities to keep this place running. I'm not entirely sure it's healthy that the color of his face matches his glasses when he does that."

Kurt laughed. "You got it," he replied, edging towards the window when Bobby was farther away from the window. He quickly shut it close with a brisk snap. Then he stood back thoughtfully. His golden eyes looked on as his friend proceeded to glide along the ice-slide. As the sky darkened above the mansion's property, Kurt could not help but notice how determined Bobby Drake seemed at that moment.

A multitude of thoughts coursed through Bobby's brain as he moved smoothly on the slick, icy ramp he constructed. He could feel his heart thumping wildly inside his chest, trying to grasp all of these runaway cognitions. Venturing closer to the Summers' home, he was suddenly overcome how it resembled this beacon under the growing mass of clouds that hovered over him. Hope and something else he could not put his finger on seemed to radiate from the white clapboards and the organized stone path that led to the front door. The wind had grown much cooler since he first stepped outside. But he did not mind all that much. In fact, he embraced the brisk air. It helped him to focus, allowing him to settle down.

Traveling along the slide, he began to consider the significance of what he was about to do flooded his mind. He kind of saw it as a life-altering event, more so than the night he first admitted his feelings to Jubilee. Declaring his love for her and knowing she felt the same way meant a great deal to him. Granted, this was uncharted territory for the both of them. Intense emotions that were new to a relationship always guaranteed that. Yet, he was aware that it promised to be an incredible experience.

Because he would mean every word of it.

He could feel his mouth dry out as he rehearsed quietly during the journey. Briefly, he reflected upon the tone of voice he should use and how he was going to broach the topic in the first place. Should he simply take her into his arms and tell her, like in those films Jean, Ororo, and Rogue watched during their 'Girls' Night In' gatherings? The possibilities seemed endless, but would involve more planning than he was willing to be committed to. As perfect as he wished for the moment to be, he was reluctant to engage in any preparations. Recollections of how their first date went with all his planning elicited a furrow to his anxious brow.

When he reached Jubilee's window, he was surprised to find that it was slightly open already. It was almost as if she were already waiting for him to come. The curtains streamed back from the breeze, revealing the soft glow from her lamps that kept the room alit. Perched upon his ice-slide, he leaned forward and rapped at the windowpane. "Jubes?" he called out and waited.

No answer.

Curious, Bobby listened for any indication of his girlfriend. Then he poked his head inside, noticing that she was nowhere to be seen. His ears instantly picked up on the sound of running water from her private bathroom. He was about to call out to her again, but noticed that the door was partially ajar. Given the fact that he was already here, he decided to wait for her. Pushing up the window further, he quickly climbed inside and closed it shut.

His gray eyes peered around the familiar settings he came to associate with a strong rush of feelings that engulfed his heart and his head. Though somewhat tidier than his quarters, it was still indicative that she was not too concerned about being overly organized. Her suitcase lay open by her bed, the contents strewn in a collected pile on the floor. On her desk, binders of differing contents shared space with dog-eared paperbacks, pixie sticks, and a laptop with printer.

What captivated his attention was a framed photograph that sat on the corner of her desk. Gently, he picked it up and stared. It was a black-and-white picture of the two of them, which had been taken just before Thanksgiving. Her head was thrown back as she gave the camera one of those dazzling smiles that made him weak in the knees. Despite the monochromatic nature of the photo, one could still see the sparkling radiance of her eyes. He was next to her, grinning broadly with his arms wrapped around her. Their expressions, frozen in that specific moment in time, exuded pure, unadulterated happiness. Gazing upon it now, Bobby swore that he would do everything in his power to capture that sentiment once again.

His reverie was soon shattered when he heard the water stop running. He placed the photograph back down on the desk. Turning towards the bathroom, he could see billows of steam wafting by. Bobby really never understood the appeal of hot showers; he preferred the water to be ice-cold in his. Then he remembered that he had not made his presence known to Jubilee. While he did not mind the idea of catching a glimpse of his girlfriend naked, he saw no need to scare her or even worse, intensify possible residuals of anger from their fight over two weeks ago.

Bobby made quick strides to the bathroom door. Tapping it lightly with the back of his hand, he said, "Jubes? Jubes, it's me. I just wanted to let you know I'm here."

No reply.

Perhaps she had not heard him. Clearing his throat, he attempted to get her attention. "Jubes, it's Bobby."

This time, he thought he heard what he thought was a soft grunt in response.

Suddenly, he was concerned. Was something wrong? He had not perceived anything out of the ordinary to indicate that something was amiss. But then again, he was not known for his keen senses. His apprehension threatened to overwhelm him, which prompted him to decide to check on her. Bobby thought it would be better to have her upset with him again rather than not doing anything if she was hurt.

Pushing the door wider with his shoulder, he leaned his head in. He expected to see long, slender limbs, dark hair that cascaded down like a waterfall, and shining blue eyes set in a delicate face. Instead, something else met his gaze.

A pair of stony, green eyes peered at him from the rising steam.

Thick, dark hair framed haggard, sharpened facial features.

Sinewy muscles complimented a broad set of shoulders and chest, and...

_Oh God._

Screaming, Bobby grabbed the doorknob and slammed the bathroom door closed. He backpedaled away from it, placing his hands over his eyes. A myriad of emotions consumed him at that moment with horror being the dominant one. Consumed by his shock, he did not even pick up on the fact that someone was calling his name. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he jumped.

A pair of sapphire eyes reflected puzzlement as they stared at him. "Bobby?"

He closed his mouth and stopped his caterwauling. His breathing was still rapid as he found himself facing Jubilee. She was fully dressed and dry, wearing a long-sleeved, lavender shirt over a pair of dark jeans and white sneakers. Her black hair with midnight-blue streaks was piled on the top of her head in a careless topknot. She appeared fine, overall, and not in any kind of distress as he believed.

Jubilee drew back from him slightly. She had raced upstairs from the living room, where she was checking on messages on the answering machine when she heard shrieking. To her surprise, she discovered Bobby in her bedroom, yelling as if he had seen a ghost. As much as she wanted to talk to him regarding other things, she was curious as to what exactly was going on. Unlike most people, she and the rest of the residents of the mansion had reasons to keep their guard up. When individuals whose sole purpose in life was to terrorize had stormed your home, it was hard not to develop hypervigilant tendencies.

"Are you OK?" she inquired hesitantly, brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes.

He shook his head silently. It was as if the trauma rendered him temporarily mute. Words seemed to escape him at that moment.

She gave him a cursory once-over. Other than the expression of sheer terror that crossed his boyish features, Bobby was no worse for wear. Obviously, there did not seem to be any kind of eminent danger that posed a threat. No reason to call the mansion for back up. "Well, what happened?"

Bobby swallowed hard, forcing himself to form cogent words. "I... I came here to see you," he finally said and rubbed his temples, hoping this was some kind of bad dream. When it was becoming more apparent that this was only a fruitless wish, he pressed on. "I thought you were in there."

Jubilee followed the path of his wide-eyed stare to the bathroom door. Mentally, she put the pieces together in record time. It was then that she realized what roused Bobby's reaction. She had to bite the inside of cheek to keep from laughing or smiling. This was too much.

"Wolvie was using my shower," she explained, watching his face pale with a mixture of intrigue and amusement. "He's staying with me while Scott and Jean are away."

"I know," he responded, shaking his head vigorously in an attempt to bore the image of a naked Logan out of his memories. Unfortunately, it was seared into his consciousness for the time being. "It was like watching 'Gorillas in the Mist'."

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the doorknob turn. Knowing the surly, laconic Logan, he would be none too pleased about the events that just occurred. Images of sharp, adamantium claws extended in his direction flashed through Bobby's brain. He shuddered, cursing his lousy luck and timing.

"Well, that's it," Bobby declared nervously, raking a hand through his sandy hair. "I'm a dead man. It was nice knowing you, Jubes. We had fun, right?"

She smirked and shook her head. "He's not going to kill you," she told him, as Bobby eyed the window nearby. Then she added impishly, "But he might want to have some shaved ice for a drink later on."

"Oh, ha ha." He pursed his lips in frustration. Realizing he was running short on time before his impending doom, he clasped her small hand in his and studied it before raising his gray eyes to her lovely face. "Listen, I know we need to talk about a lot of things. First and foremost, I'm sorry for everything. I was a jerk. Those things I said—I didn't mean them. Any of them. Hell, I didn't know what I was talking about..."

Jubilee felt her heart skip a beat, hearing the words she longed for him to say since their fight. While she had not been as preoccupied about that as she was with her intensifying feelings for him, it was still a relief to clear the air. Shaking her head, she echoed his sentiment. "Me, too," she whispered, squeezing his cool, dry hand gently.

"I never wanted to hurt or embarrass you. You've got to believe me."

"I do, Bobby. I do."

"You also have to know that while I might have been off-base, all I wanted to do was to keep you safe. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you, Jubes."

"Yeah, I know that. Now, will you please shut up and hold me?"

He rested his forehead against hers. "You have no idea how much better I feel," he sighed. "I missed you so much. All I could think about was you the whole time I was gone. That, and how much I couldn't stand being away from you under the circumstances..."

"Me, too," she said softly, brushing her mouth against his cheek. "I don't want to ever go through that again. It was totally miserable."

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. "I know."

"I hated the fact that things weren't right between us. It felt so wrong to be without you." Jubilee drew back a fraction from him, studying his boyish features. The way he looked so earnest made him all the more endearing at that moment. His gaze was incredibly tender and kind, which seemed to reflect everything she was feeling. Suddenly, it became so obvious how it easy it was going to be to tell him. Never had she felt more confident about anything in her young life.

Her sapphire eyes were shining as she took a deep breath. "Listen, Bobby," she began. "I—"

Just as she was about to complete the sentence that was going to bring about a pivotal moment in their relationship, the bathroom door swung open. Logan emerged, green eyes with gold flecks expressionless. The wiry loner was clad only in a pair of faded jeans. The military dog tags he always wore hung around his neck. His sleek torso with its firm muscles and healthy abundance of chest hair glistened with the moisture that settled from the steam. While his hair was still damp, those trademark points on the side of his head had already formed.

_Oh crap._ Bobby felt his limbs suddenly weaken. Briefly, he contemplated a life in the witness protection program. Perhaps he and Jubilee could start their lives over somewhere in Omaha. He had always wanted to see what the Midwest was like.

"Hi, Wolvie," Jubilee greeted, flashing the notorious curmudgeon her sweetest smile. She was quick to situate her lithe frame in front of Bobby's in order to act as interference. Given the low growl that was emanating from Logan's lips, she concluded she had made the right decision.

Logan paused in his strides towards her and Drake. He raised a brow at the couple, watching the younger man step in front of Jubilee with a great deal of hesitation. His nostrils flared, taking in the unmistakable scent of trepidation radiating from Drake. Drained from the long drive to the mansion from his cabin in Canada, Logan had been looking forward to unwinding with a long, hot shower. He had been lost in his thoughts, most of them centering on resting his weary bones. When his sharp ears had picked up on noises coming from the kid's bedroom, he quickly hopped out from underneath the stream of hot water, ready to canvass what was happening. As he was about to grab a towel, he had realized who rudely interrupted his shower. He recognized Drake's smell of anxiety.

Before he could say anything, Bobby began to speak. "Listen, Logan, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to walk in on you like that." He was about to add that he did not see much anyway, but decided to keep his mouth shut on that one. The other man was known as a living lie detector, and would probably be able to see through his fib easily.

"Is that so?" Logan inquired flatly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Bobby nodded emphatically, as Jubilee clasped his hand in support.

"So, you what really wanted to do is to see Jubes naked," Logan concluded. His gaze took on a steelier, stern quality.

"What? No..."

"You came into her bathroom expecting to see her naked."

Bobby felt his face drain of all color. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind not to blurt out that he would like to see her in that state someday. "I—I only wanted to talk to her. I came to the door to let her know that I was in her room so she wouldn't be scared when she came out. When I didn't hear anything, I thought something was wrong... So I went into check in on her. That's it, Logan, I swear."

Logan peered at the boyishly handsome man with great scrutiny, as if he were attempting to decipher a complicated riddle. His keen senses picked up on the fact that Drake was, in fact, telling the truth. Part of the laconic loner was disappointed as he was looking forward to exacting revenge for being intruded upon during his shower. Nothing too terribly feral, but something that would make Drake think twice about his actions.

Then he caught a glimpse of the Jubilee's face out of the corner of his eye. She looked imploringly up at him. Her crystalline gaze, which would put any jeweler's wares to shame, pleaded with him. There was a plethora of messages that seemed to be conveyed through just that one look: _Please don't say anything else. Don't hurt him. I love him. Please. Stop._

Exhaling loudly, Logan found himself relenting to the young girl's silent begging. He pursed his lips, slightly disgusted with how simple it was for him to be manipulated. He was the Wolverine, a man who prided himself in maintaining an emotion-free façade to the world. He was seething with complexities that stemmed from dark things out of his control. He endured physical and psychological torture, and fought against formidable opponents. But here he was, the man who preferred the shadows to light, brought down by a pair of angelic blue eyes and a pretty face.

In the end, he would not have it any other way. Summoning the gruffest voice he could muster, he said, "It's been a long night, Drake. You and the kid can exchange niceties tomorrow."

Jubilee began to protest. "But, Wolvie, he just got here. I haven't seen him in weeks. Besides, I'm not tired." She batted her thick, black lashes at Logan, a move usually guaranteed to transform him into pliable putty in her hands.

This time, the bare-chested loner was not having any part of it. "Save it, kid," he told her and turned to Bobby, who was already making his way to the bedroom window with a disappointed expression on his face. As the younger man began to climb out onto the ice-slide constructed just outside of the ledge, Logan could not help but wonder why the younger man seemed particularly despondent just then.

The following day, the Professor announced that he was sending the teaching staff on a three-day retreat, a week before classes were set to start. All instructors and teaching assistants were scheduled to depart immediately. The group, headed by Jean, was sent into town for a series of workshops and team-building activities for the faculty. According to the statuesque redhead, the purpose of the retreat was to boost instructor morale and rejuvenate each person's passion for teaching. Some of the more eager and dedicated members, such as Hank and Dani, easily bought into this. However, there were some who equally skeptical of the exercise; Emma and Warren, for example.

This left field team members who were not cross-appointed faculty to help hold down the fort. It allowed individuals like Rogue and Bishop, who did not usually interact with the students, to have an opportunity to meet the mansion's young charges. The students, in turn, learned about people who were rarely around the mansion. They also had a chance to consider possible futures once they were finished with school, such as serving with various branches of the teams.

For Jubilee, she found these past few days particularly lonely. She had to fend for herself at the Summers' house while both Scott and Jean were away. Usually, when the couple was gone, she could have asked Logan to keep her company. However, he, too, was at the retreat. In fact, it seemed as if everyone was particularly close to was involved with this faculty-bonding activity.

But there was one person she was particularly seeing again.

Bobby.

Filled with a mixture of frustration and loneliness, Jubilee was left to contemplate what could have been during his absence. In the course of her ruminations, her mind continued to replay that night they were reunited. She could feel her heart lighten as she heard Bobby's earnest voice apologize, and then her own, echoing the sentiment. It was as if a massive, dark weight had been lifted. All the ugliness, pain, and wounded feelings quickly faded, as declarations of not wanting to fight again became prominent in the picture. The resulting exhilaration that permeated in the air between them helped to build her courage. At that moment, things began to fall into place. She needed to tell him those words she had not expressed in quite some time, words she once believed she was not capable of uttering until Bobby. Recalling how tenderly he looked at her that night, there was a part of her that suspected that his feelings might not be that far off from hers.

Part of her wanted to be upset with Logan. Another part of her believed she should have targeted her ire towards the fates that evening. In the end, it was not all that important as to who or what was responsible. The outcome still remained the same. She was unable to utter those simple, but meaningful words.

I love you.

Compounding things was the fact that she was denied an opportunity to have a second chance. She likened the experience to waiting to open a mysterious gift. There was a build-up of excitement and energy that threatened to consume her. It was pervasive, invading each passing thought over the course of the day. Even in the midst of doing the most mundane things, such as brushing her teeth, she found herself mulling over how she would approach him and how she would actually say it.

It was a strange experience, being this obsessed about anything. After all, she was the girl who was known for her carefree and breezy attitude towards life and its hurdles. Portraying this image to the rest of the world had aided in keeping her sane through the many tragedies and heartaches during her young life. Like most self-fulfilling prophecies, her thinking had been, "If everyone else thinks I'm fine, then I must be." So many years ago, it would have been so easy to allow something like this to roll off of her shoulders.

Until now.

She supposed what made this situation so vastly different than anything she had experienced before stemmed from the anticipation of the moment. While there was an amount of anxiety that pounded away at her, there was also something else. It was the promise of elation from finally being open and honest about her feelings that was paramount. Furthermore, it was the feeling of liberation from the insecurities and fears that held her back.

Unfortunately, all of this would have to wait until Bobby returned.

In the meantime, Jubilee knew she had to deal with the nervous energy that pulsed through every fiber of her being. Classes for her did not start for another week. Not that she was especially looking forward to school again, but it was a potential outlet. As a result, she was left to pass her days at the mansion, mingling with some of the new students and catching up with some of the field team members.

This day, Rogue, Sam, and Bishop had taken a group of students into town for a day out at the movies and Mario's Pizzeria and Arcade. Remy had left for New Orleans the night to visit under the auspices of urgent family business. Tessa and the Professor were in his study, debriefing over the latest mission information. Needless to say, the mansion conveyed a feeling of emptiness that was rather disconcerting to Jubilee.

Left to her own devices for the day, she decided to make use of the exercise facilities, which were located on the same floor as the Danger Room on Sub-Basement Level Two. Compared with most commercial fitness clubs, the mansion boasted the most advanced, state-of-the art equipment. Along with the standard treadmills and stationary bikes, there was a series of stair climbers and elliptical machines. Free weights and stationary weight machines were also present. At every corner of the room, was a water cooler in order to rehydrate after a vigorous workout.

Dressed in a soft blue, hooded sweatshirt and a pair of matching shorts with white-and-navy Nike sneakers, Jubilee hopped on a vacant treadmill. She programmed the machine for a thirty-minute jog, choosing the random hills option. Then she slipped on the headphones to her iPod. The latest Strokes CD she downloaded the night before began to play as her lean legs made brisk strides. Her long, dark ponytail bobbed behind her head to the music and the pace of the run.

She had been so consumed in the whiskey-soaked crooning of the lead singer that she did not notice her name being called out by a familiar voice. Most might have called her focus part of being "in the zone". However, Jubilee was reluctant to make such a case. The music helped to distract from the sensation of her calves burning with increasing tension as she ran up the simulated elevations.

Suddenly, she found herself peering up at a pair of playful, gray eyes that twinkled brightly.

Her brain was not quite prepared for processing the presence of another person in the vicinity. She was left feeling very startled. The surprise forced her to jump back and cry out. As luck would have it, the treadmill was still running at full speed. The young girl lost her balance and fell over backwards, landing on her back with a resounding THUD.

"Jubes!" Bobby rushed to her side, an expression of concern etching across his boyish face. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that. Are you OK?"

Her face burned with intense embarrassment. For the umpteenth time, she wished for Kurt's ability to teleport somewhere else at that moment. She inwardly bemoaned the lack of good graces she had just demonstrated. Which deity did she anger in order to have something like this happen in front of her boyfriend? Pulling herself up to a sitting position, she wondered if her nimble and agile reflexes as a former gymnast atrophied with her old age.

"Just mortified out of my mind," she managed to joke, beginning to draw her legs toward her chest. A dull pain throbbed from her ankle when moved her right ankle. The sensation made her wince in discomfort. "Ow."

He gingerly took her ankle into his hands, inspecting it with great care. Moving it side to side, he inquired, "Does this hurt?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Jubilee replied, "Not that much. It's just kind of...tight." As he moved her foot up and down, she told him, "Same when you do that. I guess when I move initially, it hurts."

He ran his fingers over the ankle again. "Well, it doesn't feel like it's sprained or broken," he said, relieved. "But, I'd feel better if we could get you somewhere else to put some ice on it, just in case. Can you get up?"

She placed her palms firmly on the floor and tried to push herself up into a standing position with some help from her other foot. However, the momentum was not there. With a frustrated sigh, she remained fixed in her place. "Give me a minute," she said quietly.

While Bobby would have usually admired Jubilee's determination, he was quite preoccupied. Specifically, his thoughts centered on any sort of additional harm that might have resulted from her injury. He did not want to sweep in and make presumptions about what was good for her now. No, he had learned his lesson.

"I'm afraid the longer you sit without any kind of attention, the more pain you're going to experience," he told her, stroking wisps of hair from her cheeks.

She grimaced, immediately seeing his point. Already, her ankle began to throb again. Living with pain when one did not necessarily have to was a truly foolish decision. Nodding, she sucked in her breath sharply. "OK... What do you suggest?"

"Can I make a chivalrous move?"

"Really chivalrous, or is it caveman-like?"

"Depends on how you want to interpret it."

With that, Bobby scooped her slender frame into his arms. It almost astonished him as to how right her body felt against his. He felt her lithe upper limbs circle his neck. Her head rested comfortably against his shoulder. A small smile tugged at his lips upwardly, crinkling the corners of his gray eyes. Had the circumstances been different, he would have even thought of the moment as romantic in nature.

Jubilee's crystalline eyes bore into his deeply. "Well, Nurse Bobby, administer your version of TLC before someone comes down here and sees us like this," she teased.

He grinned, pressing his lips against her temple. "You don't trust my first aid training?" he inquired as he walked towards the hallway.

"I've heard stories about you and Beast playing mummies with the ace bandages and gauze," she quipped, pressing her cheek against the soft material of his Hawaiian shirt. Today, he was wearing a black one with palm leaves printed all over it.

Turning a corner, he snorted. "Who told you that? Kurt? If so, that guy was in on the action, too. You should have seen him running after Kitty. I don't think I've ever heard anyone scream like that. And that was just the blue man."

That comment elicited a laugh from the stunning girl in his arms. As they neared the women's locker room, her laughter subsided. Then she asked, "When did you get back?"

"Just now," Bobby replied, holding his girlfriend closer to his chest. "Jeannie had this optional activity, where we were supposed to pass this rain stick around the circle and discuss our goals for the coming term. So, Warren, Paige, and I split."

He then paused at the entrance of the women's locker room. Having once accidentally walked in on Rogue and Kitty, he had since learned to be cautious as to where he was going. This was thanks to being chased out of the basement by the two women. Quickly, he scanned for signs of anyone else in the area. When he was unable to locate other people, he was satisfied and sauntered inside. Finally, he lowered Jubilee onto one of the benches in front of a row of lockers.

"I'll be right back," he told her, kissing her forehead. A minute later, he returned with an orange, vinyl chair and a first-aid kit taken from the office at the front of the locker room. Seating himself in front of her, he set to work. He helped her remove her sneaker and sock. Then he created a thin layer of ice on his hand, placing it over her wounded ankle.

Jubilee gasped at the contact of the ice against her skin. Then she bit her lower lip, trying to hide her sheepish smile. "It's really cold," she told him.

"I need to keep it there for a little bit," he said, stroking her calf with his other hand. "Trust me, this is going to help with the pain. Besides, this gives me a chance to touch you. Can't really go wrong with that."

"Aha. There's the underlying motive." She had to admit, the way he was brushing his hand up and down her leg was pretty nice. It sent these incredible shivers up and down her spine. Not from the cold that was being applied to her skin, but from something else she could not quite put her finger on. All she was sure of was that any cogent thought ceased in her mind.

After a few minutes, Bobby took his icy hand from her ankle. Then he began to wrap her ankle with an ace bandage to provide some extra support when she walked. "Is this too tight?" he asked.

She shook her head, amazed at how careful he was. This was the same person who had no qualms about staging snowball fights with the younger students. "No, it's fine."

"I'd say keep wearing this for a day or two. If it gets worse, then go see Hank or Annie."

"OK."

"Jubes?"

"Yeah?"

"Again, I'm really sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn't—"

"Bobby, it's not your fault. I'm the one with poor motor coordination here. On top of that, I screamed. How childish is that?"

Bobby finished wrapping her ankle and set it down. With curious gray eyes, he studied her lovely, but self-conscious face. He detected a tone that went beyond self-effacing, which seemed to evoke ache inside him. Furtively, he searched his brain for something to reassuring to say. Seconds drifted by before he suddenly became inspired.

Leaning forward in his chair, he reached for her ankle again and set her right foot onto his knee. "I want to check something."

She gave him a quizzical look. "Is something wrong?" she inquired, wondering if he was not completely candid in his assessment. Perhaps it was worse than they initially thought.

He smiled up at her, shaking his head. "Let's see how this feels," he said, and ran his tongue up the inside of her thigh.

Jubilee kept herself from jumping away from him in surprise. Instead, she tried to process the sensation of his tongue as it traced circles on her flesh. "It's good," she managed, her breathing suddenly rapid.

He pushed the loose material of her shorts upwards to her hip. "Good, huh?" he asked, exposing more of her thigh. He gazed upon her supple flesh greedily. His hand moved along the softness languidly as he found himself addicted to the feel of her. Then he gently bit the tendon connecting the smooth muscles of her inner thigh to her groin.

She looked down involuntarily, breath catching at the sight of him between her legs, his tongue flicking out to smooth the small bite. Feelings never experienced before hit her, hard and fast, settling between her thighs. Her right leg trembled in his hand, under his mouth. "Bobby?" she finally whispered.

His gray eyes, now smoldering and intense with want, looked up. He noticed her expression, a mixture of bliss and confusion. Her cheeks were pink, which made her sapphire eyes sparkle. It was clear that she enjoyed what he had done, but was hesitant to engage in anything further at the moment. He had to draw on all his self-restraint to keep himself from making love to her right there and then.

Reluctantly, he pulled back. "I wouldn't have done that to someone I thought was still a child," he chided her huskily.

She exhaled shakily, the beginnings of a smile touching her mouth. Her trembling fingers swept through his sandy hair. Rational thought completely went out the window for her at that moment. The only thing she could concentrate on was him and how he had made her feel. "Bobby..."

"Ahem."

The couple's heads snapped up towards the entrance of the locker room to see a wide-eyed Rogue, leaning against the doorframe with a cordless phone in hand. The Southern Belle was wearing a black, aviator-inspired, flight suit with combat boots. Bold, white stripes contrasted against the darkness, which made her curves seem to melt away. Her chocolate-brown hair with white streaks framed her vibrant face. Red-violet painted lips brought out the sparkle in her emerald-green eyes. Finishing off the look was a pair of black, leather driving gloves.

Instinctively, Bobby removed Jubilee's foot from his thigh and scooted his chair away from her. While he and Rogue were friends, he was aware that she, like most of the older residents of the mansion, was quite protective of Jubilee. It was highly unlikely she would do anything to him physically. However, given the wariness that emanated from her, he could tell she was not too thrilled about stumbling in on them.

Clearing his throat, he greeted his friend. "Hey, Rogue."

"Hey, yaself," she replied, venturing inside the locker room. "Ya hurt, Sweet Pea?"

Jubilee felt her face become increasing redder. "I just fell off of the treadmill," she explained, blue eyes suddenly soaking up the tiled floor beneath them. "Bobby wanted to make sure my ankle doesn't get any worse than it already is."

He nodded emphatically in agreement. "Yeah, Jubes kind of banged up her ankle."

A frown creased Rogue's brow as she surveyed the scene. From the way the couple was acting, it seemed as if they committed some kind of horrible atrocity. Contrary to what Bobby believed, she was not overly concerned about his relationship with the girl she considered as a younger sister. She was confident of what kind of man he was, and how good he was for Jubilee. Rather, it was the possible ramifications from certain individuals she was more preoccupied with. She was thankful that she was the one who walked in on Bobby's display of affection towards his girlfriend. The idea of her friend becoming Logan's shredding dummy or Scott's living laser target did not sit entirely well with her.

She stood next to where Bobby was sitting. "Well," she began, playing with the small, black phone. "Next time, Ah'd be careful. Ya nevah know what might happen the next time." Her green eyes flashed at Bobby knowingly.

He met her gaze, instantly reading the message. His anxiety suddenly lifted and he nodded. "Got it."

The Southern Belle studied Jubilee's ankle. "Sweet Pea, why don't ya have Hank check ya ovah?" she suggested, raising her brows. "Ya know, just to make sure there ain't anythin' to worry about."

Jubilee glanced over at Bobby, who seemed to share the combination of embarrassment and relief she was feeling. His gray eyes silently urged her to take Rogue up on her advice. There was no sense to draw any additional and unneeded attention at this time. Yet, she was still reluctant to leave him. There was so much that was racing through her mind. Most of it she wanted to process with him. However, she knew that Rogue would not relent until she was fully examined by Hank.

She peered up at the other woman. "OK," she said finally.

Rogue leaned towards her, draping an arm around the young girl. "Here, let me help ya up. We're gonna take the elevator up. That's only a few feet away. Can ya make it?"

Jubilee nodded, thankful for Rogue's steady support as she reached a somewhat standing position. "Yeah, that's not too far," she said cheerfully.

Bobby hopped to his feet, darting to his girlfriend's other side. "Why don't you lean on me, too, Jubes?" He began to take her arm to place around his shoulders.

Rogue shook her head, waving her hand dismissively at him and tossing him the cordless phone. "Ah can take Sweet Pea from here, Bobby," she informed him. "Ya have a call on hold for ya. Ah think his name's Kevin. Sounded real important."

Jubilee watched Bobby eye the phone. "It's OK," she reassured him, as Rogue began to lead her out of the locker room. "I'll see you after Beast is done with me." With that, the two women disappeared from the room.

Bobby peered over his shoulder, attempting to confirm that no one was within earshot of him. He thought about his recent misfortune and decided it was best to take some additional precautions. Quickly, he dashed into the empty office in the locker room, closing the door and snapping off all of the lights. Then he hit the HOLD button on the phone.

"Hey, Kev," he said, trying his best not to sound like he was desperately whispering. He ducked into the corner of the office, situating himself between a cart of soccer balls and a box of table tennis paddles. _There, no one should know I'm in here now. _"I'm sorry about the wait. What's up?"

"Hi, Bobby. No problem. Just wanted to let you know that everything's ready."

"Wow, that's great. Can I swing by today?"

"Sure. I'm here until eight tonight."

"I'll be there before then. It's going to take me twenty minutes to get there. Is that cool?"

"Sounds good, Bobby. I'll see you then."

"Thanks, Kev."

Several hours later, Bobby found himself in his bedroom. Specifically, he remained fixed to the same spot following his excursion into town. Never had he spent so much time in front of the full-length mirror that hung on his closet door. He was not usually one to primp and preen. However, there was significance and meaning immediately associated with tonight, with what he was about to do.

The three days and two nights he was away from his Jubilee had been rather torturous for him. Spending every waking minute on mulling over that first night nearly drove him insane. It was as if reliving a period in heaven and then in hell. The relief he experienced after they reconciled lifted a heavy weight from his heart, one that he had been carrying since they parted before Christmas. The feeling of abject delight over this development consumed him. At that moment, it did not matter that he had walked in on a naked Logan who potentially could have maimed him. The only thing he was concerned with was being with the woman he was in love with. Nothing else.

But the night left him with some regrets as well. He had built up his courage to confess his feelings for her. For a split second during the entire evening, he had been so close. The words were sitting on the tip of his tongue during the entire time they were together. It was a matter of waiting for the right moment.

Bobby raked a hand through his sandy hair. Eventually, he had learned to find solace in the fact that he was allowed more time to make things right. He was cognizant of the fact that previous attempts to plan the perfect anything with Jubilee had ended in utter disaster. However, he managed to convince himself that things would be different this time. They simply had to be.

His gray eyes studied his reflection thoughtfully. After scrutinizing the man in the mirror for what seemed like eons, he memorized every detail of his expression. It was almost as if he wanted to imprint each aspect of tonight into his brain. Here he was, prepared to declare his commitment to someone for the first time. As he continued to stare at himself, he could not recall a time when he appeared so sure, so confident. For a moment, he did not recognize the Bobby Drake in the mirror.

Bolstering his resolve and strength was the knowledge that she felt the same about him. It was comparable to guaranteed and unconditional acceptance many people sought out in life. However, this was on a much intense level. This was not just about acceptance. No, his admission promised to go beyond that.

I love you.

Bobby sauntered away from the mirror, taking deep breaths. Then he ambled towards his window. The Summers' white, clapboard house stood, as always did, directly across from the mansion and in plain sight. Light radiated from Jubilee's bedroom window. He could see a faint shadow, flitting about from behind the curtains. Unconsciously, he could feel his mouth form the beginnings of a smile at the thought of her. Already he could smell that wonderfully sweet scent of bubblegum and cinnamon that seemed to emanate from her skin and hair, lose himself in those old-soul blue eyes that knew him completely, and kiss that inviting mouth.

It was then that he realized that he had done enough waiting.

Jubilee was sitting on her canopy bed, her ankle propped on two pillows. After receiving a preliminary finding that she mildly sprained her ankle, she was informed by the friendly Dr. McCoy that she would be fine after 3 or 4 days. However, Scott, upon finding out about her condition, decided to be more conservative in his assessment. As a result, he insisted that she stay off of her wounded ankle for a week. Both he and Jean informed her that they would be helping her around the house, including bringing meals to her room.

Initially, the young girl could not believe her luck. Having her every whim catered to? Being the center of attention without pulling any kind of stunt? The prospect almost left her giddy with the possibilities.

_Let the exploitation begin, _she had thought merrily.

Unfortunately, the euphoria soon faded after finding out that multiple issues of the latest fashion magazines, cable television programming, and MADLIBS alone could not entertain her for very long. There was also the fact that Jean's caretaker routine slightly bordered on smothering. The redhead would poke her head in, asking Jubilee if she needed anything almost every five minutes. She changed the ice pack on the young girl's ankle rather obsessively. Scott finally intervened, assuring his wife that what Jubilee really needed at this time was rest. Jubilee mouthed her appreciation to him, to which he smiled knowingly.

Sighing, Jubilee pushed up the sleeves of her long-sleeved, teal T-shirt, which she wore over a pair of white boxer shorts. She thought about calling Bobby to ask him to come for a visit. However, she stopped herself when she overheard Scott mentioning that no one had seen or heard from Bobby since he left for town. That had been roughly an hour and a half ago.

Closing her eyes, she could feel herself drift back into her memories of what transpired that afternoon. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever think that she could feel that way. Even hours later, she continued to be at a loss as to how she would characterize the feelings elicited. Her heart began to race as she pictured Bobby in the locker room with her. The sensation of his mouth on her thigh made her skin tingle. She could still feel his teeth nip at her skin, which was then replaced with his tongue.

Then there was the way Bobby had gazed at her. His eyes had been so intense as they stared up at her. She had not seen that look in his eyes since that night in his bedroom. Unlike that evening, she was not afraid. Rather, she seemed intrigued and self-conscious at the same time. It was as if she could not quite come to grips with the idea that she was responsible for that.

_But he did want me, _she mused, rolling over on her side with sparkling, cerulean eyes. _Bobby wanted me, clumsiness and all. He didn't mind the fact that I acted like a complete idiot in the gym. Hell, he didn't even laugh when I practically landed on my butt. He must really..._

_Love me? _  
  
Chewing pensively on her lower lip, she considered the inference she had just made. It was not totally out of the realm of possibility. She could cite the available evidence as she done many times in her head. While considerations surrounding how Bobby felt had been tentative in the past, she was suddenly filled with confidence that she was not alone in her sentiment.

An insistent rapping against the windowpane interrupted her processing. Instantly recognizing the knock, she smiled in anticipation and slid off of the bed. With great care, she hobbled towards the sound and pulled the gauze-like, cream-colored curtains aside. Then she opened the window.

"Hey," she greeted, watching him shed his ice form before he climbed inside. "Where have you been? I heard you've been MIA for a little bit."

Bobby nodded back in response. He appeared preoccupied as he pressed his lips together. "I had some things to take care of in town."

Her sable brows furrowed slightly. I _That wasn't really vague or anything..._ /I

"I wanted to give you your present," he told her, watching her close the window. "First of all, I feel really lousy for not being able to give it to you sooner."

She shook her head as she turned to him, silky hair rippling down her graceful shoulders. "Don't worry about it," she admonished him lightly. Smiling up at him, she circled her slender arms around his neck. "If I wanted to sound sappy and obnoxious, I could say that you being here is enough of a present."

He rolled his eyes at her, snorting. "Don't patronize me." Then he kissed her forehead affectionately, remembering the belated Christmas gift she had left in his room while he was gone. "Thanks by the way for the Police box set. How did you know?"

"Warren told Paige you sing 'Roxanne' in the showers after you guys come back from missions," Jubilee replied, grinning broadly. "He also says that Sting has nothing to worry about."

Bobby smirked. "He's just jealous that he can't hit the high notes like I can. Do you want a demonstration?"

"No. Um, you're proud of that?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to."

Bobby's attention went to her ankle, which was still wrapped in the ace bandage. "How are you doing?" he asked, concerned.

Jubilee shrugged her shoulders. "I think I'll be fine. I mean it doesn't hurt as much as it did before, but people around here tend to worry and overreact too much. It seems to slip their minds that I've been much worse off." A transient shadow crossed her delicate features when she said her last sentence.

He tilted his head empathically. It sometimes amazed him as to how much she had been through during her young lifetime. If only he could take her into his arms and force those experiences to forever disappear from her consciousness. Much to his dismay, he did not have such abilities. However, he knew could help her make new, less painful memories, starting tonight.

He eyed her bandaged ankle. "Well, maybe you shouldn't be up right now," he said quietly. Then he peered into those hypnotic, sapphire depths. "Can I be chivalrous again?"  
  
Without any hesitation, she smiled and said, "Yes."

Bobby gathered her lithe frame into his arms. As he carried her to the bed, he could not help but notice how especially beautiful she was. Her long, thick hair streamed down her back, falling in a cascade of black with midnight-blue streaks. Crystalline eyes gazed up at him, sparkling with that quality that was uniquely hers. Delicate facial features were fixed into a soft, tender expression that was reserved just for him.

Gently, he lowered her onto the bed. He then settled down next to her, his boyish face now grave. Before he said anything, he leaned over and kissed her on the mouth, lingering for several moments. Drawing back from her, he reached into one of the pockets of his chinos. "I was in town to get your present ready," he began, removing a small box covered in black velvet. "I wanted to make sure it was perfect before I gave it to you."

He opened the box. Inside was a slender, 14-karat gold band. What made the ring unique was the fact that it appeared to form two hands in the middle, holding a heart. Over the heart were three points, which made it resemble a crown. Jubilee had seen nothing like it before.

"This was my grandmother's," Bobby explained, following her gaze to the piece of jewelry his father had passed on to him that morning in the attic. He pointed to the center of the ring. "It's actually called a Claddaugh ring. See, in Irish tradition, people gave these to one another to symbolize their commitment to one another. Do you know the message behind the ring?"

Wordlessly, she shook her head. Bobby and his words captivated her. It was as if nothing else in the world mattered at that moment. With her attention rapt, she patted his hand for him to press on.

Staring into her lovely face, he took a deep breath. He could feel his courage increase ten-fold with each second that passed. There was no fear of being laughed at, chided, or mocked. This time, things were different. There was Jubilee sitting across for him, ready and willing to listen to what he was about to say. Most importantly, he knew she shared his feelings.

He ran his fingertip along the top of the ring. "Basically," he said quietly, "it means that with these two hands, I give you my heart and crown it with my love."

Her sapphire eyes widened, peering into his earnest face. She was not sure if she heard him correctly. Could it be true? Did he really mean what he was indirectly saying at that moment? For her sanity, she had to know for sure. She needed to know that this was no dream or a situation that would be interpreted as meaning something else.

"What are you saying?" she asked hoarsely. Her throat unexpectedly felt constricted. The increasingly racing beat of her heart thudded loudly in her ears. Suddenly, her stomach fluttered wildly inside as her hands began to tremble.

He took her right hand and slipped the band around her ring finger, not answering her at first. The corners of gray eyes crinkled as he smiled. It was perfect how the piece fit, just as he had hoped. He had to give Kevin at the jewelry store a great deal of credit. The man knew his ring sizes.

Bobby squeezed her hand tightly before dropping it softly on her lap. "I love you," he told her, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. Hearing himself make the declaration to her at that moment sounded so right. He almost wanted to kick himself for not saying it sooner. "I love you, Jubes."

She smiled at him, tears streaming down her beautiful face. It was incredible that three words could have such a powerful effect. She had thought about what this moment would be like. But nothing she played out in her imagination compared to what was actually happening. This was ten times better. Feelings of ecstasy and elation quickly flooded her.

As she looked at his sweet face, she realized she had not made her own admission. She took a shaky breath as she proceeded to communicate what she had been holding in for so long. "I love you more," she whispered.

He shook his head and brushed away the wetness from her cheeks with his thumbs. "Not possible," he murmured, leaning over and kissing her deeply.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight Things Get in the W...

Here's the latest chapter. I wanted to lighten things up a bit. I did almost break them up, after all...

Thanks for the feedback via the review page or individual emails. I really like hearing from all of you. Please keep it coming!

While the characters belong to Marvel, the characters are mine. Enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Things Get in the Way**

Winter continued its seasonal dance with Westchester several weeks later. Barren branches, which were warped and black from the bitterly cold air, swayed in the unrelenting wind. The white of fresh snow became a familiar sight recently. It was almost as if people had forgotten what was beneath the ice, what grass looked like, or what it felt like underneath their feet.

Despite the chill that seemed to dominate these days, there was also an opposing feeling that counteracted the weather outside. The sentiment associated with this force lifted some people's spirits. It made them smile, act giddy. The fragrance of fresh roses and chocolates mingled, creating sweetness that added to the ambiance. Songs expressing romantic inclinations played on the radio in a never-ending loop. There was only one explanation for these recent phenomena.

Valentine's Day.

It was the holiday associated with red, paper hearts. It was the holiday that breathed new life into businesses that marketed themselves around the event, like florists, restaurants, and jewelers. It was the holiday associated that gave people an excuse to indulge themselves in passionate behavior. It was the holiday that represented togetherness, being a part of something bigger and more complete.

It was a holiday Bobby Drake had, at one point in his life, come to loathe.

But not anymore.

As he made his way to one of the recreation room, the boyishly handsome man with the playful, gray eyes wore a grin that stretched from ear to ear. The feelings of bitterness and the mindset of perpetual loneliness that plagued him last year were a distant memory. Even the way he had spent the previous Valentine's Day—watching movies with Jubilee and her "date", Carter—had faded from consciousness. All his thoughts centered on the fact that he now had someone, whom he really cared about, and who made this usually dreaded event something to look forward to.

While he had dated Jubilee for almost ten months, Bobby still found it wrap his mind around this piece of happiness he had. Given that most of his previous relationships had not lasted as long, he was reeling from the fact that things continued to go well. He and Jubilee had had their first fight. Unlike past altercations with other women he dated, the disagreement did not allude to the beginning of the end; nor did it suggest that Bobby was destined to spend an indefinite amount of time in the proverbial doghouse. Instead, the reconciliation that took place involved both of them admitting their missteps in the matter. Not only did it lessen Bobby's guilt about his perceived responsibility, but it also served to bring the two of them to an understanding regarding the issues behind the argument.

The couple's shared confessions of their feelings for one another was an aspect that continued to elevate Bobby's mood. It was one thing to know about it from someone else was one thing, but hearing Jubilee herself say she loved him was especially sweet. Her whispery voice was still fresh in his mind. To know that she meant every word of it made the moment even more poignant.

His own admission was very meaningful to him as well. Before Jubilee, love did not enter into the picture during his previous relationships. Sure, he was crazy about these girlfriends, but the conditions needed to facilitate such a bond were not there. In short, it was an idea he strove towards when he was with them, but never attained. Now that he had it with someone he truly cared for, Bobby finally understood why these romances did not work out. For the first time, he was able to transcend beyond his guilt, hurt feelings, and insecurities to realize that there was a reason why things had not worked out. Most importantly, he was fine with all of that.

Since that night, the two of them had grown even closer. Whether it was the exchange of "I love yous" or the ring on Jubilee's finger, there was a shift in the dynamics between Bobby and Jubilee. There was a new, stronger sense of commitment to the relationship. Trust and faith had been strengthened. No longer was there any fear or doubt about the other person's emotions or intentions. This left the couple free to communicate more openly, much more so than before.

It was not long before others around the mansion started noticing Jubilee's hand and the piece of jewelry that adorned her finger. Many of the women, including Jean and Rogue, stopped to admire the Claddaugh ring, complimenting Bobby's romantic gesture. Paige looked at her friend's hand and wistfully sighed her wish for Warren to follow suit. Upon noticing the ring, Tabitha tore it off of Jubilee's finger and tried it on. Then she waved her hand in front of Kurt's face, commenting as to how she would love to receive something like this. Flustered underneath his blue exterior, Kurt immediately teleported away.

As for reactions from the males, there were variations. Hank, tired from pulling an eight-hour shift in the med-lab, initially mistook the band as an engagement ring. He congratulated his best friend and Jubilee. Then he questioned them with great concern as to how soon it was to be thinking of marriage. Gambit nonchalantly gave the ring an once-over before pulling Bobby aside to inform him that he knew people who knew people who could get him a deal on a nice diamond solitaire. When Scott saw Jubilee's hand, he wore a grimace. Clearly, he was struggling to contain his wariness for the young girl's sake. At the same time, there was no denying that he was not all that pleased. To his credit, he only commented that it looked beautiful on Jubilee. Meanwhile, Logan gruffly told Jubilee the ring was a nice fit on her small hand. Then he nodded at Bobby briefly, indirectly relaying what could be construed as approval.

Strolling into one of the rec rooms, Bobby decided that life was very good. Not only was he in love with an incredible girl who returned his feelings, but also he had made plans to make their first Valentine's Day as a couple unforgettable. His gray eyes scanned the area for the two individuals whom he considered his closest confidants. He pushed past a group of students who were crowded around the venerable, British dartboard Jono had brought back from his trip to London. Then he passed by Roberto, Amara, Kurt, and Sam, where they were engaged in a serious game of pool. As he nodded his greeting at a group of identical blond girls with glassy eyes and vacant-looking expressions, he soon found just the people he was searching for. His pace quickened as he made his way over to them.

Warren pushed a lock of gold hair from his blue eyes. The tall, blond stood over the room's foosball table, which was complete with solid chromed-steel poles and sturdy legs. A fierce competitor, Warren made it clear from his stance and facial expression that he was taking this game seriously. Rubbing his hands together, he smugly remarked to Hank, who standing on the other side of the table, "Your butt's mine, McCoy."

Hank peered down at the turned-wood handles, gripping them firmly. While he was less aggressive when it came to such things, he was aware that Warren did not own the market in trash talking. "Your fly's down, Worthington," he shot back, without looking up at his friend's face.

"What?" Warren peered down, checking the zipper to his slacks. When he discovered his friend was merely joking, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Real mature, Hank. I think Bobby's rubbing off on you more and more every day."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Bobby remarked, pushing up the sleeves to his green, half-zip sweater, which was worn over a pair of soft chinos. He stood on one side of the table, but between his two friends.

Hank grinned at his friend in greeting, sharp teeth shining underneath the lighting from the ceiling fixtures. "Good to see you, Bobby." His blue eyes studied the younger man's boyish features closely. "You seem to be in high spirits today."

Warren followed the hulking man's gaze, adjusting the collar to his black polo shirt. "Yes, you do," he agreed thoughtfully, noting a sparkle in Bobby's gray eyes he had not seen in quite some time. Not that his friend was a perpetually depressed person. After all, this was Bobby Drake, the cheery prankster, who was quick with a line guaranteed make you either laugh or groan with disbelief. Yet, there was always something that indicated the young man held himself from being completely open. "What gives?"

Bobby flashed him a mysterious smile. "Does there have to be a specific reason? The sun is shining, the kids are being reasonably behaved..." He nodded his head in the direction of a group of students from the Hellion squad, who were watching an exhibition soccer match on the big-screen television. Then he added in a conspiratorial whisper, "Oh, I've made some special plans for me and Jubes."

Hank raised his thick brows, intrigued. "Really?"

"When you say special," Warren began, leaning against the foosball table, "you're not talking Chuckie Cheese's, are you?"

Bobby snorted. "Give me some credit." After a brief pause, he muttered, "Hank and I aren't allowed back in there after that run-in with Chuckie."

Warren smirked, suppressing the urge to laugh outright. "Why? What happened?" he inquired.

"Let's just say we were trying to right the injustice of us being cheated out of tokens," Hank replied in a voice that implied the subject should be dropped. He still had a hard time getting the image of Bobby going toe-to-toe with the mascot out of his head. Taking a deep breath, he turned to his young friend and said, "So, what are these big plans that have got you so excited?"

Bobby gave him a grateful look before speaking. "I just booked a weekend getaway for us at Lake Placid Lodge," he announced proudly. "Pretty impressive Valentine's Day, huh?"

Hank was impressed. Located in the Adirondacks, the lodge was a welcome retreat for those looking for a serene getaway. Each of the seventeen guestrooms and seventeen cabins were named for the region's high peaks and lakes. Filled with rustic twig and birch bark furniture, richly hued and textured fabrics, Adirondack antiques, oriental carpets, and artwork created by local artisans, it was just as much of a treat to remain indoors. Given all of this, the waiting list for reservations was lengthy. Jean had to beg and plead with the manager on the phone in order to book a room for her and Scott on the weekend of their anniversary. For Bobby to make arrangements as he did so last minute was a feat indeed.

"Wow," Hank finally said, smiling broadly and patting Bobby's shoulder. "How did you ever do it?"

"I did the lodge's tax paperwork one year," Bobby answered, referring to the period when he was a practicing accountant. "The manager remembered me and let me cash in a favor."

Bobby had been so consumed by his pride over securing reservations and thoughts of sitting out on the porch of his room with Jubilee, staring out at the silver water and silent mountains that he did not notice the troubled expression on Warren's face. The other man rubbed his hand over his mouth, blue eyes doleful. Then he shook his head reluctantly.

Finally, Warren sighed wearily. "You booked it for Valentine's Day?" he asked. "Valentine's Day as in tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Bobby exchanged a quizzical look with Hank. "I mean that's what I just told you...Why?"

_Why do I have to do this? Why do I have to look like a jerk with the bad news? _Warren asked himself, raking a tanned hand through his golden hair. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "but you can't go."

"What?" Bobby instantly felt the wind taken out of his sails. For a moment, he thought his friend was pulling some kind of joke. When it became increasingly evident that he was not, a surge of panic coursed through his veins. "Why not? What are you talking about?"

Hank peered over at Warren, watching the blond Adonis shift uncomfortably. After several seconds, he immediately remembered what his friend was referring to. He also knew what he was about to inform their young friend. "Oh dear," he muttered, finding himself averting Bobby's stare as well.

Bobby became impatient as he noticed his closest friends being more and more evasive with him. "Will one of you tell me what the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Warren racked his brain, desperately searching for some diplomatic, gentle way to break the news. Usual one to operate well under pressure, he was surprised to find himself drawing blanks in this situation. Inwardly, he cursed at himself. Eons seemed to pass before he gave Bobby a sympathetic glance and began to speak again.

"Listen," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. There was a sharp, stinging sensation that started to build up as he talked. It was not very painful, but annoying nonetheless. He could have read more into the feeling, but decided against it. "Scott put out the on-call list for this week. While we're looking at a lighter load at the mansion because most of the students are going to some dance at the community center in town, he's still insisting that someone be here."

Bobby groaned. "And that someone's me, right?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I was here for Valentine's Day last year."

"But you weren't on call," Hank pointed out, shrinking back when he received a stony glare from his young friend. He forced a jovial smile on his lips and said, "Well, you can look at the bright side. You'll be looking after only ten students. That's pretty manageable."

"That's supposed to console me?" Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. Suddenly, his face brightened as he became inspired. "Guys... How would you like to be responsible for making your pal here eternally grateful for your friendship?"

Warren's ears picked up on the tone. Hearing it before, he knew where his friend was going. He pressed his lips together in a firm line, feeling immensely guilty over the response he was about to give. "I'm flying out to Geneva to meet up with some shareholders tomorrow," he informed Bobby, genuinely apologetic. "Otherwise, I would do switch with you in a heartbeat."

Bobby peered over at Hank, who was shaking his head with a great deal of remorse. "I'm chaperoning the dance in town with Emma and Alex," the hulking man explained as he nervously picked a piece of fuzz from his black, V-neck sweater. "If I was not, then I would have no hesitation in helping you out."

"Well, do you know anyone who'd be willing to trade? I'm dying here, guys." Bobby's gray eyes were pleading as his brain raced to discover a solution. "What about Kurt?"

"He was on-call last year and the year before," Warren pointed out, still rubbing his neck. "Scott's not allowing him to sub in anymore in order to be fair."

"Fair?" Bobby was incredulous. He was tempted to engage in soliloquy as to how Scott Summers' version fair bit as much as a rabid monkey. Drawing on self-restraint that had been deeply embedded somewhere, he held his tongue. Then he sighed, trying to come up with other candidates. "What about Rogue?"

"She, Gambit, Bishop, and Sage left this morning with Storm and Logan to check out some mutant activities in Germany."

"I assume Scott and Jean are going to be away, too?"

"You are correct, sir."

"Fine. Kitty?"

"She's still irked with you over that inflatable sheep you gave her for Christmas. What did you mean by doing that, by the way?"

"Nothing. Um, I guess I could talk to Dani and those guys..." Bobby was rather hesitant about this option since he did not know them all that well. He had not seen much of Dani and her former classmates since they moved on to be instructors at the school. While the teaching staff was not all that big, there seemed to be a degree of separation between the instructors.

Warren shook his blond head again. "No can do. Apparently, she and her friends are going out that night." He had heard this piece of information from Paige, who informed him that she would be joining this group's celebration while he was away.

Hank nodded. "Hell hath no fury like a woman forced to give up her plans," he mused.

"Sorry, Bobby." Warren patted his friend's arm in an attempt to comfort and ease his disappointment. Then he and Hank exchanged rather helpless looks, both realizing that there was little either one could do at this point in time.

Deflated and defeated, Bobby's shoulders sank. He was slowly coming to grips with reality, as he now knew it. There would be no weekend getaway to the mountains. The anticipation of spending time with his girlfriend alone faded. The romantic ideals he initially envisioned for their time together disappeared. Thoughts of enjoying a picturesque view from their room, sharing cozy meals together, and their bodies snuggling in front of a stone fireplace soon faded from his mind.

Yet, for all these things he was certain were not going to happen, there was one thing he was confident in knowing.

He hated Valentine's Day.

"Remind me to order something warm the next time we go out and not a salad," Paige said, closing the mansion's front door behind her. The two friends had just returned from outing into town for lunch at one of the small cafes. In spite of the limited amount of time they spent outdoors, the younger Guthrie could still feel the chilly air reverberate in her bones.

Jubilee pulled down the hood of her yellow, puffer jacket. Her sapphire eyes sparkled as she shrugged her shoulders. "Hey, you were the one more concerned about calories," she replied breezily, feeling quite content with her meal of corn chowder. Unlike her friend and former roommate, she did not seem all that concerned about the latest diet fads.

"I don't know why I bother," Paige sighed. Her red, mittened hand attempted to smooth down her straw-colored hair, which had been rumpled by the late afternoon breeze outside. Unbeknownst to her, there were several cowlicks she could not quite account for. "It's not like anyone's going to pay attention to what I look like, you know."

Jubilee leaned against the banister of the staircase and unbuttoned her jacket. "What do you mean?" she inquired, perplexed. It had been quite some time since they had discussed how Paige's relationship with Warren. With the exception of the passing comment about Jubilee's ring, the younger girl believed everything was fine.

Paige peered around, surprised to notice how still the main floor was. She assumed some of the students had gone into town with a few of the instructors to shop for the Valentine's Day dance the following evening. Satisfied that no one was within earshot, she said, "Warren's going away on business tomorrow morning. So much for a romantic Valentine's Day."

"I'm sorry." Jubilee gave her despondent friend a sympathetic smile. Used to being the shoulder to cry on, she had grown accustomed to Paige's stormy relationships. It always pained her to observe her friend in such turmoil. While she was loyal to her friend, she wondered lately if her friend was not repeating some kind of pattern when it came to her personal life.

Paige shook her head, unbuttoning her red peacoat. "It's not your fault," she told Jubilee, smiling bitterly. Then she quickly brightened. "Well, at least I won't be alone."

Feeling apprehensive and curious, Jubilee raised her sable brows. Her mind raced with possibilities as to what that statement meant exactly. "Um, OK... You've made plans with someone else?"

"You could say that." Paige rolled her eyes when she saw the concerned expression on the young girl's face. "Oh come on, Jubes. It's not what you think. I'm getting together with The Lonely Hearts' Club."

"Is that a band?" Jubilee found herself growing even more confused by the second.

Paige laughed, pulling off her mittens. "No," she answered, "it's this thing Kitty and Dani made up. Apparently, it's a yearly thing with all the single people."

"You're not single."

"I am for Valentine's Day."

"OK, fine. Who else is in the club?"

"Beside me, Kitty, and Dani, there's Amara, Kurt, Rahne, Xi'an, and my brother..."

"So, what does this club do?"

"We're going to hang out at this bar and drink Heineken. I guess we'll also talk about how being alone sucks. Maybe we'll get Kurt to do some karaoke. He does a really cool rendition of 'Freebird'."

"Sounds like fun, although I can't really see him in doing that. Are you sure you're talking about Kurt? I mean this is the guy who was totally mortified when Rogue entered him into the annual talent show with her."

"You've never seen him drunk, Jubes."

"Point taken."

Paige pushed her hair from her eyes. Over the last year, she had been trying to grow out her bangs. Unfortunately, they were currently in that in-between stage—too long to wear against her forehead, but too short to tuck behind her ears. After giving up on them, she asked, "So, what are your plans? Are you and Bobby going on some romantic dinner? I bet he's doing something special."

This elicited a dreamy smile from Jubilee. Her cheeks were flushed pink, contrasting against the blue in her lovely eyes. The source of her bright coloring could be attributed to the cold from outside. Yet, she knew this was not entirely true.

To be perfectly honest, she did not know what their plans were. Bobby had been rather mysterious as to what he had up his sleeve. No wide-eyed, pleading stares could etch away at his resolve. In the end, she resigned herself to settle in for whatever adventure her boyfriend had in store. It would be guaranteed to be amazing.

As she mulled over what might lie ahead, she soon realized that this marked another first with Bobby. This time last year, she was spending another Valentine's Day on the sidelines, watching other people go off on their romantic dalliances. Not that she was completely bitter about the state of affairs at the point, but she was not convinced that she would ever have the opportunity to experience what they did. Some might say she had become complacent about being perceived as the eternal child, permanently fixed in that stage.

Being with Bobby now, she would be able to see what all the fuss was about. She would be able to understand what made the women she knew coo and sigh over whatever plans their significant others had. At the same time, she knew no bauble, fancy dinner, or other gesture could match what he had done already. He had declared his commitment to her, through his earnest words and through the ring he had given her.

_"I love you... I love you, Jubes." _

Her sapphire gaze flicked to the band around her finger. In her young life, she had come to terms with losses and ordeals that made her question her faith in almost everything. People seemed to be fleeting when it came to their presence in her life. First, there were her parents, and then there were her friends. Even with her beloved Wolverine, she often braced herself for what became regular sabbaticals for the troubled loner. Depending on herself had come to be a fact of life. To rely on someone else had been perceived as something dangerous, taboo.

But now things were different. It was truly an incredible thing, knowing that someone loved and cared about you even knowing your flaws and fears. To be certain that this person would be there for you no matter the circumstances instilled a sense of comfort. Possibly the best part was that she did not feel ambivalent to the point she needed to question or test him. For her, it was safe to trust in Bobby. Period.

At first, she tried to figure out as to why this was the case. It was not only the fact that he always brought her napkins for her when they got popcorn at the movies so that she did not have to wipe her hands on her jeans. It was not only the fact that he made sure to order extra cheese fries so she could nibble once she finished hers. It was not only the fact that he had given her his grandmother's ring as a symbol of his love. It was not only the fact that he was willing to wait for her despite the want and yearning that was reflected in his eyes.

In the end, there was no single piece of evidence that was especially telling. She simply knew this piece of happiness she had with Bobby was right. That was good enough for her.

Paige watched as her friend turned her head in the direction of the staircase. The Kentucky native smiled as she observed a twinkling of excitement in the younger girl's eyes. "Go," she said, nudging Jubilee gently in the shoulder. "I bet he's already up there, waiting."

Jubilee's smooth forehead creased slightly. The other girl's grin was wavering at best, nearly revealing the dejectedness in her overall presentation. Much to her own dismay, Jubilee had seen her friend in a similar state. However, this time had a different connotation, which she could not put her finger on. Given this, she was hesitant to leave Paige.

"No," she replied, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "I'd rather hang with you, Hayseed. Besides, Bobby's probably sick of seeing me this week." She hoped the latter part was not true. Quickly, she admonished herself. Of course, that was not true.

"Don't be stupid," Paige retorted, waving her hand dismissively. "I don't need you to baby sit me."

Jubilee opened her mouth to protest. "I'm not trying to—"

The younger Guthrie did not want to hear anymore of it. Shoving the other girl towards the first few steps, she whispered, "One of us deserves to be happy this Valentine's. You go up there right now, Jubes, or so help me..."

Bobby was sitting on his bed, propped by several pillows against the headboard. His boyish face was marred by a scowl as he read over the memorandum Scott had left in his mailbox.  _Even when he writes, he sounds uptight, _Bobby mused, rolling his eyes. He wondered if Scott had intentionally designated him as chaperone for the weekend. Part of Bobby would not put it past the other man to make such an indirect, but manipulative maneuver. Briefly, he contemplated confronting Scott about his suspicions, but restrained himself. With a muffled groan, he tossed the piece of paper, outlining the house rules to be followed and emergency numbers, on the floor beside him.

There was a myriad of emotions that flooded every fiber of his being when reality began to sink in. Anger and resentment topped the list as he phoned the lodge manager to cancel. Never had he seen his knuckles turn so white as he clenched his fists during his conversation. It took a great deal of self-control not to scream through his teeth when the man on the other line stated that he (Bobby) would be missing out on an incredible weekend getaway.

These feelings were soon replaced by ones of disappointment. Yet again, he failed. All of his well-placed intentions and careful planning fell by the wayside. He had wanted to do something special for Jubilee. After all, it was their first Valentine's Day together as a couple. The weekend he had arranged was going to demonstrate how much he loved her. He was going to show her how special she was because that was she had come to mean to him.

Instead, he was going to play babysitter to a group of adolescents and children.

A soft rapping at the door interrupted his brooding. Instantly, he recognized the knock. While he was pleased, he could not help but feel somewhat guilty at the same time. Jumping off of his bed, he strode towards the door and yanked it open.

Jubilee grinned up at him, beautiful face radiant. "Hey," she greeted, wearing a green, V-neck sweater of a pair of faded jeans that rode low on her slim hips. Her puffer jacket was tucked under her arm as she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. "Can I come in?"

Bobby smiled. "What do you think?" he asked, kissing her forehead and opening the door wider to allow her inside. He closed the door behind her quietly.

She placed her coat and bag on one of his black, beanbag chairs, as she always did when she came over. "So," she began, staring around the bedroom, which seemed unusually neat that day. "Scott and Jean have already gone to that bed and breakfast. They won't be back until Sunday night. I guess this means that while the Summerses are away, Jubes can play."

He chuckled, amused with her cute rhyme. He stretched out on his king-sized bed. "Did you just make that up?" he asked.

"It's a talent," she replied wryly, making her way to him. She settled next to him, lying on her side and propping herself on her elbow. "Seriously, I'm yours from tonight until then. Anything you want to do..."

He pressed his lips together. It was clear where she was going. For the past week and a half, she had been begging him to disclose their activities for Valentine's Day. With delight, he kept her waiting but found her eagerness so endearing and infectious. As he stared into those hypnotic, sapphire depths, he was immediately reminded of how he was letting her down. "I wish that were really so," he muttered under his breath.

Jubilee frowned. "What does that mean?" she inquired.

Bobby shook his head, grimacing. "I'm afraid we're not going to spend Valentine's Day together," he explained. "I'm on-call this weekend."

"Oh." She tried not to sound crestfallen, but the inflection in her voice betrayed her. The young girl had been looking forward to this weekend to being alone with him. During the past week, there was such a build-up of anticipation from what was in store for them. Yet, as she peered over at her boyfriend, she could see he was more upset about the prospect than she was. Then she placed her hand on his arm comfortingly. "I'm sorry."

Raking a hand through his sandy hair, he sighed wearily. "No, I _I'm _/I sorry," he corrected quietly. "Jubes, I had this great weekend planned for us."

"Really?" She was intrigued, her curious piqued. "Like what?"

He looked at her lovely face quizzically. "Why?"

She shrugged her slim shoulders. "I'd like to know what you had in mind for us, even if we're not going."

"I don't know... I would find it kind of depressing."

"Well, that's where we differ. Now, spill, Drake."

"Fine. I had reservations at the Lake Placid Lodge for this weekend. It's up in the Adirondacks."

"Sounds great."

"It was going to be."

"So, what were we going to do?"

"The place had an incredible restaurant, so we'd gorge ourselves there. The rest of the time I guess we'd watch the stars, sit by the fireplace in our room, and ice-skate..."

Bobby did not want to look directly at her. He knew she was listening to him empathically, her hand rubbing his arm gently. For some reason, her being so understanding seemed to make him feel much worse. It only served to reflect his failure. As he thought more about why he was reacting this way, he traced it back to his past relationships with other women. He was used to being berated by the likes of Opal. In the absence of this, there was a strange voice inside his head that took on this function. Apparently, this was something he had grown used to in spite of how functional and comfortable things were with Jubilee.

Sensing his inner turmoil, she pulled herself into his lap. Her crystalline eyes mirrored the concern she felt for him. "It sounded nice," she said softly. Then she added, "That wouldn't have made the weekend."

His brows knitted together in confusion. "What does that mean? The place was perfect." He tried not to sound defensive as he responded to her remark.

"I'm sure it was," she assured him, staring into his troubled gray eyes. "But a nice room in a fancy lodge wouldn't have made things special for Valentine's Day. Or a dinner at a four-star restaurant, for that matter."

He continued to be befuddled by her vagueness. "I'm not following you, Jubes. What do you want?"

"Why are all the pretty ones so dumb?" she pretended to sigh, rolling her eyes. The corners of her small mouth lifted in a smile. "If it hasn't been so utterly obvious over the last nine and a half months we've been dating, then you're really dense. I want you. I don't care where we are or what we're doing. As long as we're together, nothing else matters."

"Really?" He could feel his guilt begin to dissipate with her words. His shoulders suddenly felt lighter. It was as if she were lifting an imaginary burden through her reassurances. While he should have not been surprised, it was still something he was adjusting to.

"Really," she replied earnestly, pleased to see him relax slightly. "Besides, it won't be so bad sticking around here for the weekend."

This time, Bobby rolled his eyes. "Speak for yourself," he commented flatly. "You're not going to be stuck, looking after a bunch of kids. Trust me, I'm going to get Scott back for this one. Big time."

"I could help," Jubilee volunteered, fascinated by the possibility. "Some of those kids are around my age. Maybe I could relate to them better than stuffy, old Mr. Drake." She giggled.

He grimaced. "Great, that's all I need. My girlfriend cavorting with the students I have to look after. I can picture all of you, plotting some practical joke."

"Now, that's an idea!" Her laughter increased, which soon ceased when she saw the flash of annoyance across his boyish face. Still smiling, she lowered her thick, black lashes. "You're not going to be looking after the kids for all hours of the night. I'm sure you'll be relieved at some point. Besides, I think there are things we can do here in between you confiscating firecrackers and the like. Do you have any thoughts?"

He instinctively deciphered the sparkle in her brilliant eyes and grinned. "I have something in mind," he said huskily, staring at her beautiful face. "Can I try?"

Captivated by the warmth that radiated from his gaze, she nodded silently. Her smile became less broad, less self-assured. She could feel her heart thumping wildly inside her chest with anticipation, not nerves.

His fingers was soon tangled in her raven locks, pulling her face towards his. With closed eyes, she sought his lips. He drew her lithe body into a straddling position over him. They continued kissing, their mouths teasing one another's gently. Then Bobby's tongue pressed against her lips and parted them. He tasted her sweetness and tracing the outline of her perfect white teeth.

Jubilee shuddered against him from the intensity of his embrace. The act sent a tingle that radiated through her entire body. She felt one of his arms slide behind her back, holding her close against him as he kissed her. He then lowered her to a supine position on the bed so that he was on top of her.

Gasping, she drew back for a moment. Recollections of that night in his bedroom flooded her brain. A great deal of what they were doing was familiar. However, the fear and insecurity she experienced then were replaced by other emotions. Staring up at his face, she felt overwhelmed. There was such longing, such genuine love in that gaze that met hers. It was enough to make her tremble in his arms.

"Are you OK?" Bobby asked thickly, resting his forehead against hers. As much as he wanted to take things further, he did not want to scare her again. He was vigilant when it came to ensuring that he was not pressuring her to bend in any way.

She nodded and cut him off with a kiss before he could make any other inquiries. This time, things were different. This time, she not frightened.

Her fingers swept through his sandy hair and over his ears as she continued to kiss him. As taken as Jubilee was with his mouth, she needed to feel more of him. Feeling increasingly brave, she slid her fingers over his chest. She smiled as he took her wrist and guided her hand underneath his sweater and T-shirt. Her nails grazed lightly over his taut abdomen. Gently, she traced every muscle with her fingertips, relishing the firmness that met her touch.

Bobby groaned against her mouth in response. Watching her intently, he lifted up his arms as she pulled his sweater completely off. Her sapphire eyes were wide and her lips were bruised from their kissing. The young girl's creamy skin was now flushed pink. Dark hair spilled behind her head like a halo, making her resemble some kind of ethereal angel. Never had she looked more beautiful than she did at that moment.

His mouth moved away from hers, trailing kisses along her jaw. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her fragrance of bubblegum and cinnamon. Then he nipped at her ear, stroking her silky hair with his hands. Slowly, his tongue began a languorous trek southbound. In response, she turned her head to expose more of her slender neck to him. He traced her the smooth line of her collarbone with his lips and paused in the soft hollow between, savoring her exquisite skin.

Bobby smiled at her blearily, running his fingers along her neck. As he traced a line from her jaw to the supple skin of her throat, he felt himself become more intoxicated with the feel of her. Thoughts he felt he needed to suppress while he was with her now pulsed through his brain. Looking into her cerulean eyes, he soon realized that he did not have to do this anymore.

He was about to whisper something to her about turning up the stereo when there was a light, but insistent knock at his door. Startled, he jumped, clasping her tightly against him. Knowing his luck, it was probably Scott. The guy might have want to go over each house rule line by line, as if Bobby was too incompetent or careless to pay them any heed.

To his surprise and then his chagrin, the person on the other side was not Scott Summers. "Mr. Drake," a girlish voice with a slight accent called out from the other side of the door. "Mr. Drake, it's Sofia. Are you in there, Mr. Drake?"

He thought if he did not answer her right away, she would give up and leave a message on the board he had posted on his door.

No such luck. Knock, knock, knock. "Mr. Drake, I really need to tell you something."

His boyish features fixed themselves into an expression of annoyance. "I'll be with you, Sofia," he replied. He scowled at Jubilee, who had her face buried in his shoulder to hide chortles of laughter. When he pulled away, he made a point to give her a silencing look, to which he received a smirk from his girlfriend. Then he slid off of the bed, smoothing out his T-shirt and his hair before opening the door just enough to poke his head through.

"What can I do for you?" Bobby asked, using the most pleasant and relaxed voice he could muster.

The dark-haired girl's coffee-colored eyes widened as she took in the Bobby Drake across from her. For a moment, she could have sworn he had just been engaging in some kind of vigorous exercise—breathing heavily, cheeks somewhat flushed. Of course, there was another possibility.

Ewww.

"Sofia?" Bobby voice shattered her musings. "Sofia, what is it?"

Flustered, she pushed up the sleeves to her white, crewneck sweater, which she wore over a gray, plaid skirt and loafers. "Um, Cook wanted me to tell you that she's off tomorrow afternoon," she replied, trying to mask her discomfort and purge her suspicions from her mind. "So, I guess you're in charge of getting dinner..."

_Great, _Bobby groused to himself, finding another reason to curse his luck. Images of him taking a group of students to the local pizzeria and arcade on Valentine's Day seemed all too real. Somehow, he could not envision Jubilee enjoying herself then. That was as far from romantic as one could possibly get. Quickly, he suppressed the urge to frown and said evenly, "Well, thanks for letting me know, Sofia. I'll see what I can work out for you guys."

She nodded. "Maybe we can do sushi. I'm so tired of pizza these days."

He forced a smile, which appeared more like a grimace. "I'll see what I can do, OK?" He then closed the door and pressed his back against it. An uncharacteristic growl, a sign of his ever increasing frustration, escaped from his lips.

"Poor Bobby." Jubilee was already off of the bed and by his side. She reached for his hand and led him away from the door.

He shook his head, his shoulders sinking in defeat. "That's it, Jubes. Save yourself."

She circled her slender arms around his waist. "Oh, that's just crazy talk."

"Seriously," he insisted, cupping her delicate face in his cool, dry hands. "If you really want to make me happy, just go out tomorrow night and try to have a good time. At least, I won't feel like a total tool for ruining things."

She was about to dismiss his concerns again. However, she stopped herself when she noticed the pleading quality to his tone and his facial expression. He desperately bought into what he was saying. Taking that away from him would leave nothing in its wake.

Sighing, she relented and said, "Well, there is the Lonely Hearts Club..."


	29. Chapter TwentyNine My Funny Valentine

I'm back with the latest chapter. Just in time for the holidays!

My beta laughed at one of the lines Bobby has, just to warn you. Also, I'm not all that familiar with the New Mutants. Most of what I have here is based on various internet research.

Thanks for comments and feedback. I really like hearing from all of you. Please keep it coming!

As usual, the characters belong to Marvel, but the story is mine.

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: My Funny Valentine**

The following afternoon found Sammy shuffling his English binder and textbook. He tucked them carefully under his arm, surprised as to how empty the nearby rec rooms seemed to be at this time. Usually, both would be filled to capacity with students and instructors. Then he began to make his way to his room, climbing the spiral staircase from the main floor. As he ascended, he passed by a trio of dazzling blond girls with glassy eyes, wearing pink dresses with A-line skirts under camelhair coats. With mild interest, he wondered where the party was. From what little he knew of them (seeing them on campus almost every day), he realized they seemed especially dressed up.

"The Valentine's Day dance," one of them said sharply. She paused in front of Sammy, face expressionless and blank, as were those of her two identical companions.

He was taken aback. Suddenly, he remembered who these girls were and what they were capable of doing. Shrinking back slightly, he asked, "Could you please not invade my head? I'd like to have my privacy." He was feeling quite self-conscious about some of his memories from back at home. Like most survivors of physical abuse, disclosure was something to be wary of.

"We wanted to answer your question, Sammy," the Stepford Cuckoos replied flatly in unison. "Don't suppose you're going, are you?"

His dark eyes averted their steady, even gaze. There was nothing taunting or malicious in their supposition. Yet, he could not help but feel embarrassed. It was as if he were being indirectly reminded as to displaced and different he was even in this school. Sighing, he shook his head.

"You won't be missing much," they informed him, beginning to traipse down the stairs once again. "We're only going to watch that awful Miss Frost have a miserable time."

Phoebe added, "I can still hear her moaning about how she doesn't want to go, Mindee."

"She is so fake." Her sister agreed. Then she turned around, facing Sammy, who was now at the top of the stairs. "Would you like to come with us?"

He tried not to gape. While the girls professed their intense dislike for Emma, there were some similarities between them. Much like the blond instructor, the girls projected the image of being aloof and removed. The sisters often stuck together, acting as their own clique not to be bothered by the others. As they extended their offer to accompany them, he could not help but be completely astonished by the gesture.

However, in the end, he declined. "Sorry," he apologized, composing himself rather quickly. "I promised Jay we'd hang out tonight with the other guys around here."

The Stepford Cuckoos wrinkled their noses simultaneously. Apparently, they found the idea of associating with the male students utterly beneath them. In their collective mind, with the exception of a few, most boys were immature and disgusting. Without saying another word to Sammy, the three girls sauntered towards the front door and slipped quietly into the frigid air outside.

Heaving another sigh from his small frame, Sammy continued his journey to his room. Most of the boys would have buckled in the knees at the prospect of carrying out an actual conversation with the blond sisters. They were, after all, very attractive and smart. Yet, the encounter registered as somewhat surreal to the Canadian, leaving him quite confused.

He strode down the hallway, passing the quarters of the instructors and field team members. Along the way, he saw his neighbor, David, talking to Bobby Drake, the instructor who was on-call for that night. The two of them were standing outside of Bobby's room, but Sammy stopped to say hello.

"Are we still on for our Tekken tournament?" David asked. He nodded at Bobby, who was slipping his purple-tinted sunglasses into the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt. "Drake here says he wants dibs on the champion. It seems he's the one to beat out of all the teachers."

Sammy paused in his steps, peering up at Bobby Drake. He was aware of the young instructor's interests in video games. Whenever he bought a new game, he always made a point to share it with the students in one of the rec rooms. It was one of the things that made it easier to relate to him than some of the other faculty members.

"That sounds good," Sammy replied. "I just have to dump these books and find Jay. Then we can get everyone else together."

Bobby's gray eyes roved over the thick paperback the boy carried. "Yikes," he remarked, shaking his head. "American Literature with Mr. Worthington?"

"Actually Paige is teaching the class this semester," Sammy pointed out, following his gaze. He looked sheepish. "She really likes John Steinbeck."

David made a face. "I'm glad I don't have to worry about the humanities," he commented. While he was a student at Xavier's, he was taking several math courses at the nearby university. He had expressed some interest in studying economics or engineering. "Well, we'll wait here for you to come back with Guthrie."

"OK. See ya later." Sammy began to make his way to the room he shared with Jay Guthrie, which was located at the end of the hall. He turned the knob to open the door, stepping inside.

The walls of the room were covered with various posters of their favorite musicians and movies. Sammy's side of the room was considerably neater. He tended to keep his clutter of books, CDs, clothes, and water bottles around his bed and desk. His bed, complete with the quilt his mother had sent over weeks ago, was always made. Meanwhile, his roommate's housekeeping habits left much to be desired. Though it did not border on unhygienic, Jay's side was disorganized. Jeans and tank tops were strewn across the floor along with papers and books. CD cases were tossed carelessly on an unmade bed. His desk contained piles of photographs, notepads, and sheet music. Propped up in front of his solid, oak dresser was a large, black leather guitar case. Adjacent to that piece of furniture was a small amplifier, surrounded by wires.

Sammy stared around him, wondering where his roommate was. Usually, Jay did not have class on Fridays and often spent the day, writing songs or listening to CDs. Upon their first meeting, Sammy was not sure if they would get along. While he was a talkative type of person who was generally friendly to everyone, his roommate was more introspective and preferred to close himself off to other people. It had taken some time (not to mention some extra effort from Sammy) for Jay to finally engage in a normal conversation. Then one night, he opened up, revealing the tragic circumstances that led to his despondent nature. The two of them had talked into all hours of the night, discovering they were sadly acquainted with pain and loss in their young lives. Since then, they had become close friends at the school, looking out for one another.

Frowning slightly, Sammy tossed his binder and book on his desk. He suddenly noticed a piece of paper with some familiar scribbling on it. Curious, he picked up the note and began to read:

_I'm getting the PS2 hooked up. Will meet you in the rec room. Could you do me a favor and get my Pete Yorn CD from Josh? He's had it for the last month and a half._

_Thanks, Jay_

Shrugging, Sammy placed the note back down on the desk. His ears detected the sound of the television set blaring next door, signaling that Josh was probably in. In the past, he would have dreaded initiating any kind of contact with the older boy given his previously held views of the world. But since he started rooming with David, there was a considerable mellowing in his outlook. As a result, it became easier to interact with him.

The door to Josh and David's room was ajar by the time Sammy arrived. He formed a small fist and knocked. "Josh?"

Josh was folding his clothes, using his bed as temporary space for the piles. He had just returned from the laundry room with two baskets, filled to the brim. "Come in," he called over his shoulder, recognizing Sammy's drawl.

The younger boy obliged, his large eyes observing Josh fold a series of long-sleeved T-shirts. "Hey, Josh. Jay sent me over to get that CD he lent you. Could I get it from you?"

Josh motioned towards the other side of the room. "It's in that blue Adidas bag over there," he informed him, slightly annoyed that Jay was not giving him a chance to at least copy the disc. Who knew that a guy with red wings and a guitar would be so possessive over his music?

Sammy ambled over to where Josh pointed. He found the bag on the floor and dropped to his knees. Quickly, he unzipped it and rifled through, searching for Jay's CD. He found something else instead. "What's this?" he asked as he pulled out a magazine. "Assmast--"

Josh dropped the shirt he had pulled from the basket and sprinted to where Sammy was. Then he snatched the magazine from his hands. "I don't think you should be looking at that."

The younger boy shrugged his shoulders, but still curious nonetheless. "Are we even allowed to have stuff like that around here?"

Josh smirked. "You expect them to have a rule on everything?" He studied the expression on his neighbor's face, sensing that he had probably never laid eyes on such a publication. Feeling especially generous that day, he decided to help enlighten Sammy.

He yanked open one of his dresser drawers. "You should start with something gentler," he suggested, handing him a copy of Maxim. "Is David in the washroom?"

Sammy shook his head. "No, he's talking to Drake."

"Good," Josh said, pushing the younger boy towards the bathroom that connected their two rooms together. Outside of the door, he continued with his guidance. "Now, take that magazine into the washroom and don't come out till you're finished."

"But I don't have to...ohhh." Sammy's eyes nearly bulged from his head as he caught up to speed to what the other boy was saying. With his glassy eyes locked on the magazine cover, he shuffled into the bathroom.

A few seconds later, David came running into the room, pretending to hold his crotch. He looked irritated when he found his roommate standing in front of the bathroom door with Sammy. "Out of the way! I gotta piss!"

"You can't use our washroom," Josh informed him, raking a golden hand through his dark-blond hair. He tried to hide his amusement from the desperate expression on his roommate's face when he disclosed this piece of information.

His roommate looked at him quizzical with wide, onyx eyes. "Why the hell not?" he demanded.

"Because I'm giving a lesson," Josh replied calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sammy is going to get acquainted with himself."

David rolled his eyes and ran back out into the hallway.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Kitty huffed, narrowing her cat-like, brown eyes as she took a swig of her Heineken. "I was just being nice. Since when is that cause for criticism?"

"I'm not criticizing you," Kurt protested. He found himself fiddling with his image inducer, which he used when he was appearing in public but not in a field-team capacity. "I'm just…shocked, that's all, Katzchen."

This Valentine's Day found the members of the Lonely Hearts Club at Benton Park, an intimate, classic American bar and restaurant, where the forties reign through the selection of jazz standards and vintage posters decorating the walls. The building was originally a turn-of-the-century bank, but was converted some years ago. The relaxed, casual dining atmosphere along with the full service scotch and bourbon bar helped to make Benton Park a popular hangout for the twenty-something crowd in Westchester. If one did not want to settle for a sit-down dinner, there was the mezzanine level, which boasted a hand-carved billiard tables, a dance floor crafted from rich, mahogany, and a comfortable cigar lounge equipped with armchairs and sofas. As a result, it was a perfect place to hold their yearly gathering.

Kurt and Kitty had arrived first in order to reserve space for their group on the mezzanine level. Ten minutes later, Dani, Xi'an, and Rahne appeared, looking rather drained from a day's worth of teaching hormone-driven students who were itching to go to the dance at the community center. Never one to pass up an opportunity to imbibe alcohol, Kurt ordered the first round of Heinekens and appetizers. Halfway through their drinks, the topic of staging some form of intervention for Kitty Pryde came up.

Dani nodded, black braids bobbing against the denim jacket she wore over a white T-shirt and green skirt with black mules. She thanked the spirits above for underground parking for allowing her to get away with not bundling up completely. "Maybe shocked is a strong word," she said. "It's more like…"

"Surprising." Xi'an supplied, brown eyes filled with amusement. She grabbed a mozzarella stick and popped it into her mouth.

"What are we talking about?" Roberto inquired in greeting as he and Amara and Sam strolled to where the group was sitting. He smiled at Rahne, who had stood up and leapt into his arms for a hug. Chuckling, he gave her slight frame a squeeze before releasing her.

The Scotswoman's green eyes flicked over to Kitty, who was sitting on the adjacent couch with Kurt. With her thick accent, she replied, "Juggernaut's haien a real guid day 'cause of Kitty."

Roberto frowned thoughtfully, translating his friend's response mentally. _Juggernaut's having a real good day because of Kitty. _"Um, why?" he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension. Like some of his peers, he was not totally convinced Cain Marko had turned over a new leaf.

Rahne sat on the arm of the leather chair Dani was sitting on, plucking off a loose piece of thread from her brown, mesh top with a deep V-cut. "She gae him a hug."

"Rahne!" Kitty shook her head, ponytail swinging behind her head vigorously.

"A dinnae know t'wis a secret." Rahne brushed her orange bangs from her eyes.

Roberto made a face and gaped at an indignant Kitty Pryde. "Ugh, how could you?" he asked, shrugging out of his black topcoat and draping it over the side of the plush couch. "He's like a big, dumb gorilla."

Amara slapped his shoulder. "Ave, Roberto," she scolded, flashing Kitty a sympathetic look with her velvety-brown eyes. She tried to mask her own disbelief at the image. "Don't you think she feels bad enough?"

"No." Roberto grinned when Kurt snorted with laughter.

Kitty glared at the two men, clinking down her now empty beer bottle on the table. "Listen, there was nothing lurid about what I did," she explained. "I was just showing the guy a little kindness. It's no secret that the he's had trouble fitting in. So when no one wished him a Happy Valentine's Day, I felt bad. I mean he looked really pathetic, standing alone and watching people exchange cards and presents. That's when I decided to give him a hug. Like, I don't see what the big deal is."

Roberto settled down on the overstuffed, leather sofa with Amara and Xi'an. He nodded emphatically in agreement. "No, you're right," he told her. He leaned back and wrapped an arm around the back of the sofa. After a brief pause, he inquired, "So, does this mean we can start calling you Mrs. Marko?"

Kitty threw a cardboard coaster at his head in reply.

Usually, Sam Guthrie would have been thoroughly amused by the antics of his good friend. He always had been since they first met so many years ago. However, the Southern gentleman was preoccupied. He pretended to focus his attention on the menu in his hands. There was no way he was going to allow himself to ruminate about something that roused such extreme and conflicting emotions and caused sleepless nights.

Yet, his mind insisted on revisiting the subject like an intimate memory.

Initially, he attributed these feelings to a need to be with someone. After returning to the mansion with Ororo's group from California, he and Lila had decided to cool things off. His newfound passion for pursuing the Professor's dream did not sit too well with her anxieties about the changing the world and the dangers that lurked about. Both of them agreed it was simply too taxing to be involved in a relationship where they wanted different things from life. Fortunately, the dissolution was amicable. They communicated via email on a regular basis. Lila had even sent him a copy of her latest acoustic CD from her last tour for Christmas.

As the months passed following his return to the mansion, he realized that was not the source. He and Roberto had often gone out to the Robin, a club that catered to both humans and mutants. With his farm boy appeal and innocent good looks, Sam had no problems attracting attention from the opposite sex. Many of the women he met were pretty and nice enough. There were times when he was tempted to see where things would lead if he ventured further beyond drinks. But in the end, he found himself invalidating the possibility of anything constructive happening. All he was left with was a pocketful of cocktail napkins with scribbles of phone numbers and names belonging to women he would never call.

He wanted something else.

He wanted _someone_ else.

These feelings, this infatuation struck him as rather perplexing. It was not as if he had been immediately drawn in. There was no light that went off in his head, telling him that this was it; that this was the person he wanted to be with. As far as he could remember, he never thought all that much of her upon their first meeting. In fact, she seemed rather unremarkable. She was, at the time, a child like his siblings and the students back at the mansion. Nothing particularly special about that at all.

At times, she stood out because she wanted to. During these instances, her need for attention was not manifested in the most productive ways. With her smart mouth and disregard for the rules, she earned the exasperated looks from the Professor, or long, tedious lectures from Emma. But beneath the layer of wanton rebelliousness was a zest for life rarely found in most people. It was like an infectious energy that beckoned to people. While her antics lessened over the years, one could still detect the presence of this energy. This aspect of her personality had not completely disappeared, but instead, was channeled elsewhere—through her strength and maturity.

Sensing this energy, Sam found himself needing to protect it fiercely—as he would his own siblings. He thought this desire stemmed from the fact that she reminded him of Paige and the younger Guthries back in Kentucky. Perhaps it was her troubled and tragic past that elicited these feelings. From what he had heard from Logan, Jubilee's life was not a bed of roses. Part of him was able to relate to the sentiment of having to grow up before it was time. The circumstances were different, but there was still a connection. Being the oldest in a large family with a single parent, he knew what it was like to put one's dreams and hopes on the backburner in favor of real life.

Their interactions altered somewhat following Sam's discovery, but not by much. When she and Paige would talk about dates, he would feign concern and joke about tagging along with them. Other than that, he did not think that much about her. She was still so young.

As an active field member, Sam had opportunities to come back to the mansion in between missions. By then, the school in Massachusetts had closed down for good with the students and teachers following their own paths. He and Paige grew closer, allowing him to mentor her as she struggled to find her identity at the mansion. During this time, he became aware of Jubilee once again. He would catch glimpses of her and hear her voice carry down the hall, but did not invest a great deal of interest in catching up with her once again. The mental image he had carried with him of her remained fixed, forcing him to be unconvinced that not much had changed. He had expected to meet up with a skinny girl with short, spiky hair and loud clothes, incessantly popping gum like it was going out of style.

He quickly realized how wrong he was.

Following a debriefing with the Professor about the X-Corps' latest activities, Sam had wandered outside for a stroll to clear his head. He was reeling from the events of the mission. He needed to concentrate on something not associated with hate and destruction. His steps moved him past Ororo's palatial greenhouse outside of the rose garden. The serene weather goddess stood inside, attending to some new tulips Hank helped to cultivate. Next to her was another figure, unfamiliar to Sam. This individual placed her head against Ororo's slim shoulder. Filled with curiosity, he brought himself closer. It was then he realized he indeed knew the other person.

Skinny awkwardness gave way to slender grace. Short, spiky hair had grown out into a cascade of black hair with midnight-blue streaks. Loud, neon-colored clothing was replaced by subtle choices in fashion; evident by a lilac T-shirt and light blue corduroy jeans with black loafers. Delicate facial features matured, showcasing those brilliant blue eyes that put the most rare sapphires to shame.

Sam could still feel his stomach slam low in his body. The experience had been unreal. It was as if Jubilee had somehow slipped into a chrysalis for a period of time only to emerge as this beautiful creature. He had to tell himself that this was the same girl who used to share a room with Paige. Part of him wanted to go inside, to call out to her, to talk to her. However, he overrode this urge with characteristic restraint he exercised to most areas of his life.

Still intrigued, he found himself thinking about her when he was not occupied with mission plans or taking care of affairs back home in Kentucky. They would engage in brief conversations upon seeing each other around the mansion. During these passing instances, he noticed how she had changed as well. No longer loud and demanding of attention, she accumulated thoughtfulness and wisdom in her newfound maturity. The way she carried herself conveyed confidence without any hint of an over inflated ego.

The change was refreshing, but at the same time, disconcerting. All these years, he had come to think of her as another little sister to watch over. It was a dynamic they were used to and became comfortable with. After all, this was Jubilee. Just because she had grown up since the last time he had seen her, that did not mean anything had to change, did it?

He quickly realized the answer to this question after one sleepless night.

Though he was not that much older than her, Sam contemplated the repercussions of introducing something that went beyond their platonic association. To change it would be huge. He imagined the unease that would hang in the air while attempting to navigate this new territory. Then there were the reactions that would be elicited. While he was no longer the naïve farm boy who was eager to please, he remained cognizant of the fact that other people would have their say in the matter. Sam was unable to forget Logan's reaction to the hug he had given Jubilee last Christmas. The claws had immediately sprung from the back of his hands in record time. Since that incident, Sam had learned to be more wary of touching her in front of the loner. As for his sister, he had not been sure of how she would respond. Jubilee was her best friend. On one hand, she might have been thrilled to see them dating. On the other hand, the younger Guthrie might express her doubt with the relationship.

In the end, Sam decided to hold back and relegated himself to being a casual acquaintance with the hope of something more. Any aggressive maneuvering on his part would have surely been rebuffed. He was certain of this conclusion and had some evidence to justify this rationalization. Most notably, there was the fact that he could not quite feel at ease in his own skin when he was around her. His tongue and brain were not working in synch, leaving him at a loss for the right things to say. The uncontrollable instinct to become sheepish in her presence was another aspect that might have driven her away. The Southern gentleman wanted to believe that time, which would have provided them with a chance for him to sort things out, would eventually bring them together. After all, there was no need to press forward so quickly. It was not as if anyone else had noticed what he had.

To his disbelief and subsequent disappointment, this finding ended up being false. Sam felt like an impotent observer to the events that unfolded over the course of the months following Bobby Drake's return to the mansion. Jealousy ate away at Sam bitterly as he watched his former roommate reach out to Jubilee, pursue her, and ultimately became involved with her. The envious feelings soon gave way to despondency. Privately mourning each time he saw the couple, he found himself wondering what could have been. Would he have been the one to give her first kiss? Would he have been the one to give her a ring to tell her how committed he was to her? Would he have been the one to let her know over and over again how special she was?

"Can I sit with you?" a familiar voice asked, shattering his internal musings.

Startled, Sam blinked and jerked slightly. Raising his eyes from the menu, he peered up to find Jubilee standing over him. She was dressed in a green, silk tube top with black-and-white stripes that revealed a bit of her midriff, a pair of jeans that slung over her slim hips, and black heels. Her long hair streamed down her bare shoulders and back.

As he stared at her, all he could think about how lovely she was.

_So far, so good, _Bobby told himself, checking the message board on his door. Since his shift began, things around the mansion had been fairly quiet. Some of the students would come by his room to stop in and chat. Nothing too earth shattering, but the topics often centered on school and the instructors. Every once in a while, the students would bring up their friends and what was going in their personal lives. As he listened to them, he could not help but be amazed as to how the issues they talked about resembled the ones he and his friends experienced when they were younger.

Other than that, there was no excitement—no parties to break up, no broken furniture to fix, no covert Danger Room sessions to check in on. Bobby had to admit he was having an easy time of things during his first night alone with the children. In the past, he would usually be paired up with Hank, Warren, or Rogue. Whenever a disciplinary issue arose, he relied on one of them to be the bad cop. That way, he could remain the all-around nice guy the kids could relate to.

Fortunately, there was no need to worry. The mansion was quiet with only a handful of students staying behind, who chose not to attend the dance being held at the community center. He had made his rounds earlier, walking up and down the hall every thirty minutes to check on his charges. Then he moved down to the rec areas. During those two passes, he found that many of the students had chosen to remain in their respective rooms. After checking the security system for the mansion, he was satisfied that everyone was safe.

Next, he checked his beeper for any pages. When he was satisfied there were none, his mind drifted. Although he was beginning not to mind being on-call this night, he knew there was somewhere else he wanted to be. There was someone else he should have been with.

Jubilee.

He could not quite shake the guilt that sank to the pit of his stomach. Despite her reassurances and willing himself not to ruminate, Bobby continued to feel badly about not demonstrating some grand romantic gesture that evening. He had wanted their first Valentine's to be one that she would remember. The reality of the present situation was quite far-off from that ideal. Here he was, watching over a group of kids, while she was out with Paige and the rest of their friends.

_This is stupid, _he admonished himself, leaning against the doorframe and closing his eyes. _What's happened has happened. There's nothing I can do now to change things—no matter how much I angst over things. The only thing I can deal with is how I'm going to make things up to her. _

His thoughts then traveled back to the day before when they were kissing in his bedroom. Even now, he could still feel the softness of her mouth on his, her fingers on his chest and stomach. Her sighs were still vivid in his ears, making his heart beat wildly. Excitement raced through his veins when she made it clear that she was fine with taking things a little further. He likened it to a wonderful dream. What made it even better was that she was not scared anymore, that she was closer to being ready to be with him, and that she wanted him.

Bobby also realized that had Sofia not stopped by his room, he might have taken Jubilee's lead.

The subject of sleeping together had not come up directly in discussions before that afternoon. There had been an unspoken understanding that waiting would be best. Bobby felt especially conscious about this. He made a point of monitoring himself when they were close. Not that he would ever impose his will or do anything remotely forceful, but he needed to ensure that their decision to take things to the next level would be mutual. She had to want this, not feel like she was obligated to because of some subliminal signs he might be relaying. This was important for him.

Given that the nature of his previous involvements had been one-sided in many aspects, he wanted his experience with Jubilee to be different. Bobby was aware that their relationship had already set itself apart from ones he shared with other women. He was confident in her love for him. She conveyed it through her words, her smiles, and her kisses. There was no need to perform when he was with her. It was one of the fundamental truths that made things comfortable.

"Drake!"

Bobby quickly reoriented himself to the present when he heard the thumping coming from the other end of the hallway. He raised his head to detect the source. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw David jogging towards him. As the oldest member of Dani's team approached, Bobby noticed a rather distressed look crossing the boy's usually relaxed face.

"I gotta use your washroom!" he announced.

"Why can't you use yours?" Bobby asked, afraid as to what the boy might reply. Part of him wanted to chew Scott out for even allowing the maintenance personnel the night off. He checked his Swiss Army watch and wondered if there was any plumbers open this late.

"Josh said he's giving Sammy a lesson on how to get acquainted with himself." There was a moment of silence. "Drake?"

Before David could say anything else, Bobby darted down the hall to their room. He got there just as Josh Foley was closing the washroom door. The golden-skinned boy looked up at him and smiled innocently. Unfortunately for him, Bobby Drake was the master of feigning such an act.

"No," Bobby scolded, using the most authoritative tone he could summon. Even to his own ears, it sounded rather odd and foreign.

"But—"

"Make him come out of there. Now."

"I'm just trying to enlighten the poor guy. When Gambit was on call, he didn't mind when I did the same thing to Beak."

"Yeah, well, this is different," Bobby pointed out, exasperated and not at all surprised the Cajun condoned such activities. "Gambit is Satan's personal cabana boy. Now bring Sammy out."

Josh sighed resignedly, but glared at Bobby. "Fine." He knocked on the door emphatically with a golden fist. Rolling his eyes, he said loudly, "Sammy, Drake says you have to come out."

Quickly, the door swung open. The young boy sauntered outside. His glassy eyes were glued to the magazine in his trembling hands. It was amazing to see how much redder his face was now than it usually was.

"Sammy, I want to talk to you for a minute," Bobby began, raking his hand through his sandy hair. He cursed his horrible luck for being in this awkward position. Knowing his luck, Scott would find out and pin this on him. That was the last thing he needed given their relationship was already mildly strained. _So much for no trouble… All I wanted a normal, romantic Valentine's Day. What did I do to deserve this? _

The younger boy licked his lips nervously. "'Kay," he managed, still looking rather vacant.

Bobby sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. "Don't let these guys make you do anything you don't want to do, okay? Sammy, look at me when I'm talking to you, please. These boys are probably a lot different than your old suitemates. Sammy, up here, please. They're older and—Sammy, are you listening, or are you looking at that magazine?"

"I'm listening." Sammy turned the magazine sideways and his jaw dropped. "Whoa! Look at the size of her—"

"Gimme that!" Bobby yanked the magazine from the boy's hands. "I've had it!" He confiscated Josh's magazine as well.

"What the hell?" Josh cried indignantly. "I didn't do anything! Seriously, Mr. Drake, you've got to be kidding!"

Bobby glared at him and then at the embarrassed Sammy, tucking the magazine under his arm. "I don't care," he snapped, gray eyes taking on a steely quality. "You guys can find some other fun reading. I'm pretty sure these would have been confiscated eventually. Trust me, stuff like this isn't allowed here, especially with the younger students around."

Josh began to protest, fighting the urge to stamp his foot in the face of this injustice. "But there's no rule against—"

"Well, there will be by next week," Bobby cut him off coolly. He peered down at the two magazines under his arm. "You're just lucky I'm cool enough not to rat you guys out to Mr. Summers or Professor Xavier." _That, and I'm embarrassed as hell for being put in this position in the first place. _

Sammy nodded mutely in agreement, while his suitemate folded his arms across his chest and grimaced.

Bobby sighed wearily. He was about to ask if this was the entire collection when he heard a loud crash from downstairs. His boyish face was suddenly filled with a growing sense of dread and trepidation. "What was that?"

"Sure," Sam replied, trying his best to sound nonchalant. For a moment, he could have sworn he detected a crack in his voice.

Jubilee watched him scoot over to the other side. Casually, she draped her navy, double-breasted coat over the back of the sofa before sitting down. She waved at the others, who flashed her smiles mingled with greetings of hello. Then she turned to him and asked, "How's it going?"

He smiled at her, a wave of unexplained euphoria washing over him. "Not too bad," he answered. "What about yaself?"

"I'm good," she told him, tucking a lock of hair behind a delicate ear. "How long have you been here?"

He glanced down at his Fossil watch. "Not too long. Coupla minutes, Ah think." He peered over her shoulder, brows knitting themselves together. "Did ya come alone? Ah thought Paige was supposed ta come, too."

Jubilee nodded in the direction of the bar, where her friend was talking to the bartender. "Your sister was raging hungry," she explained with an amused expression. "She kept talking about getting a big thing of fries and chicken wings while we were driving over here. She's probably ordering one of everything from the kitchen."

"So, the diet ain't workin' out?" Sam laughed, running his calloused, coal-miner's hand through his straw-colored hair. He had been growing it out ever since he had returned to the mansion. Wearing it so cropped to his head had been a part of his rougher, darker phase while he was working with Pete Wisdom. It was something he wanted to get some distance from as he felt he was starting a new chapter of his life now.

"Apparently not," she mused in agreement. She eyed the beverage menu in front of him. "So, are you looking to get toasted tonight?"

He shook his head. "Nah, Ah'm not inta that. Besides, there are other people who pick up the slack there." His pale blue eyes cast their gaze in the direction of Kitty, Kurt, and Roberto, who were in the midst of downing some stoplight shots.

"I see what you mean," she noted, almost jumping when Amara and Rahne let out cheers of encouragement, much to the amusement of Dani and Xi'an. Her eyes widened as she looked over at the imbibing group. "Man, Wolvie said those two could drink, but I had to see it to believe it."

Sam followed her stare and grinned. Instantly, he could see the night getting a little better. "That's nothin'," he told her, returning his pale-blue eyes to her lovely face. "Ya shoulda seen 'em last year. Those two got so plastered that Kitty talked Kurt inta doin' some karaoke."

"Yeah, Paige told me about Kurt's rendition of _Freebird_ ," Jubilee said. Imagining the Lynyrd Skynyrd classic with a German accent was very difficult.

"He also did _Copa Cabana_." The Southern gentleman added with a twinkle in his eye.

She playfully slapped his shoulder, giving him a wide-eyed stare. "Shut up!"

"Hand to God." He gave her a mock serious look as he rolled up the sleeves to his worn, green-and-navy oxford shirt. Faded jeans and brown hiking boots completed the comfortable, casual look he favored.

Giggling, she commented, "Wow. I guess tonight should be fun after all."

"Why wouldn't it be?" he inquired, the levity in his eyes beginning to fade.

Taken aback, she wanted to retract her assertion when she realized how rude it sounded. She chewed on her lower lip, folding her hands self-consciously. "I-I didn't mean it that way," she stammered, her guilt increasing with each passing second.

"That ain't true," he remarked quietly, recognizing how palpable her discomfort was. It was easy to tell she was torn between being faithful to the truth and believing she had to spare his feelings. For some reason, the latter seemed to make his heart swell inside his chest. As he watched her struggle to regain some composure, a wave of sympathy washed over him. Over the years, he had experienced this sentiment upon sensing her pain. Back then, it was grounded in basic human compassion and the need to protect her. But sitting with her now, he became cognizant that his feelings stemmed from something else.

Sighing, he leaned towards her and took her chin between two fingers. He quickly found himself hypnotized by the sapphire depths that returned his steady gaze. "Ya know, ya ain't gonna hurt me."

She knew better than to attempt to search for any signs of duplicity on his part. Sam Guthrie was a shining embodiment of truth and honesty. He was known for his striving towards an ideal of integrity, earning the admiration of even the most hardest and jaded individuals. The values indigenous to his rural Kentucky remained solid in spite of the years he had spent away.

Her delicate features arranged themselves in an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry… It's just that it's Valentine's Day, you know, and I'm here…" Her voice trailed off.

His lightening mood was threatening to disappear completely. He tampered the urge to wince when he figured out where she was going. It would only served to remind him how out of reach she was. At the same time, he did not want to bring attention to his growing sense of despondency. The last thing he wanted was to betray the conflict brewing inside.

She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, looking rather impatient with herself. "I didn't mean to bring you down," she said. The grim expression on his face reflected his unease with the topic. Bringing up her loneliness without Bobby was not what she had in mind. Sure, she felt comfortable around Sam to talk to him, but they were not close enough to warrant this kind of discussion. Besides, talking to another man about her relationship struck her as rather odd.

Quickly, Jubilee pasted on a bright smile, a move she was accustomed to pulling when she did not want to stay on a topic that elicited distress. "Listen, tonight's about saying to hell with the commercially fabricated idea of Valentine' Day," she began, shifting her weight on the cushions. "We should do just that, OK? Starting now." She stuck out a small hand in front of him.

Instinctively, Sam found himself smiling. It was hard not to. The light and energy she was radiating was infectious. Adding to it was the sparkle in her cerulean eyes, ensnaring the Southern gentleman in their stare. For some unexplainable reason, he suddenly felt inspired to do something rather forward.

He caught her hand, pressed it to his chest. "Will you do me the honor of this dance?"

She looked stunned with the proposition, sapphire eyes sparkling with intrigue. "I didn't know you could," she quipped.

"Took lessons when Ah was younger," he informed her earnestly. "Ah was growin' too fast for the rest of me to keep up. Momma signed me up for dancin' lessons at the local church so Ah'd stop bein' so clumsy." He tried not to look sheepish as he continued with his admission.

Jubilee tossed her head back, silky hair rippling down her shoulders and back. "So, you're saying my toes will be safe?" she teased.

Sam let out a low chuckle. "Ah guarantee it," he declared gallantly.

He led her onto the dance floor where couples were dancing to an Ella Fitzgerald-Louis Armstrong duet. Guiding her into his arms with his palm pressed to the small of her back, he smiled broadly. She stared up at him, struck by his sheer size. It had been some time since she had last seen him. He seemed much taller from this close. The shoulder she rested her hand on was solid with muscle, but he moved with a lithe grace.

Sam peered down at her curiously. "Surprised?"

"Yeah," she replied, her face lighting up with a genuine smile.

At first, he seemed to content to hold her loosely, with no hint of possessiveness. It made it easier for him not to think about the euphoria that raced in his veins. Occasionally, their thighs would brush together, but he made sure to keep her at a discrete distance. They moved together as if they had been partnering for years. Jubilee was impressed.

"Your mother should be proud. You're really good." She held herself a few inches from him, settling into the steps with ease. Her grip on his hand was gentle but firm.

He tried not to react when he felt her hair skim against his chin. Instead, he attempted to conceal what was brimming beneath his veneer of Southern gentility by introducing some conversation. "Ya not so bad, either," he commented.

She blushed at the compliment, fully aware that he sincerely meant it. "When I used to do gymnastics, I had to take dance lessons. Part of the floor exercises in competition, you know."

"And here Ah was, thinkin' ya were a natural dancer." He spun her around and guided her to him again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the others on the other side of the room. Kitty was whispering something in Kurt's ear, while Dani flashed him a thumbs-up sign. Meanwhile, Paige had stopped eating the plate of chicken tenders she had ordered. Her attention was now focused on the couple on the dance floor. The younger Guthrie's face had an unreadable expression as she continued to watch.

Jubilee giggled softly, the sound bringing him back to her. "That, too."

The mellow jazz number soon ended. Upon hearing the first few notes of the next song, _Besame Mucho_, Sam pulled her closer against his body and began leading her. Surprised by this sudden move of aggressiveness, Jubilee's eyes widened.

"It's a tango," he explained. Immediately, he wanted to kick himself for his awkwardness at that moment. _Of course, she knows what a tango's like. She's used to be gymnast and a dancer, for Chrissakes. _

"Okay." She could feel his tension, which was evident in the slight tightening of his body. "Everything alright?"

He tried to will his skin not to flush pink with his ever-increasing self-consciousness. "Just a little rusty at this," he lied, his brow furrowing to feign concentration.

"You're doing fine," Jubilee told him reassuringly. She gave his shoulder a slight squeeze for encouragement.

Sam stepped back on the sixth beat, his heart racing with excitement. To his delight, Jubilee followed in perfect unison. He could feel the muscles of her torso working beneath his hand as they performed complicated turns and shines.

"How are ya doin'?" he asked several steps later.

"Pretty good," she said. "But..."

"But what?"

"Isn't this kind of a provocative dance to learn from someone at your church?"

"Ah picked some moves outside of there. Ah'm not all square dancin' and waltzes, ya know."

"I see. There's a lot I don't know about you, Sam."

She moved with him as he spun her around within the circle of his arms, his palms sliding down her sides before taking her hands again, turning her, and resuming the classic tango pose. Feeling bold, she pressed forward.

Sam leaned back automatically, his weight shifting until he bore most of it on his back leg, his front leg bent and poised. In an elegant move known to the dance, she slid over his thigh. Then she brought her right leg up and her knee against his hip.

His nostrils flared at the sweet scent of her. He wanted to bury his face in her hair. Her mouth was inches from his, her warm breath caressing his lips. He imagined kissing her; she'd taste like bubblegum and cinnamon.

_Stop it. You can't and you know it. _

He could feel her pressing against the muscles of his thigh. Without much thought, he completed the dance maneuver she had initiated, sliding back. He could hear her shoe dragging lightly across the floor. It was as if all his senses were especially sharpened. With sudden shock, Sam realized he was somewhat aroused. The dance brought them close and he wondered if she could discern what was happening. He forced himself to concentrate on enjoying the intricacies of the movements. The Southern gentleman repeated inwardly that it was a natural reaction to the dance, and chose not to dwell on it further.

"Thank you for the dance," she said, stepping out of his arms with a gentle smile. "It was fun."

"Of course," he said sheepishly, hiding his disappointment that the moment ended. He led her from the floor. Glancing around the room, he noticed his sister looking their way. He took her hand in his and held it close to his chest, bending slightly over her. "How was that for about sayin' to hell with the commercially fabricated idea of Valentine' Day?"

Jubilee laughed, recognizing the words she had used earlier. "Excellent," she replied, her tone falling a little flat. As they edged their way to where their group was sitting, all she could think about was Bobby. Here she was, dancing the night away while he was at the mansion, playing Mary Poppins to the students. In the grand scheme of the universe, it did not seem all that fair.

Sam paused in his steps, studying the pensive look etched across her flawless face. "Why don't Ah believe ya?"

"That bad, huh?" It was her turn to be sheepish.

He nodded, releasing her hand. Had he been more confident and self-assured, he would have made a wry comment about their dancing. Somehow, he suspected that her shift in mood had nothing to do with their escapades on the dance floor. The ecstasy he experienced earlier swiftly faded.

Her shoulders heaved as if she were trying to expel the imaginary weight in that manner. "I guess I'm a fraud," she muttered, crystalline eyes suddenly soaking up the floor.

"What do ya mean?"

"You know, talking big about forgetting Valentine's Day. As much as I wanted to, I…I couldn't. I'm sorry."

"There's nothin' ta be sorry for, sweetie."

"Yes, Sam, there is. I was supposed to focus on you and being here and having a good time."

"What are ya sayin'? Ah ain't really followin' ya."

"It's like I'm this bad person. All I can think about is what a jerk I am for not being with him. I just want to do anything I can do to make him happy. Do you know what that's like?"

"Yeah," Sam finally said quietly. "Yeah, I do."

Meanwhile, a disagreement as to who was going to use the video game system was quickly escalating. The two younger Guthrie brothers, new students to the school, found themselves facing off in one of the rec rooms. Their arguing attracted a gathering of other students. Among them were Julian and other members of his Hellions squad. The other boys' attention was rapt as they watched the family feud unfold.

Jebediah shoved his brother hard in the chest. "Quit yelling at me!"

"Don't ya push me!" Jay snapped, returning the shove.

His younger brother's cheeks were flushed red from anger. "Don't ya push_me_!"

The Guthries went from shoving to a full-blown wrestling match within minutes. Jay charged first. He knocked his younger into the wall, who retaliated by biting him in the shoulder. The winged Guthrie yelped, and then started clawing at the side of his brother's head. Jebediah released him. Soon, they began clawing and snapping at each other.

"Let go of mah ear!" Jay screamed at his brother. "Ya fight like a girl, Jeb! Ya know, Ma sometimes wishes ya would've been a girl."

Jeb grabbed a handful of red hair and pulled. "Shut up! That's not true! Ya take that back!"

"Ow! Let go!" Jay reached up and grabbed his brother by the ears.

Jeb shrieked and punched Jay in the chest. The older Guthrie brother grunted and released his grip, but his younger brother continued punching him. "Ah do not fight like a girl! Ya take that back! Take it back, ya asshole!"

"Guthrie fight!" Kevin hollered, cupping his gloved hands around his mouth. He leaped several inches back when the brothers rolled by his feet.

By this time, Jebediah had Jay pinned on the ground. The bespectacled Guthrie clawed at his older brother's chest. Jay struggled underneath and attempted to claw back with a free hand.

"Get him, Jeb!" Brian called out, shaking out his blond dreadlocks with fervor. "Go for the throat!"

Julian leaned over towards Kevin. "Ten bucks says the one with the wings kills the one with the glasses first."

Kevin raised a skeptical brow at the self-appointed leader of the Hellions. "Twenty says Jay rips his brother's face off," he challenged.

"Twenty-five if Jeb tears Jay's throat out."

"You've got yourself a deal. C'mon, Jay!"

"Go for the jugular, Jebediah!"

Bobby bounded down the stairs with David, Josh, and Sammy following close behind. He could feel his face drain of color as he stumbled in on the source of the brouhaha. Squeezing between the students who had formed a circle around the dueling Guthries, he made a move to intervene.

"Hey, break it up you two!" he yelled, still pushing past some students. "Boys, knock it off!"

Julian placed his hand on Bobby's arm when the instructor reached his side. "No, Mr. Drake," he said, "it's best not to get in the middle of two fighting Guthries. Besides, it's somewhat amusing."

"They'll tire out eventually," Brian added, black eyes thoughtful. "That, or one of them will bleed to death. Whichever comes first."

Bobby ignored the sarcastic and unneeded comments from the two boys. He finally reached the Guthrie brothers, who were still wrestling on the floor. "Come on, guys! Stop it before someone gets hurt!"

Unfortunately, this had no effect in defusing things. The siblings continued their brawl. Sighing, Bobby extended a hand over their bodies. Suddenly, frost streamed from his fingers, capturing them under a block of ice. When their bodies were completely encased, he stood over them and frowned.

"Would one of you like to tell what started all of this?" he asked, wondering if he had jinxed himself by musing what a quiet night this would have been.

Jay opened his mouth, vacillating between embarrassment and absolute fury. "Ah was tryin' to get things ready for the video game tournament and this idiot barrels in…" he began.

His younger brother cut him off, dark-blue eyes flashing. "Ah only wanted to watch a movie and he decides he wants to be a moron. Then again, he was always the bossy one."

Jay's glared at his brother's face, which was very close to his. "Why ya little…"

Instead of finishing his sentence, he contorted his face as if he were trying to focus on something. He fought to contract and flex his muscles under the vice-like grip of the ice that held him. With a loud grunt, he willed his limbs to break through. There was a loud cracking sound that met his ears as he pushed his arms through, freeing himself and consequently, his brother. The act also sent shards of ice flying. Bobby and the students jumped back, scurrying to avoid the sharp pieces. As the other children crouched down to protect themselves, the two brothers staggered to their feet. Panting from exhaustion and shivering from the cold, they proceeded to resume their fight. A disbelieving Bobby quickly dashed towards them again to separate them again.

Amidst the yelling, Sam Guthrie strolled into the rec room, unbuttoning his suede car coat. He had heard the commotion from the garage, but thought it was nothing more than an action movie on television. The Southern gentleman was floored when he discovered what was behind the din. Quickly, he made his way towards Jay and Jeb.

"Aw, fer chrissakes," he sighed. He grabbed his two younger brothers, each by the ear and they stopped fighting. Then he pointed to a chair in the corner. "Jay, sit!" He pointed to a chair in the opposite corner. "Jeb, ya too!"

They went to the respective corners and sulked. Sam crossed his arms and shook his head. Then he turned to Bobby, who wore a confused expression. "Honestly, Bobby, ya need to stop them when they get this rough."

Bobby said nothing and shot him a nasty look. Then he asked the students who were still in the room and pulling themselves to their feet, "Is everyone alright?"

There was a resounding chorus of yeses. A few of them, led by Julian, drifted out of the room. Bobby breathed a sigh of relief.

"Someone get me the first aid kit," the oldest Guthrie ordered, shaking his head at both of his younger brothers with exasperation. He rubbed his stubble-ridden chin as David darted out of the rec room. His blue eyes briefly glanced at Bobby. "Why don't ya go upstairs? Ah can take of things here."

Bobby's brows knitted themselves to reflect his continued puzzlement. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Sam turned away, brushing his straw-colored hair from his forehead. "Ah thought Ah'd call it a night," he answered in a specious manner. He shrugged. "Ah wasn't havin' that much fun at the bar. Since Ah'm here now, Ah can take over."

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked, not completely satisfied with the other man's explanation. "I mean you're not scheduled to be on-call. I don't want to take away your night."

The oldest Guthrie nodded dismissively, walking towards Jeb and kneeling down beside him. "It's fine, really. Ah don't mind." He gave both his brother pointed looks. "Gives me a chance to straighten these guys out."

"Um, OK." Bobby wasn't about to argue. The Southern gentleman sounded as if he was determined to stand his ground. Rather than attempt to talk him out of his decision, Bobby thought he would take him up on his offer. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam watched him leave, clenching his jaw slightly. "Don't mention it," he muttered under his breath.

Bobby jogged upstairs, a surge of exhilaration moving his feet along. He was free. While he did not have a sweeping, romantic gesture up his sleeve, he knew seeing Jubilee would be enough to salvage the night. Reaching into the pocket of his chinos, he soon remembered that he had left his cell phone in his bedroom. When he reached his door, he could have sworn he heard music playing softly. He was perplexed as he placed his hand over the knob. The last time he checked, he had not turned on his stereo system. Slowly, he opened the door and edged his way inside.

Jubilee was in the process of lighting a jasmine-scented candle with her index finger. When she finished, she blew out the spark and raised her sapphire eyes to him. "You're early," she said softly in greeting, the corners of her mouth lifting into a lovely smile.

He stared at her, trying to keep his jaw from dropping in awe. It was as if she were some sort of vision he had seen over and over again in fleeting dreams. Her hair rippled down her graceful shoulders, cascading down her back in a tumble of black with midnight-blue highlights. The glow of the candlelight accentuated her delicate features, leaving him even more breathless.

"What… How…" Bobby shook his head, trying to express a cogent thought. It was growing increasingly difficult with how stunning she looked and the infectious melody of Bob Marley's "Waiting in Vain". Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "I thought you were going out with Kitty and the rest of them."

She watched him close the door. "I did," she told him softly. Her sapphire eyes shone as he walked over to her. "But I thought I'd have a better time if I was with you."

He was still reeling, trying to piece together information into a coherent, mental picture. "You came back for me?"

Nodding, she took his hands in hers. "Well, me and Sam," she confessed, chewing on her lower lip. "You see, I kind of asked him to relieve you for tonight. He even came with me when I picked up dinner."

She waved her hand towards the coffee table, which was now surrounded by candles. The meal, served on paper plates, consisted of cheeseburgers and curly fries. Two brightly colored, paper cups were placed side by side next to a pile of napkins. The tempting aroma of the food mingled with the floral scent from the candles.

Bobby made a mental note to take Sam Guthrie out for a drink.

Jubilee tugged at his hand, leading him to the table. "I know it's not like the lodge, but I think it's somewhat close." She stopped in her steps when they reached the food. Then she stood on her tiptoes and leaned towards him. "Happy Valentine's Day, Bobby Drake."

Echoing the words of one of his favorite comic heroes, Jackie Gleason, Bobby took Jubilee into his arms and told her affectionately, "Baby, you're the greatest."


	30. Chapter Thirty Happy Birthday

Here's the latest chapter! Thanks again to Jo the Phoenix for her comments and support.

Thanks to all of you for your reviews and comments. Please keep them coming!

The characters belong to Marvel, but the story is mine. Enjoy.

**Chapter Thirty: Happy Birthday**

"Seriously, I don't want anything big this year," Bobby sighed, raking a tense hand through his sandy hair. His boyish features arranged themselves into a frustrated expression as he shook his head emphatically. He shifted in his seated position upon his king-sized bed. Already, he could feel his shoulders hunching in preparation for defending his perspective.

A pair of sapphire eyes scrutinized him carefully, curiosity radiating in their depths. "Why not?" Jubilee inquired guilelessly. "Everyone deserves a nice party for their birthday, you know. Plus, for you, it's an important milestone. Also, think about the people you'd be letting down by refusing. The list of these individuals and the potential cajoling they promise is practically endless."

He sighed again. The young couple was in his bedroom, having met up after their respective classes. Somehow, their conversation steered from whether or not they were going to see Modest Mouse in concert to an upcoming event. His birthday—specifically, his 25th birthday—was drawing near. Not that Bobby was dreading the prospect of turning another year older or any of the associated pitfalls that came with aging. He left that kind of moaning and groaning to the likes of his playboy buddy, Warren.

As someone who welcomed the command of an audience to entertain, it seemed contradictory that he would not want a large party of some sort. He would be able to try out some new jokes or make some witty remarks in passing conversations. Then there were the presents. As socially accepted as it was to say that it was better to give than receive, there was still a small part of him that felt otherwise.

Yet, here Bobby was, reluctant to have any kind of celebration take place to commemorate his birthday. For him, his reasons were easily understood. Correction: reason. However, as he peered over at the quizzical face of his girlfriend who was sitting across from him, he realized that he had some explaining to do.

He smiled sheepishly. "I didn't have a good birthday last year," he began.

She tilted her head sympathetically and placed a soothing hand on his arm. "I'm sorry." After a brief pause, she asked, "Why not?"

Bobby felt his heart skip a beat when he detected the gentle tone of her voice. It seemed to speak more than any words could. He felt loved, reassured, and wanted. There was no other way to describe how he was when she was around.

Gaining some strength from her gesture, he pressed on. "Aside from the fact that we weren't dating then, my mother decided to plan a special bash for her special guy." He made a face after finishing his sentence.

Jubilee continued to be perplexed. From what she knew of Maddy Drake, the genteel woman was a caring, devoted mother. She made it clear that Bobby, her only child, was her pride and joy. The way Bobby was depicting things; it was as if Maddy was anything but a good maternal figure.

"I'm not following you, Bobby," Jubilee said. "What did your mom do? Did she bake a SpongeBob Squarepants cake instead of a Sailor Moon one?"

He rolled his eyes at her, slightly miffed at her attempt at humor. "Cute, but no. It was a Finding Nemo cake, thank you very much."

She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress the urge to smile. As much as he was pouting at that moment, she could instantly tell that he was not all that annoyed. Then she squeezed his arm gently. "Come on, don't be ticked," she cajoled, tossing her long, dark hair over a graceful shoulder. "I'll be serious now. What did your mom do that scarred you, Bobby Drake?"

"I'm not scarred. Just a little hesitant, that's all."

"OK. Now that you've established that, what exactly happened?"

"She didn't go out of her way to make it a bad one, if that's what you're trying to get at."

"I didn't think so."

"But there are some things she does that… I don't know how to explain it. It's kind of like having the things you don't really think about come up in conversation."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that I wasn't married, Jubes. My cousin Joel was engaged and Mom was helping him plan the wedding. Here I was, her Bobby, still a bachelor. I had to listen to her go on and on about how nice it would be for her to have some little ones around. I thought my dad would help bail me out, but he pretended to fall asleep on the couch."

"I'm sorry. I guess that was really hard to take in."

"It was… I mean it was like I was some kind of failure for not giving her that."

"Bobby, I doubt your mother meant that. She's over the moon about you. You're her son. There's nothing you could to ever make her say something remotely like that."

"I know you're right..."

"I sense a 'but' following."

Bobby smiled ruefully at her, amazed as to well she really knew him. "But there's still that subtle pressure no matter what," he replied. He heaved another sigh and turned away from her. "You do realize that when we do go to this party, she'll probably bring it up again. Since we're going out, she might check out what your hips are like."

Sable brows shot upwards. "For what?"

He continued to keep his back to her, embarrassed but certain of the likelihood of his mother doing such a thing. "For giving birth," he mumbled. He shook his head emphatically. "I apologize in advance for her."

As he sat there, eyes closed and face filled with preoccupation, Jubilee scooted on the bed behind him and placed her hands on each side of his neck. She began a slow massage of his shoulders, neck and back. Bobby jumped at first, but soon issued a shaky exhale as he leaned forward to give her more access.

"Where…did you learn…this…?" he whispered as she worked her way down to his shoulder blades. The feel of her hands massaging his weary muscles was nothing like he experienced before. It was nothing short of pure bliss.

"Pressure point therapy," his girlfriend said quietly as she continued. "I read about it in some New Age magazine Jean had lying around." With relief, she watched the tension drain slowly from his face and felt his muscles relax beneath her touch. Smiling to herself, she started kneading her fingers gently down the center of his spine.

After urging him to lean forward, she smoothed her hands down over his lower back in gentle sweeping motions. Her rubdown turned into a soft tapping, as she moved to another method of massage. Her slender fingers kneaded his back lightly, then abruptly pulled away.

She leaned in towards his ear. "Better?" she inquired in a whispery voice.

"Like you wouldn't believe," he told her huskily. He moved his face toward hers.

At first, he simply brushed his mouth softly over that of the beautiful girl close to him. His warm breath mixed with hers as he lingered, exploring the curve of her lips. He could sense her breath quickening as his mouth became more hungry and insistent, rubbing across her lips in invitation.

Bobby groaned deep in his throat when her lips parted beneath his. He nipped at her before delving deep inside. His mouth was hard against hers, his lips firm as he demanded her passionate response.

She gasped under his mouth and clutched at the fabric of his navy-and-blue rugby shirt. Her hands began a slow route down his chest, feeling over every inch of muscle. She pulled away slightly, her cheeks flushed pink with excitement. Then she swept her fingers across his mouth, and traced his jaw with her finger tenderly.

"Maybe there's more I can do," she drawled, courage increasing with each passing second. There was something different, her sense of being devoid of any fear or self-consciousness. What reigned supreme in her mind was taking away whatever weighed on his mind. She found herself arching toward him, seeking something more. Her body felt hot and heavy and restless.

Jubilee circled around him and straddled his legs. She slid her hands down his arms, her mouth moving against his. His breaths came in quick pants as his arms drew up to her. One of his hands buried itself in her long, raven hair and the other sliding tenderly down the gentle slope of her back. As she was sweeping her fingers over his chest, her eyes caught a growing bulge inside of his khakis. Without thinking, she reached down and wrapped her hand around it.

Bobby's breath hissed out and his teeth ground together. The muscles in his neck bulged out in what appeared to be some kind of pleasurable distress. Jubilee pulled her hand back suddenly, but he caught it. Breathing heavily, he drew it back toward him and over his rippled stomach.

"Jubes," he whispered raggedly, staring deeply into her lovely face. He then guided her hands gently down the taut muscles of his abdomen, and under the seam of his khakis.

Taking his lead, she unclasped his belt and slid it off, allowing it to drop to the floor. Her nimble fingers then moved up and under the fabric of his shirt, caressing the muscles hidden beneath the film of sweat. His hands, in turn, sought out the hem of her coral, rollneck sweater

It was then that they both stopped and their eyes met. Their breaths mingled, increasing in intensity. The unspoken question hung in the air that was thick with the tension between them.

_Are you ready?_

Jubilee provided her answer by returning her attention to his shirt. She slowly lifted it up and then over his head, tossing it on the floor. Bobby closed his eyes, not quite believing what was happening at that moment. He willed for all of it not to be some kind of dream, meant to inflict some kind of bittersweet, psychological torture. Perhaps there was some malevolent telepath manipulating his mind, bending reality. With the X-Men, one could never be too certain.

Soon, he realized that this was no illusion as he felt Jubilee's finger slide over his eyelids, taper off his nose and drop to his chin. Then her soft fingers rested over his slightly trembling mouth. Her perfume of bubblegum and cinnamon filled his nostrils. This was real. She was real.

"You're beautiful," she murmured, almost lost in her gaze of his well-toned chest and arms. While he was not large and bulky in muscle mass like some of the other team members, Bobby's physique was something to admire with his flat stomach, wiry upper arms, and broad chest.

He pushed her silky hair from her face gently, his heart thudding excitedly. "I was going to say the same about you," he told her thickly, his breath cool against her cheek.

She was still straddling his hips as she moved her head towards his once more. "You make me feel beautiful," she replied, pressing her mouth against his.

Bobby's hands soon made their way to the hem of her sweater, skimming her chinos. Slowly, they began to lift it higher, exposing more and more of her creamy skin to his touch. He could feel the suppleness of it, finding himself growing intoxicated with the sensation. Her skin was like this incredible drug he could not get enough of.

Suddenly, the two them jumped when they heard a cell phone ring, blaring a shrill version of the theme song from Sanford and Son. While Bobby was trying to gauge as to where the noise was coming from, the young girl in his arms had a hangdog expression on her face. He turned his questioning gray eyes to her, as the noise continued.

"I didn't picture you as someone appreciating the comedy stylings of Mr. Red Foxx," he remarked wryly, amused. "I kind of pictured you as a Mark Curry kind of gal."

She blushed and then grinned sheepishly. "I liked his philosophy of giving everyone a knuckle sandwich for messing with him," she laughed, trying to extract herself from his arms.

Her boyfriend groaned in protest, pulling her slender body close to him. "Let your voicemail pick it up," he urged with pleading gray eyes. He hated to think that the intensity of this moment was going to fade after being interrupted by a phone call. "Besides, it's probably Paige, looking for some fashion advice or something."

Jubilee giggled again, but made more of an effort to slip away from him. She was successful this time. "Might be, but whoever it is, it has to be important," she responded, noting his crestfallen expression. "I don't give my number to just anyone, you know."

Bobby stopped himself from sulking as she scurried to her black messenger bag on his beanbag chair. "Sometimes, I wish you wouldn't give it out at all," he grumbled, watching her pull out her cell phone.

She stuck out her tongue at him, smoothing out her sweater over her stomach and hips as she answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Is this Jubilee?"

The young girl frowned thoughtfully. She could not immediately identify the person linked to the voice. However, there was something familiar about it. There was a warmth that emanated from the husky tone, almost froggy quality. Quickly, she racked her brain to search for possible suspects.

"Yes, it is," she finally replied, shrugging her shoulders when Bobby mouthed to her his questions as to who it was. She began to saunter back to the bed where he waited. The young girl allowed him to pull her lithe frame into the circle of his arms. She smiled as he began to plant kisses along the side of her neck.

The other person breathed a sigh of relief. "Hello, dear. It's Maddy, Bobby's mother."

Jubilee bolted away from Bobby, her sapphire eyes widening. "Hi, Mrs. Drake," she annunciated clearly when Bobby gave her a wounded look. Then she turned her back to him. "How are you doing?"

He stared at her in disbelief, wondering if she was joking. Quickly, it became evident that she was not. Her face was drawn into a serious, but puzzled expression. Shaking his head, he retrieved his rugby shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head. _That's just great,_ he groused to himself. _There's the ultimate mood killer right there. My mom calling just as we're about to… If Jubes never wants to get that close again, I wouldn't blame her. Hell, I'm not sure if I can even think about it now…_

Meanwhile, Jubilee's attention was rapt on the conversation she was having with Maddy Drake. "What can I do for you?" she inquired, after the two of them exchanged niceties.

"Bobby's birthday is coming up, as you know," Maddy bubbled. It was easy to hear the smile in her voice. "I was going to plan something nice for him, but I wanted to make sure that his friends weren't going to do anything first. When I called Hank, he told me that he and Warren were going to book a private party at one of the local restaurants. I can't remember the name off the top of my head…"

Jubilee frowned thoughtfully. In passing, she did hear from Jean and Hank about the possibility of making reservations at Benton Park. But at the time, the plan was in the preliminary stages, so she did not think all that much about it. "Oh, right. I think I remember that being mentioned."

"Well," Maddy went on, her enthusiasm threatening to spill over. "I thought it would be a marvelous idea if we combine our plans. So, I wanted to let you and Bobby know that you'll be seeing us there. Bill and I, as well as Bobby's cousins, Joel and Mary. Oh, and there's Joel's wife, Grace. I'm not sure if you've met any of them. But I guess Bobby's probably told you a great deal about them. The three of them are very close. "

Jubilee swallowed hard, feeling somewhat intimidated about the prospect of seeing the cold and reserved Bill Drake again. Given that their last meeting did not foster any kind of bonding experience, she was in no hurry to make another attempt. Tempering down this wariness, she forced herself to sound cheery as she said, "That sounds great."

"I know," Maddy said, not detecting the stilted quality to the young girl's response. "This is a big step for Bill. He hasn't been away from the house for long since…the incident. Hopefully, this will be good for him."

"Hopefully." Jubilee echoed. For some reason, she had a hard time picturing Bill Drake mingling with Bobby's friends. Being who they were, he would view them as being different. They represented a potential threat to his son and the rest of the Drake family. To actually be seen in public with the likes of these people was something, indeed.

"Anyway, I didn't want to keep you too long, dear. So, I will see you this weekend?"

"Yes, I'll be there, Mrs. Drake."

"Please, dear, call me Maddy. Mrs. Drake makes me sound like a schoolteacher."

"Alright, Maddy."

"Wonderful. Take care, Jubilee."

"Thanks… You, too."

"I will. Good-bye."

"Bye."

Jubilee hit the END button to hang up. Then she began to fiddle with the small black phone idly, turning around to see an expectant Bobby sitting on the bed. He looked as if he were about to jump out of skin in anticipation of her disclosure of what the topic of discussion between the two women in his life.

He raised both his brows at her. "Well?" he asked, trying not to sound too impatient.

"Well," Jubilee began quietly, tossing the cell phone on the bed next to where Bobby was. "I hope she likes my hips."

Bobby fell back on his bed, groaning.

Outside of the Med-Lab, several days later, Kurt Wagner found himself pacing back and forth. His normally carefree and easygoing expression was replaced with one that conveyed very different feelings. Sharp, white teeth chewed nervously on his lower lip. The twinkle that seemed to be ever-present in his golden eyes was replaced with a dull, preoccupation. He crossed his arms over his chest, not knowing what else to do with his irritatingly idle hands.

Ruefully, he paused in his steps and turned his weary gaze to the other side of the hallway. The Stoic, unwavering stare of the Canadian loner known as Logan met his. He ground an unlit cigar between his teeth, adhering to the Professor's rule of no smoking in the vicinity of the Med-Lab. While he gave the illusion of being aloof, those who knew him well could discern that he was concerned about his friend.

Next to him was Kitty. Unlike her former mentor, she was content to make it known how worried she was as she observed an anxious Kurt. She cradled a plastic bottle in her yellow-gloved hands, wondering what she could possibly say to assuage her best friend's morose mood. Leaning against the reinforced steel wall of the hallway corridor, she shook her head, brown ponytail shaking behind her.

Finally, she said in a low voice, "You know it's not your fault, Kurt." When she saw him jerk his head up so that his face was level with hers, she went on. "I mean, not to like trivialize anything, but it's not that bad."

"Half-Pint's right," Logan chimed in, invoking a long-forgotten pet name for Kitty. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her give him a small smile. Then he shook his head emphatically. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but if Big Boy hadn't been with us, things might have been a lot worse."

Kurt shrugged, his face still grim as he caught on to the reference to the newest member of the team, Juggernaut. "No matter how many times ve go out on missions, I don't vant to come back with casualties," he said flatly, gazing down at the black, leather jacket with matching pants, both lined with yellow trim he wore. "Ja, Cain helped us, but someone still got hurt. I cannot forget that."

The group had just returned from a field mission, where they were facing off against a rather powerful, but misguided opponent. Having his abilities recently awakened upon reaching puberty, the person went from being an ordinary boy living in the Irish part of the city to a frightening foil of his former self, terrorizing his neighborhood. He gained about twenty-two tons in weight and ten feet in height. Any semblance of a human-looking appearance eroded with the onset of his mutation. Naturally, the child was frightened of what he had become, as did those around him. As a result, he lashed out indiscriminately.

Kurt and his team had been called in to attempt to reason with the boy and in some way, to subdue him. Unfortunately, the boy would have nothing to do with their efforts and attacked the squad with great fervor. Working together, Kurt and Kitty tried to distract him. Meanwhile, Logan and Cain used their collective brute strength against that of the boy. Charged with the task of containing the mutant, Bobby was supposed to sneak up from behind him and use his abilities to "put him on ice".

The team soon learned that the best-laid plans do not usually work out.

Elements of Kurt's initial scheme began to crumble in front of the team's very eyes. The mutant brushed aside a snarling, adamantium-clawed Logan as if he were a rag doll. He caught Kitty by surprise and managed to catch her in one of his hands before she slipped right through him. Then he went after Bobby, plucking him off of his ice-slide. The mutant began to squeeze the very life out of the young man, forcing Bobby to pass out from the lack of oxygen. After what seemed like an eternity, Cain edged in and threw his weight into the mutant's side, causing him to drop Bobby's limp form to the ground.

Luckily, Bobby regained consciousness shortly after the mutant was restrained. However, it was clearly evident that he was in a great deal of pain in spite of his wisecracks on the helicopter ride to the mansion. Upon arriving, he was rushed immediately to the Med-Lab, to Hank and Annie's attention. His teammates, with the exception of Cain (he was charged with debriefing the Professor), decided to await the news of Bobby's condition.

Logan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his own black, leather jacket. He exhaled loudly as he nodded. "Yeah, I guess I get where you're going," he replied, still grinding his cigar. "But if anyone knows what they're doing when it comes to us getting hurt, it's these guys." He nodded in the direction of the Med-Lab double doors where Hank and Annie were working.

"Logan's right," Kitty agreed, still wearing her uniform from their mission. It consisted of a black body suit with a yellow strip in the middle that accentuating her shoulders, yellow gloves, black boots with yellow seams, and an X-belt. She was one of the few members who followed Scott's optional stipulation that they start wearing team-style outfits.

Kurt eyed the doors warily. "I'd feel better if they veren't taking so long," he mused. "It makes me think something is terribly amiss."

Logan raised a brow at him. "You want me to go in there and see what's up?" he asked.

Kurt shook his head, waving his hand at him. "Nein," he replied. "Perhaps you can go upstairs and see how the debriefing's going? If there's any news, Kitty and I vill let you know."

Logan realized the request had nothing to do with Cain's ability to explain what happened during the mission. He could read the German's need to exert some sense of control in order to make up for the chaos of the day. Taking the hint, he gave his friend a brief nod. Then he turned on his heel and proceeded to the elevators at the other end of the corridor.

When he was gone, Kitty cleared her throat and held out her sports bottle. "I think I've got something that'll take the edge off."

Kurt flashed her a wary look. Not known for her culinary skills, Kitty often used him as her taste tester to provide a barometer of what was edible. The last experiment she created in the kitchen sent him to the bathroom for a good portion of the night. "Vat is in there?" he managed to ask.

She rolled her eyes. "Relax," she assured him. "It's a mixed drink. I'm putting my bartending skills to use. Tabitha and I are thinking about creating this line of alcoholic refreshments to market. I call this one Citrus Breeze. Come on, try it."

"OK." Kurt accepted the bottle and unscrewed the cap. Then he took a swig from it. He swallowed, finding himself pleasantly surprised by the flavors of orange juice mixed with some kind of lemon-lime liquor. When it came to alcohol, Kitty knew her stuff. Instantly, he nodded his approval.

"Great." Kitty beamed proudly. She was relieved that her first attempt at a recipe yielded good results. "Not too sweet? I didn't want to make it too much of girly drink."

He shook his head. "Not at all. In fact, I think—"

Just as he was about to complete his sentence, the double doors to the Med-Lab burst open. A battle-fatigued Bobby shuffled out, holding his shoulder with one hand and a blue, plastic bottle in the other. His boyish face communicated the fact that he was in some degree of pain. He gingerly walked towards where Kurt and Kitty were standing.

"Hey, guys," he greeted, wincing slightly. "Anything exciting happening while Hank and Annie were poking and prodding me?"

Kurt was familiar with Bobby's use of humor in order to deflect any concern. Normally, he would have played along. However, given the gravity of the precipitating situation, he was inclined to go with his first reaction. "Mein freund, how are you feeling?" he asked, lines of worry etching deeply into his forehead.

"Please," Bobby snorted in an attempt to be dismissive. "I've been through worse than this."

Kitty studied him thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, that time when Scott found out you and Beast made that marionette of him is like nothing compared to this." Her cat-like eyes twinkled at the memory of an irate Scott Summers chasing after Bobby and Hank upon discovering that the two were performing a series of puppet shows around the mansion.

Bobby grimaced. "You know throwing S.S. into the fireplace was a little excessive," he muttered mournfully for the memory of the charred doll. "He didn't even give me and Hank a chance to have S.S. do the Macarena."

"So, vat's the verdict?" Kurt asked after the chuckling subsided. His golden eyes peered over where Bobby was clutching his shoulder. "Anything broken?"

"X-rays say no, but my aching shoulder shrieks otherwise," Bobby remarked wryly. He held up the blue plastic bottle. "Hank prescribed some painkillers to numb things. Hopefully, it'll be enough to get through this party tonight."

He was referring to his birthday gathering at Benton Park. The bruising and soreness in shoulder was not certainly going to make facing the unwanted party easier. Bobby was still annoyed with both Hank and Warren for their treachery in plotting with his mother to plan the event. It was quite far from what he had wanted. Unfortunately, things had already been set into motion and there was very little he could do at this point. He was resigned to the idea of fielding questions regarding what it was like to be 25 now and when he was going to provide his mother with the pitter-patter of little feet along her floor.

"Oh, that reminds me," Kitty piped up, playing with her ponytail. "Jubilee went to the restaurant with Warren to make sure things are squared away. So, you'll be riding with me and Kurt."

Bobby was disappointed upon hearing this new change in plans, as he and Jubilee were supposed to ride over together. Quickly, he hid his letdown and said, "As long as we're not taking that clunker of yours, Kitty, that's fine."

She flashed him a wounded look. "It passed inspection," she replied defensively, upset that he was picking on her beloved Scout. While there were some problems after she first refurbished the vehicle, it had been running smoothly as of late.

"Don't vorry," Kurt told Bobby, placing a hand on Kitty's arm soothingly. "I'm driving the SUV over."

"Sounds good," Bobby agreed, now unscrewing the bottle of pills. His shoulder was throbbing wildly. It was getting harder for him to be sociable through the pain. He scanned the instructions Hank had scribbled on the label, noting that he should take about two at a time with plenty of liquids. Shrugging, he placed two pills in the palm of his hand.

_Now for something to down this stuff with,_he thought, scanning the hallway for a water fountain. No such luck. Then he spotted Kurt's hand, which was holding a plastic sports bottle. It was clear, indicating the presence of orange juice.

Immediately, he snatched the bottle from Kurt. "Can I have some of this?" he asked.

Kurt's golden eyes widened with apprehension. "Bobby, no!" he cried out, trying to take the bottle back.

"Bobby, you can't…" Kitty began, trying to take the bottle away from him. Her voice soon trailed off.

Unfortunately, the their attempts to thwart Bobby were too late. He and Kitty watched helplessly as their teammate popped the pills into his mouth before taking a big swig of the bottle's contents. Then they exchanged troubled glances. While neither of them was well versed in pharmacology, both knew what might happen as a result of mixing pills and alcohol. On the bright side, he had not ingested enough of the drink to cause any serious harm. However, it was sufficient to promise some interesting changes in his demeanor.

Bobby held the bottle away from him and stared at it carefully. After a few seconds, he smacked his lips together, a quizzical expression furrowing his brow. "That's really strong orange juice," he observed and stared down at the bottle again. "But good. Good, good."

Kitty slapped her hand against her forehead. "We're, like so dead," she mumbled to Kurt.

Warren Worthington had just finished talking to the manager at Benton Park. The two of them were going over the billing information for one last time. The set cost of reserving the entire restaurant, plus the cost of food, beverages, and gratuities were finally settled upon. After the details were ironed out, he instructed Jubilee to wait at the mezzanine level to point out where the gift table was and to mingle. Meanwhile, he took it upon himself to greet people at the door.

Almost immediately, guests began to spill inside. Rogue, Gambit, Storm, Bishop, and Sage were the first arrive, followed by Scott and Jean. A few minutes later, Dani, Xi'an, Amara, Rahne, Roberto, and Sam, accompanied by a group of students made their boisterous entrance. A haughty-looking Emma soon swept in, wearing a white fur coat over a deep-cut, white halter dress slit to mid-thigh. Hank, Paige, Jean-Paul, and Tabitha wheeled Professor Xavier inside. Carrying an armload of wrapped boxes was Cain, who brought along his date for the night, Jennifer. Making a quieter arrival were Alex and an unhappy-looking Annie, who quickly disappeared into the crowd.

The Drake family breezed in led by the genteel Maddy. She looked quite radiant that night, beaming from ear to ear. The Drake matriarch was wearing an ankle-length, camel coat over a light-blue sweater set and beige, wool skirt. Her cornflower blue eyes were bright with excitement as she leaned in to give Warren a hug in greeting.

"Warren, it's so good to see you." She drew back, still smiling and patting his cheek with a gentle, motherly hand. "How are you, dear?"

The blond playboy flashed her a charming grin. "Fine, thanks. And you?"

"Marvelous," she breathed, taking in the swank surroundings. She was clearly impressed. "My, this is wonderful. Thank you so much for arranging all of this, Warren. Bobby's so lucky to have you as a friend."

Joel pulled off his brown, leather driving gloves. "Yeah, this might be too good for Bobby," he joked.

His wife, Grace, elbowed him sharply. "Ignore him," she told Warren. "I think what you're doing for Bobby is great, Warren. I couldn't imagine a nicer place."

He waved off her gushing compliment. "It's nothing, really," he told her, nodding and smiling at Joel, Grace, and Mary. "Just my way of letting Bobby know that he's appreciated."

His blue eyes soon fell upon the craggy face of Bill Drake. The elder Drake was expressionless as he slipped off his wool overcoat. His steely gaze scanned the restaurant, but it was unclear as to what he was searching for. Leaning upon his aluminum cane, he sighed heavily.

"Yes, this is something," Bill echoed his wife's sentiment, but was rather neutral in his assessment. He took Mary's arm, allowing her to lead him further inside.

Warren hid his irritation. At that moment, he could understand as to why Bobby dreaded spending time with his father. The man could compete with Scott Summers in a congeniality contest and tie for first place. Unruffled, he decided to keep up his act as the gracious host.

"Well, while we wait on the birthday boy, everyone's upstairs enjoying some cocktails, appetizers, and music," he informed the family, gesturing to the stairs. "Bobby should be here any minute and then things can go into full swing."

Mary patted her uncle's hand, which rested on her arm. "Sounds good." Turning to him, she asked, "Are you ready, Uncle Bill?"

The nostrils of his crooked nose flared slightly. He stared at the staircase with some contempt. It was uncertain as to whether he was upset about the prospect of climbing the steps, or if he was upset about being forced to mingle with people he cared not to under any circumstances. In the end, it was a toss-up.

Finally, his gray eyes settled on his niece's inquisitive face. He swallowed hard as he pressed his lips together. "I suppose so," he replied quietly.

"We'll see you upstairs, Warren," Maddy said, heading towards the stairs with the rest of the family. She placed a comforting hand on her husband's back, ascending the steps to the mezzanine level.

Warren remained at his post by the door as the Drakes made their way to join the rest of the party. He pushed up the sleeve of his rust-colored, cashmere sweater to check his Rolex. Kurt, Kitty, and Bobby were supposed to been here about fifteen minutes ago. He contemplated calling Kurt's cell phone when he saw the front door swing open widely.

"Sorry, we're late," Kitty gasped, wisps of hair framing her cat-like eyes. She scurried inside, escaping the breezy air that hung outside. The University of Chicago graduate looked rather festive in a gray tweed sweater jacket, white T-shirt, and a pair of jeans with a pink, satin ribbon tied around her hips.

Warren watched Kurt follow her inside. Curiously, he seemed to be carrying Bobby in with him. "Um, OK," he said slowly, blinking. "Traffic?"

Kitty glanced at Kurt, who looked very nervous. "Not exactly," she answered, peering towards the stairs. The effect of the pills and the alcohol settled in quickly, transforming their teammate into a pliant, but willful person who slurred his words. It had taken her and Kurt a better part of an hour to convince Bobby to get dressed for the party. An additional twenty minutes were spent on coaxing him into the car. "So, is everyone's upstairs?"

"Yeah—"

"Great. I've got to ask Ororo something."

Kurt, who had been preoccupied with keeping Bobby on balanced, became aware of what she was about to do. Quickly, he propped Bobby against the far wall. "Kitty, vait!" he called out. To his chagrin, his friend was already racing up the stairs. He made a note to get her back later.

Meanwhile, Bobby had ambled over to Warren. His gray eyes were no longer heavy-lidded, as he tried to put on his most serious expression. The wobbling in his gait gave it away. Placing his arm around Warren's broad shoulders, he drawled, "Hey, Warren, what did the five fingers say to the face?"

Warren gave him a quizzical look and shook his head. "I don't know," he replied. "What?"

The younger man leaned over and smacked his friend across the face, laughing hysterically. "SLAP!" he screeched before falling down backwards in a heap.

Warren's hand immediately flew to his cheek. He stared at his friend with a mixture of astonishment and ire. Then out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Kurt shaking his head and covering his mouth. The tall, blond waved the German native over brusquely. When the other man complied, he scowled darkly.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded, blue eyes narrowing into razor-thin slits.

Kurt swallowed hard, tugging at the collar of his shirt. As slender as he was, he felt somewhat constricted all of the sudden. "Vell," he began, "Bobby got hurt today during our mission and he's on some painkillers. And…"

"And what?"

"And, there's a chance he might have had some alcohol vit a couple of the pills."

"What? Is he going to be OK? Should he even be here?"

"Hank said he'll be fine. Mixing the pills and the alcohol is akin to being intoxicated. He said it should wear off in a little vile."

"How long is a little while?"

"Ach… I don't know. Hank didn't say exactly."

Warren felt his face flush red, furious with Hank for failing to give him a heads-up. "How did this happen?" he snapped.

Kurt hesitated, watching Bobby grab a white, linen napkin from one of the tables to place it upon his head. He stuck his nose in the air and began to walk back and forth, swinging his hips. "Look at me," he slurred merrily, "I'm Emma Frost!"

The German turned his attention back to an open-mouthed Warren. "I don't think it's all that important as to how it happened as much as that it already happened."

"We can't let him show up in front everyone like that," Warren hissed hotly. He raked a hand through his golden locks. "Help me think of something!"

Kurt pulled at the collar of his navy-and-green sweater, which he wore over his broken-in cargo pants. Part of him wanted to burst out laughing from the hilarity of the situation, and from exhaustion of his long, stressful day. Sensing Warren's elevating anger, he decided against it. Instead, he relegated himself to assisting his friend in figuring out a way to solve their dilemma.

He was about to suggest keeping Bobby down here with pitchers of coffee in front of him when he suddenly noticed how still things were. Alarmed, he turned his head to scan the room. Almost instantly, he felt his stomach drop.

"Varren?" he drawled.

The tall, blond looked irritated as he was roused from his musings. He was in the midst of formulating a concrete plan. "What?"

"Vhere's Bobby?"

"What do you mean 'Where's Bobby?'"

Jubilee took a piece of smoked salmon on brioche toast from the proffered plate in front of her. She nodded her gratitude to the bald waiter before she swept past him. Her sapphire eyes were pensive as she leaned against the back of one of the overstuffed, leather sofas. As she nibbled on the appetizer, she fell back on her favorite pastime of people watching. She figured it was a constructive activity as she waited for Bobby to arrive.

A smile tugged at her lips as Logan placed an arm around Ororo's slim, shoulders, which were left bare by her strapless, ivory dress with an A-line skirt. He was whispering something into her ear, chewing on his cigar. The stunning weather goddess wrinkled her nose before snatching the Cohiba from Logan's lips and tossing it into a nearby ashtray. Then she clasped his hand, leading him to the dance floor, where Scott and Jean, and Rogue and Gambit were dancing.

On the other side of the room, Emma was sitting at the bar, nursing a martini and smoking a cigarette. The former headmistress of the Massachusetts Academy was engaged in a quiet conversation with Hank McCoy. Close by, a group composed of Paige, Annie, Kitty, Dani, Xi'an, Amara, and Rahne were laughing over something Tabitha was saying. Sage and Bishop were playing pool at one of the tables, while Sam, Roberto, Jean-Paul, and Alex were engaged in a game of darts. Nearby, Lorna Dane stood by the cigar bar with a brandy in her hand, staring intently at Alex.

In all, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Finishing the last of her appetizer, she only hoped that Bobby would be caught up in the euphoria. For the last several days, she watched him brood as the day of the party edged closer. In spite of her repeated reassurances that all was going to be fine, he continued to be express his doubts. However, she was convinced that once he made it here, he would relax.

She flicked her eyes to her Fossil watch, noting that Bobby should have been here a while ago. She wondered if there was anything wrong, but quickly dismissed those thoughts. If there was, she reasoned, Warren would have known and consequently, communicated something to her and everyone else. Inwardly, she repeated the mantra to put herself at ease and enjoy the levity around her.

Her musings were soon shattered when she heard someone clear their throat. Startled, she jumped. Then she turned around, finding herself face to face with the other person. Her lips twitched a little upon discovering the identity.

"Hi," she managed, placing a hand over her chest to reflect her continued surprise.

Bill gave her a curt nod in greeting. He took in the young girl his son was dating. Jubilee looked like some kind of lovely ingénue, her long, dark tumbling down her shoulders and providing a contrast against her creamy skin and sparkling, blue eyes. She was wearing a champagne-colored, sleeveless sweater with a gold, antique lace skirt that fell above her knees.

His steely eyes then roved over the hand she clutched over her chest. Around her ring finger was the Claddaugh ring he had passed on to Bobby weeks ago. The band glowed with a radiance that was highlighted by the overhead lighting. As much as a part of him hoped that she would not accept it, there was another part that considered the possibility of her wearing it.

"Fits you well," he told her flatly after a second of passing silence.

She followed his gaze and blushed. "Thank you." Dropping her hand to her side, she tried not to fidget under his scrutinizing stare. "So, how are you?"

"Tired. The climb up here didn't help." He tapped his aluminum cane with great disdain.

A concerned frown furrowed her brow. "Do you need to sit down?" she inquired.

The Drake patriarch shook his head, grimacing. "I'd rather not," he told her woodenly. "Too many people clustered around the chairs. I don't like that kind of thing."

"Oh." Somehow, this piece of information did not surprise her. In an effort to drum up some conversation in lieu of leaving him altogether, she stared down at the glass tumbler in his other hand. "Anything good?"

Bill shrugged indifferently. "If you like soda water," he said. "I can't have anything strong because of my medication. Not that I miss it anyway."

"Oh." Jubilee felt as if she were drowning in sea of helplessness with no hope of rescue in sight. All of her friends were occupied. Bobby was nowhere to be found. She bargained desperately to whatever deity was willing to hear her plea for some kind of graceful way out.

To her astonishment, Bill decided to prolong the conversation. "That was his grandmother's ring, you know," he pointed out, taking another look at the heirloom around Jubilee's finger.

Instinctively, she folded her hands together. "I know," she whispered, unsure as to what was going to follow. She hated the way she felt so off-kilter now.

"I…I gave that to Maddy before we got married. Did he tell you that?"

"No, he didn't."

"Yes, well, she wore that just before I proposed to her. It was like a precedent to the engagement ring."

"Oh."

"I wanted to show her that I was committed to her. I didn't have to tell her outright, but I meant that. Do you see where I'm going?"

"I…"

"When I passed it on to Bobby, he looked me in the eye and told me that he understood what it stood for. This ring wasn't for some fleeting little thing, some passing infatuation. He had to be serious, just like I was."

"I know. He was. Believe me, he was."

"Then you must know how hard it was for me to take this in."

"Yes, Mr. Drake, I know that, too. It's no secret that I'm not what you want for your son."

He studied her closely, gray eyes steely. "It's hard to have any faith."

She tucked a lock of hair behind a delicate ear. "I'm not going to try to come up with arguments to sway you," she began, her voice low. "I just need for you to know that what I said to you weeks ago—nothing has changed. All I want to do is be what Bobby has been to me. I can't think of anything else to say."

"I see." Bill pressed his lips firmly together. His craggy features were drawn in an unreadable expression. He had not expected to hear that, but was mildly surprised to know that she was holding her ground. As he mulled over her words, he realized that in the back of his mind, he wanted to believe her.

"Hiya." Bobby came up from behind Jubilee, draping his arms around her slim waist. He planted a kiss at the base of her throat. Then he raised his head and nodded in greeting at his father, who appeared taken aback from the explicit display of affection. "Looks like a serious meeting of the minds."

Jubilee drew back slightly and turned to stare up at him. "Uh, I guess you could say that," she said, her brows knitting together in confusion. There was a strange, uninhibited quality she sensed from Bobby. His playful gray eyes seemed kind of manic, while his breathing was somewhat rapid as if he had been running around. The young man's shirttails were hanging out from beneath his brown, half-zip sweater. His khakis, which would have been normally pressed, were rumpled, as was his hair.

"Yes." Bill eyed his son warily, gripping the handle to his cane tightly. There was something a little off about his son just now. He cleared his throat. "Did you see your mother yet?"

Bobby rested his chin against the curve that connected Jubilee's slender neck to her shoulder. "Yeah," he replied nonchalantly, "she seems to think I'm looking out of sorts."

"She's not the only one," Bill muttered, gulping down the rest of his soda water. He quirked a brow when Bobby laughed. "Something funny, Bobby?"

His son smiled broadly, gray eyes twinkling with incredible mirth. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Dad. Here I was, thinking I got that from Mom. Do you know she doesn't get half the jokes I tell? Well, now things are totally explained!"

Then he turned to Jubilee, pulling her body closer to his. "Isn't it great to know that our kids are going to have a decent sense of humor? Just look at our genes… Hey, you know what? Maybe that can be their mutant power—being the ultimate comic. What do you think, Jubes?"

Concerned, Jubilee stared deeply into Bobby's gray eyes. "Are you OK?" she asked. "Do you need for me to get you something?"

He shook his head firmly. "I've got all I need right here," he told her, giving her a squeeze. "I don't need anything else. I don't need anyone else. You see, you're the only thing that's making this whole birthday party bearable. Hips and all." His hands moved down to the area he was referring to for emphasis.

Jubilee's eyes widened at him._What is with him?_ she wondered, her own hands flying down to where his were and clasping them tightly.

Meanwhile, Bill frowned at his son, unable to provide a response to that remark. He quickly became aware this might have been in reference to his wife's obsession with the possibility of grandchildren. Not that he had paid too much attention to the matter since Bobby had remained single for a while. However, he was aware of his son's repressed discomfort over the topic. It was surprising to him that Bobby was now talking about it, albeit indirectly. One of the few things the Drake men shared was the propensity to mask contempt for certain issues, particularly when they came up in conversation repeatedly. For Bobby, Bill surmised, being pressured into settling down and starting a family was one of them.

"I think you need to sit down," Jubilee finally said evenly. She resisted the urge to grind her teeth, something she often did when she was feeling stressed. Perhaps she could convince Hank or the Professor to see what was behind this bizarre behavior. "It's pretty clear you're not well."

Bobby snorted, pulling away from her. "It's pretty clear that you're trying to ruin my good time," he retorted, mimicking her tone. He stomped off and called over his shoulder, "I'll be back when you're fun again!"

Usually, Jubilee would have been indignant. She was the queen of ultimate fun, something Bobby should have known. Nevertheless, she soon pieced things together to the point where she was aware that this was not the Bobby she knew talking. Some extraneous factor was making him act the way he did and say the things he said. Given this, allowing him to walk around and mingle in the condition he was in was a recipe for disaster.

She turned to Bill and straightened her shoulders. "I have to ask you to excuse me," she said, worry emanating from her cerulean eyes. "I… I have to go. Something's not right."

_I have to go take care of him. _

The elder Drake was still staring after his son, reeling from the display of strange behavior manifested. It was nothing like he had seen or heard before from Bobby. As he gave Jubilee a short nod for her to depart, he wondered how long the younger Drake bottled all of that sentiment and why it had surfaced now.

Jubilee was weaving between the guests, who were gathered in small groups, laughing and chatting over drinks and appetizers. Occasionally, someone would greet her with a smile or a 'hi'. Not wanting to reveal that anything was out of the ordinary, she hurriedly responded. Her main focus was on trying to look for Bobby. Unfortunately, he had gotten a good head start and that, combined with the hordes of people now in attendance, made it impossible to locate him. She inwardly groaned, wondering who decided to take her boyfriend on a pre-celebration endeavor before coming here.

Suddenly, she felt a hand grab her arm firmly. Surprised, she whipped her head around to see a guilty-looking Kurt. "Hey," she said breathless, trying to slip her arm away. "Listen, this isn't a good time. I have to look for Bobby."

"I know," he said, raising his voice above the din of the crowd. Then he leaned towards her to whisper in her ear. "There's something you should know."

"That's he acting like he's in Opposite Land? Thanks, Kurt, but I got that memo a while ago." Jubilee tempered her impatient, sarcastic comment with a smile.

He shook his head, leading her towards the seating area where there were less people around. "Nein, that's not the only thing."

She stared at him, noticing a sheepish expression crossing his devil-like features. "Then what else?" she prompted, uncertain as to what she was going to hear.

Quickly, the German explained what happened, including his and Kitty's culpability in the matter. Then he went through Hank's initial assessment of things, where the doctor believed that Bobby would be fine enough to celebrate. As he relayed the information, he imagined a light bulb going off over her head. A disbelieving Jubilee provided a run-through of what just happened.

When she finished, she grasped his arm tightly. "You have to help me find him," she insisted with a flash of desperation in her gaze. "Before he does something stupid."

"Too late."

"What?"

"Take a look."

Jubilee followed Kurt's stare to the dance floor. Had this been happening to some other couple, she would have not hesitated to laugh out loud. Instead, she found herself affixed to where she was standing as she witnessed something she never dreamed she would ever see. To her mortification, a small gathering surrounded the action, creating an amused audience. Immediately, her hand flew over her gaping mouth.

On the center of the dance floor, Bobby was dancing cheek to cheek with Cook. The portly Englishwoman was protesting loudly, telling him that she did not know how to dance. In response, the boyishly handsome young man grinned at her and held her closer.

"Mr. Drake, please," Cook cried out shrilly for what seemed like the tenth time, struggling to free her arms from his tight embrace. Her chubby cheeks were burning with intense embarrassment from the smiles on the faces that surrounded them. This was the last place she truly wanted to be. "I don't dance!"

"C'mon, Cook, it's easy." Bobby took the lead, sweeping them across the floor with great flourish. "I've got the moves, so dance with me, Mama!"

With that, he twirled her around. Unfortunately, Bobby did not hold onto her hand. This sent the rotund Englishwoman spinning around uncontrollably. At this point, she was so overwhelmed and so disoriented, there was little she could do control where she was going or to even stop her body at all. This, in turn, made her quite frightened, sending shrieks from her wavering mouth. Meanwhile, Bobby seemed content to waltz with an imaginary partner in her stead.

Alarmed, Gambit raced from Rogue's side and darted to the dance floor. The tall, lean Cajun thief reached out for Cook. With cat-like reflexes, he caught her and drew her close to his side to steady her. She collapsed against him, muffling a distressed, humiliated wail. He patted her back comfortingly.

"Gambit t'ink you move divine, Cook," he mused after several seconds when he was satisfied that she was going to be fine.

She drew back from him, observing a teasing grin that tugged at his lips. Inhaling deeply, she stared at him. Then she slapped his shoulder, furious.

Jubilee and Kurt swiftly made their way to the dance floor, hoping to get to Bobby. They ignored the chuckles and comments that floated by in regards to his dancing. For Jubilee, she was torn between fretting over Bobby's well being and wanting to blast him into a million ice-cubes. She finally stepped on the dance floor, finding herself a foot away from him.

"Bobby!" she called out to him. "Bobby, come over here!"

He turned around, stopping in mid-waltz. Then he peered around as if she were calling out to another Bobby and shrugged his shoulders. Gray eyes twinkling with unbridled mischief, he soon dashed from the dance floor and quickly fled towards the stairs.

_Goddammit, _Jubilee groused to herself, following him with speed of her own. _Wolvie's right. Love does make you stupid. Why else would I be chasing after this drunken fool? _

She glided down the staircase that led to the main floor of the restaurant. Waiters and waitresses were in the midst of setting the tables. Spotless, white china was laid out with flatware and red napkins. Candles were being lit with care. The aroma of food wafted in the air from the kitchen in the back of the restaurant.

When Jubilee reached the bottom of the stairs, she could see Bobby duck into one of the hallways opposite to the kitchen. She jogged after him, cursing the mules she had chosen to wear with her outfit. Already, she imagined the blisters forming. Cursing under her breath, she followed him. There was no need to attract additional attention by yelling his name. She figured she would simply grab him by the collar and drag him away once she caught up with him.

The young girl found him in front of door with a vintage poster for Vermouth. Gasping from all of the running she had done, she slowed down as she approached him. The fatigue she had been experiencing was quickly replaced with all-consuming mortification mixed with anger. "You're coming with me," she hissed, curling her fingers around his arm.

"Before or after we sneak off in here for some quiet time?" Bobby slurred, draping an arm around his girlfriend's waist and pulling her close to his side. He placed his hand over the doorknob. "We get interrupted all the time, so I thought…"

Jubilee pushed herself away from him. "That's your problem," she said, exasperated. She had to repeat inside her mind that this was not her Bobby talking. "You're in no condition to think. Let's go."

He made a whimpering sound. "Oh come on, Jubes," he pleaded. "All I want to do is be with you. Is that so wrong?"

She sighed wearily, finding herself being taken in by his hangdog expression. Even when he was in this state, it was difficult for her not to find him adorable. Or, was it pathetic? "No, but…" she began reluctantly.

"Great!" he cried out, his face lighting up. Grinning broadly, he yanked open the door. He was about to usher her inside with him, but paused in his steps. For the first time that evening, he was completely still, his face completely blank. In his intoxicated haze, he believed the room was empty.

But it was not.

He saw Alex Summers, blond hair askew as he sat atop a crate. His dress shirt was untucked and unbuttoned halfway. Next to his feet was the black, shawl-collar sweater he had been wearing earlier that evening, along with his belt. In the dimness of the light that glowed overhead, one could discern his blue-green eyes were dazed. His breathing was shallow and his face was pink.

The next thing Bobby saw was green hair. It was green like the sea, flowing and wild. Beyond that, he noted curvaceous limbs, which were bare. A black, velvet tank top was hanging off of one of the hooks on the far wall. Immediately, arms flew up to cover and shield.

Oh God.

Jubilee's eyes were round as saucers, absorbing the startling scene in front of her. Any semblance of logical thought had disappeared. Her focus was on the man standing next to her, wondering what his reaction would be. She watched him stumble backwards, stunned. Biting on her lower lip, she reached out for him, to comfort him, to do something.

What followed next took everyone by surprise.

Bobby threw back his head and laughed hysterically. He was so overcome by his laughter, tears began to stream down his cheeks. Then he pointed at Alex and Lorna with an unsteady finger. The intent behind this gesture was unknown, but captivated everyone's attention nonetheless. The couple, frozen, simply stared at him in great confusion. After a while, he grabbed the doorknob and slammed it closed, roaring.

Jubilee stared at him in disbelief, uncertain as to what to make of this. _I guess he's taking that well, _she mused. She watched him stagger away and collapse on the floor, lost in his laughter.

Warren and Kurt, followed by Hank arrived on the scene, their faces filled with a mixture of relief and puzzlement upon finding Bobby. Their collective stares soon traveled to Jubilee, who was kneeling down next to him. She appeared equally perplexed as she cradled Bobby's head in her arms.

"What happened?" Hank asked, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.

She opened her mouth, attempting to explain the precipitating event. Then she snapped it closed. There was no way she was going to try to put into words what just happened. It was simply better to leave things alone. The awkwardness of the whole thing was too much.

Finally, she shrugged her shoulders. "I found him like this," she lied, stroking Bobby's hair. She stared up at the three men and said, "I don't think he's up to partying. Do you think we can go back to the mansion? I mean, everyone's having such a good time, I doubt they're going to miss us anyway."

Warren appeared irked. After all, he had spent a good deal of money on this event and the special guest was not going to be able to make it. On the other hand, he could not allow his friend to roam about in his current condition. That would be irresponsible.

Pressing his lips together, he nodded stiffly. "Fine."

"Do you need any help?" Kurt asked, helping her pull Bobby to his feet.

Jubilee wrapped an arm around the still-laughing Bobby and nodded. "Yeah," she replied, steadying him. "Two things. Kurt, could you teleport us back there? I can take care of Bobby there and you can come back here."

Kurt nodded. "Ja."

"What's the other thing?" Warren asked, watching Bobby rest his head against her shoulder.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Maybe get the Professor or Jean to wipe out everyone's memory of what happened and implant something about Bobby being ill as the reason for him not being around. No sense in embarrassing the guy on his birthday."

"He kind of deserves it in a way after what he's done tonight," Warren pointed out, not quite forgetting the slap he received earlier that night.

She nodded. "You're right, but still, he wasn't totally responsible for what he said or done. He's not himself. You know that. Look, he wouldn't have done half the things he pulled tonight."

The blond Adonis exhaled loudly, annoyed that she was right in her assertion. He raked a hand through his hair. "Sure," he said, exchanging a glance with Hank. "We'll see what we can do."

Hank was still concerned, licking his lips when Bobby's laughter subsided. "Are you sure you don't need one of us to stay with you? As we've all seen tonight, he's quite a handful."

Jubilee shook her head emphatically, blue eyes firm. "I'll be OK," she reassured the three men.

Then with a BAMF, Jubilee, Bobby, and Kurt were gone.

Bobby woke up the next morning, his head thudding with a dull pain that could only be matched by the throbbing in his shoulder. The sunlight that streamed inside temporarily blinded him. Groaning, he tried to gather a recollection as to what happened the night before. He hypothesized that he had been drinking given his sorry state—headache, barely able to move, groggy, and stomach jumping up and down. Tried as he did, nothing was registering in his memory at that moment.

_Ugh, what the hell did I drink last night? What the hell did I do last night? _he asked himself.

He rolled over on his uninjured side to find himself staring into a pair of sparkling, blue eyes. Blinking, he swallowed and found that his mouth was terribly dry. He coughed, a dry, harsh sound, sitting up abruptly.

"Here." Jubilee opened a bottle of water and passed it to him. She watched him take a big gulp. "Better?"

He nodded. "Thanks." His gray eyes swept over his girlfriend, who was wearing a pair of multicolored, striped pajamas. Although she was dressed for sleep, she did not appear as if she had gotten a great deal. There was a hint of dark circle under her eyes and her face looked drawn and pale.

Finally, he asked softly, "Are you OK?"

She smiled at him, patting his head affectionately. "I was going to ask you the same thing," she told him as she took the bottle from him and placed it on the nightstand by her side of the bed. "You see, Birthday Boy, you had quite a night."

He paled. "Oh, no," he groaned, lying back down and pulling a pillow over half of his face. "What did I do?"

"You mean you don't remember?" she asked. While it was not out of the realm of possibility, it could happen. Slowly, a devilish smirk quirked her mouth. _This is going to be fun. _

"Not really."

"So no memory of you cutting a rug with Cook on the dance floor?"

"What? Oh God!"

"Oh, what about pouting and telling me that I'm no fun?"

"I did that?"

"Then there's the time you told your dad how we're going to have mutant kids with the ability to make anyone laugh."

"Are you serious? Really, are you serious?"

"Kurt said you did this impression of Emma that he found off-the-wall."

"Are you sure he's not trying to pin something he did on me?"

"I seem to also remember a certain Bobby Drake saying he liked my hips, too."

He pulled the pillow away from his face. "Well, I like everything about you, Miss Jubilee," he said, brushing a wisp of hair from her soft cheek. He wagged his brows suggestively. "It's not just your hips."

She laughed. "Real smooth."

"Hey, it's all I've got," he said defensively. "From what you're telling me, whatever dignity I had went out the window from my partying. I mean that's the reason why I can never leave this room again, right?"

Jubilee's laughter faded as she held his hand in hers. "Well, you didn't do too much partying," she admitted. "The only drink you had was what you sampled from Kurt. The painkillers and that sent you over the edge. I'd say we were there for about an hour before Kurt and I took you home."

Bobby groaned again. "So, I'm a lightweight loser who acts like an idiot. That's what people are going to think?"

She shook her head, silky hair rippling down her slim shoulders. "No," she told him. "The Professor wiped out almost everyone's memory of what happened. Consider it his gift to you."

"Almost everyone?" her boyfriend asked, peering up at her angelic face. "Other than you and me, who else in the know?"

She pressed her lips against the back of his hand. "Warren, Beast, and Kurt," she informed him, watching him grimace. Apparently, he was aware of the teasing and ribbing that awaited him once he ran into those three.

After imagining the torture that was going to be inflicted upon him at the hands of his friends, his expression softened. "So, you took care of me?" he mused.

She rolled her eyes in mock disdain. "Yeah, someone had to. You pretty well ticked everyone off last night. You're lucky I'm nuts about you to nurse your drunk butt all through the night. By the way, nice SpongeBob boxers."

Bobby lifted the flat sheet and stared down. Then he said, "These were supposed to bring me luck." He returned his gaze to her smiling face. "I guess in a way, I was lucky last night."

Jubilee slid down so that she was now lying next to him on her side. "How so?"

"I have you," he declared, gray eyes solemn. "I'm not sure who else would have done what you did."

Her cheeks turned pink at the compliment. "I love you, you silly boy," she whispered. "Why wouldn't I do that?"

"I don't know," he replied, cupping her cheek with a cool, dry hand. "I guess I'm not used to being with someone as incredible as you. Sometimes, it's hard for me to accept that I have my dream."

Jubilee gave him a wry smile. "Stop it, you're making me blush."

"No, Jubes," Bobby insisted, shaking his head emphatically. He took her hand, kissed the back of it affectionately, and pressed against his bare chest, over his heart. "Even though I was totally wasted to remember the party or what I got, I still have the most important and wonderful thing right here. It's like whatever I might face in the world, I can find comfort in knowing I have you and that you're with me. No matter what."

This time, she actually blushed. It was the first time she had ever heard her virtues extolled in such a manner. Before Bobby, she lived vicariously through TV show characters or her friends to experience it. Listening to him speak and knowing that he meant his words sincerely, her heart swelled inside her chest.

She suddenly became grave when she realized she forgot to disclose one event. There was a part of her that was hesitant about doing so. Deep inside, she was ambivalent as to how it might affect Bobby. He had told her that he was over Lorna, and that he was over the whole Alex thing as well.

But last night might have changed things. His reaction was so unexpected and strange, troubling her. Sure, she believed everything he had said to her about being happy with her. Yet, it was hard not to feel off-balanced in regards to what happened. She could understand a catatonic state, or flying into some of irrational state. Laughing as a response to finding his ex-girlfriend with his rival, however, was something she failed to comprehend. Was this a sign that something else was lurking behind his consciousness?

No, she reasoned to herself, it was not. She had faith in what she had with Bobby. There was no jealousy or fear of losing him that disturbed her. Rather, it was something else. It was fueled out of worry for him and for his adjustment. She wasn't sure if she could bear seeing him go through hell if he didn't have to.

"Jubes?" Bobby looked concerned, a frown creasing his brow. "Is something wrong?"

She was startled as she peered up at him. Quickly, she brushed aside her ruminations. Flashing him her most charming smile, she shook her head. Before he could press the issue further, she kissed him deeply and held him close to her.


	31. Chapter Thirty One Float On

Here's the last chapter of the year. I'm off for two weeks on my honeymoon and have some chapters to add when I get back. I promise there'll be some interesting turns to this story, including more explicit scenes that will be available elsewhere.

Thanks for all the reviews and comments. Please keep them coming.

Finally, the characters belong to Marvel. The story, however, is mine. Enjoy!!!

**Chapter Thirty-One: Float On**

Several weeks later, winter departed for the year. Much to the chagrin of some, it had overstayed its' welcome (Bobby strongly felt otherwise). The white snow that had been a fixture on the mansion's grounds had melted away, revealing emerald-green grass. Bare trees, which had been stripped of their leaves during the cold season, now boasted crisp, green foliage. Soft, warm breezes replaced bitter, icy winds that sent chills up one's spines. The brilliance of the sun often competed with the rains spring brought, which nourished the garden's many flowering bushes and trees. Birds and butterflies mingled together, making their return after a winter's stay in the South.

The change in season was not only reflected in the weather, but around the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. There was an infectious sense of brightness that even affected the most hardened and jaded of hearts. Conversations in the classroom became more cheerful. Some instructors, like Hank and Kurt, chose to teach out in the garden or by the lake nearby. Bulky clothes worn during the colder months were shed in favor for lighter ones. Students happily found their curfews extended by an hour due to the prolonged sunlight. Cook began preparing dishes that reflected the sentiment associated with the season. Menus began to consist of items such as sole meunière, bundt cakes, risotto with asparagus, garlic fries, and pork chops with fennel.

In spite of the relaxing calm that enveloped the mansion and its' residents, the active team members still found there was still a great deal of work to do. The Professor seemed especially concerned about a swell of recent activity across the West Coast. While he reassured them there was no imminent danger posed by these new developments, he continued to express his reservations nonetheless.

Back at the mansion, Jubilee frowned at the ceiling of her bedroom, trying to block out the sunlight streaming in through the cream-colored curtains. Lying in bed, she was far removed from the complexities of serving on one of these teams. Yet, the young girl found it difficult to fall back asleep after only five hours of slumber. Part of her wanted to attribute her condition to the bright morning light, or the prospect of midterms, or even the chili cheese fries she shared with Paige the night before. Sighing, she came to the realization that none of those things played a role in what was behind it.

It was something else.

Or_someone_else.

Bobby.

Rolling over on her side, she continued frowning. It had been almost a month since that she and an intoxicated Bobby stumbled in on Alex and Lorna. While the awkward incident remained fresh in her mind, Bobby was completely unaware of it. He appeared to genuinely to have no recollection of the encounter at all. The other day, during lunch, he had pointed out how attentive Alex was with Annie. It took Jubilee a great deal of inner reserve not to make a comment about his remark. Then she searched for any source of sarcasm in his words or in his demeanor, only to find nothing.

She wanted desperately to believe that she had made the right decision in not disclosing what happened to Bobby. Since that morning in his room when she had her chance to tell him, she tried to rationalize things. Repeatedly, she told herself that he was better off not knowing, that he was happier this way; that this was something he did not have to be aware of anyway.

At first, her attempts at justifying her actions sat well with her. She was, after all, protecting him because she loved him. That was what other people do. What she was doing was no different.

_Besides, what good could have come out of letting him know about Alex and Lorna hooking up?_Jubilee wondered, chewing on her lower lip. _So that Bobby could get all weirded out about seeing his enemy getting cozy with the woman he's been in love with for so long? That doesn't exactly sound like an experience he would want, not after he's made his peace with both of them. Telling him would jeopardize that, and I just can't… I won't see him hurt. Not again. No way. _

However, this line of thinking quickly eroded in favor of other ruminations that began to plague her. Who was she to make such determinations? Furthermore, she was shortchanging Bobby a great deal by what she had done. Taking her reasoning a step further, he was this irrational and immature person, who could easily fall apart and thus, needed shielding. While she never consciously saw her boyfriend in this light, there was no escaping the truth behind her conclusion.

Then there was the pledge they had made to one another about their relationship. Since their declarations of their feelings to one another, both affirmed their commitment to open communication. Honesty was something to be striven for. Secrets were supposed to be things to be left behind.

Now, here she was, duplicitous in her silence.

Immediately, she found herself consumed by an overwhelming sense of guilt and anxiety. These emotions seemed to intensify when Bobby was around. Much to her relief, he was oblivious to her troubled state of mind as he was in the throes of grading midterms and various assignments from his classes. He was teaching three different sections of math analysis this term, which kept him very busy. Otherwise, he would have determined something was amiss.

Frustrated that she was going to be denied any sleep yet again, Jubilee sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and pulled on her dark blue-and-green, plaid flannel robe over her gray tank top and boxers. Her bare feet glided across the cool, hardwood floor as she made her way to her door. In an effort to clear the haze from her head, she blinked as she descended the stairs. Shuffling towards the kitchen, she could detect coffee brewing and Jean's specialty spinach and Gruyere omelets wafting in the air.

"You're up finally," Scott observed, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Behind his wraparound, ruby-quartz sunglasses, his eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. It was a well-known fact around the Summers' household how their young charge was not a morning-person.

Jubilee grunted a good morning as she slumped into a chair on the other side of him, burying her head in her arms. Briefly, she contemplated producing a small PAF just to take the chirpiness from his tone. In the end, she decided it simply was not worth it.

Jean smiled sympathetically at her, removing the omelets from the frying pan and placing them on white plates. The graceful redhead carried them over, placing them down on the table. Then she planted a kiss on the top of Jubilee's head. "We were wondering if you were ever going to get up," she commented, seating herself next to her husband. "I thought the smell of food might rouse your bones."

Jubilee raised her head. Her stomach growled at the sight of the plate in front of her. In spite of her fatigued state, she could not turn away the chance to dive into the food prepared for her. With a small, grateful smile, she picked up her fork and pierced the omelet.

Scott finished off the rest of his coffee and jumped to his feet, carrying his dishes to the sink. "Well, that's it for me," he announced, running hot water over them.

"My morning breath that bad?" Jubilee asked with a mouthful of omelet. Lately, it seemed as if she was seeing very little of him around the house. If he was not involved in school-related business, he was off on a mission with some team. She had come to miss their quieter times together, where he was able to let down his stodgy façade to reveal a side that many were not permitted to see.

He smiled wryly at her, sauntering towards her and pulling on a chino jacket over his black, crewneck sweater and gray slacks. For a moment, there was a glimpse of the Scott she had grown fond of. "I've got Danger Room training," he replied, patting her shoulder and then leaning over to give Jean a kiss on the mouth. "It's the first time some of the younger students will be in there. I need to be there to supervise."

"But Dani and Rahne are supposed to be leading that session," Jean pointed out, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her tea. From what she was able to observe, the former students had proven themselves to be effective mentors to the students.

Her husband pressed his lips together firmly, drawing back. Suddenly, carefree Scott was gone. "I still should be there," he told her and tucked the clipboard under his arm. "Being in the classroom is one thing, but this is completely different. Neither one of them has done this before. I'd like to be around to just to make sure things go off without a hitch."

He was close to making a remark about his disapproval of Rahne's relationship with one of the students, but refrained from doing so. While the age difference did not concern him (a year), the power dynamics inherent to their relationship did trouble him. He had already had several conversations with the Scotswoman over this issue, much to his dismay. Then he turned to the backdoor and waved good-bye before stepping out.

When he was gone, Jubilee reached over and grabbed the pitcher of grapefruit juice. "Why does he feel like he has to do everything?" she wondered aloud, pouring herself a glass.

Jean sipped her tea, green eyes thoughtful. "You know how it is," she replied, "Scott's always taken it upon himself to be the caretaker around here. The way he sees it, he's responsible for everyone. It's his job to make sure they're safe—at least that's how he sees it."

Jubilee raised her glass to her lips, but stopped from drinking when Jean finished her last sentence. She glanced over at the stunning Jean Grey, who appeared completely guileless. Despite the fact that the redhead was clearly talking about her husband, Jubilee had the sneaking suspicion that the words were directed towards her. She knew that Jean would never pry inside her mind without her consent. Yet, it was still unnerving as to how the other woman seemed so perceptive at that moment.

Finally taking a sip of her juice, Jubilee tried to put on a nonchalant front. She was aware that Jean had a great deal on her plate at the moment with the Professor contemplating retirement. It was no secret that his favorite student was being considered for the position of headmistress of the school. Lately, it had become commonplace for Jean to bring work home or to leave for weeks to recruit new students. No need to add on to what Jean was already dealing with.

Jean sprinkled some pepper on her omelet. "I got a call from Ororo," she announced, watching the young girl across from her finish off her juice.

Her green eyes were thoughtful as she continued to observe the girl she considered the closest thing to a daughter. She did not need to use her telepathic abilities to know something was troubling Jubilee. For the past several days, she noticed the girl's distracted demeanor around the house. While she was tempted to approach, Jean knew that Jubilee would not be entirely receptive. Like her beloved Wolvie, the young girl sometimes had a tendency to keep inner conflicts to herself. It was as if she were trying to maintain that image of the always smiling, cheery Jubilee everyone had come to know at the cost of dealing with whatever was causing her angst—much to Jean's concern.

"Oh yeah? How are she and Logan doing?" Jubilee inquired, sliding another forkful of omelet into her mouth. Inwardly, she was praying that Logan would be returning back to the mansion. She was desperately in need of some guidance, and the loner was the only person guaranteed to shoot straight from the hip.

Jean swallowed, cutting her omelet. "They're fine," she replied. "She said that they're laying low for the moment. Their cover for the mission is as a married couple, and Logan's taken it upon himself to act like the protective partner. Apparently, he threatened some man outside of their hotel for whistling at Ororo."

Jubilee stifled a giggle, not at all surprise by his reaction. He had always been fiercely protective of the females at the mansion. While it was annoying, it was amusing and mildly endearing nonetheless. "How did Storm take it?" she finally asked.

"Well, she intervened, of course," Jean answered, a lock of fiery hair falling across her forehead. She brushed it aside and continued. "Then she calmly explained to Logan that she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

"I don't think he's going to take her words to heart," Jubilee mused, twirling her fork in her hand.

Jean nodded in agreement, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "No, he won't. He's aware of what she can do after all these years of knowing her, but he won't change his way of thinking. He's going to be her protector, whether she likes or not. It's a sweet gesture, but I'm not sure if she's going to put up with it for very long without doing something."

"What do you mean?" Jubilee demanded. From what she knew, the weather goddess was the epitome of serene grace. Given that her feelings were tied to her abilities, she always maintained a rather restrained front. She never flew off the handle in a rage or expressed any kind of other extreme emotion. To do so would ensure unwanted consequences for all.

Jean ate another forkful of omelet before responding. "I mean Ororo's an autonomous person, not someone who needs to be coddled upon the first sign of trouble."

Jubilee's shoulders sank as she dropped her fork with a CLANG! She chewed on her lower lip ruefully. There was no denying this time that Jean was trying to insinuate something. As indignant as Jubilee wanted to be, she knew that the redhead was only offering a patient, nonjudgmental ear to listen. When Logan was gone during his self-imposed exile, Jean had been the one to console and comfort not by reassuring her that everything would be fine but by simply being there.

She was also cognizant of the fact that she needed help as to how to make things right. It was all too clear at this point that her handling of the situation was not the way to go. Too many lost nights of sleep and incessant ruminations provided evidence behind this argument.

Jubilee pushed her plate away from her and took a deep breath. "Sometimes, I wish you wiped my memory that night at Bobby's birthday party," she sighed.

Jean tilted her head to the side. "Why?" she asked, relieved that the wall Jubilee had inadvertently built was beginning to crumble. She made a point to be gentle in her prompting, so as not to rush or pressure. It was still apparent that this disclosure was difficult for the young girl. There was no sense to be aggressive now since there was a chance that she could instantly clam up.

"I'd feel better about being in the dark. I'm less culpable that way."

"What do you have to feel culpable about?"

"Something I did. Or maybe it's something I didn't do. Either way, I'm not feeling so great about my decision. I mean I had good intentions, but looking back now I'm not sure if they completely justify what I did."

"Sounds catastrophic, sweetie."

"Well, yes and no… There are different layers to the situation."

"Care to share or would you like for me to do a mind-scan to break up the suspense?"

"No, I'll tell you. That night, before Bobby and I left, we walked in on something."

"You mean Alex and Lorna?"

"Yes!" Jubilee almost jumped out of her chair with astonishment. Then she stared at Jean with wide, sapphire eyes. "Um, how did you know? I didn't feel you poking around in my head or anything…"

Jean tugged at the collar of her pink blouse, somewhat disconcerted by the shared knowledge. While the two were friends of hers, she was not thrilled with what they had done. Fidelity was something important to her, especially given the conflict that had been brewing in her marriage. While nothing had happened between Scott and Emma, it was enough to force Jean to step back and reflect on her relationship with her husband.

Finally, she said, "Lorna stopped by my office yesterday. She told me everything, including the part about you and Bobby."

Jubilee frowned quizzically. "Wait a minute. I thought you altered everyone's memory that night with the exception of Beast, Warren, and Kurt."

The other woman sighed. "I was only able to manage to do that to all the people within my immediate line of vision," she explained, "which meant everyone on the mezzanine level of the restaurant."

"Oh." Jubilee suddenly felt an impending sense of dread that made her stomach feel heavy. "So what did she say?"

"She was a little embarrassed," Jean replied evenly, taking a sip of her tea. "To an extent, she still is. It's hard for her to even look you guys in the eye."

Jubilee nodded. Within the weeks that followed the incident, Lorna had made it a point to avoid being in the same room with her and Bobby. While Bobby had attributed his former girlfriend's behavior to some issues she was continuing to deal with since her return from Genosha, Jubilee knew better. Deep down, she couldn't blame her. It was not exactly the most flattering situation.

"But," Jean went on, her voice breaking into Jubilee's thoughts, "for the record, Lorna doesn't regret what happened between her and Alex. Before you ask me as to where this leaves Annie, it might be best that we stay away from that for the time being. Knowing Alex, he's probably either told her outright or is trying to make amends."

Jubilee pressed her lips together. She suddenly remembered that the couple were currently away, and had been since last month. The circumstances had been kept rather quiet. Like Jean, she had her own suspicions regarding their vacation together.

Quickly, her mind returned to the subject at hand. While this new development in the relationship between Alex and Annie was disturbing, she had to think about what was affecting her. Feeling more and more at ease with Jean, she confided, "Bobby doesn't know. He has no memory of that night. As far as he's concerned, he was drunk and put on a little show for everyone."

"Oh." Jean put down her mug and leaned forward in her chair. Her green eyes were thoughtful as she pursued the matter. "You didn't tell him."

Jubilee shook her head guiltily. "I just couldn't," she admitted in a low voice. "There's all that history between the three of them, and he's finally gotten over all of that. Walking in on his ex with the guy he dislikes more than fire was going to probably destroy it. At least, that's what I thought."

"Don't you think you're not giving Bobby enough credit?" Jean asked, her tone neutral.

"I'm seeing that now, but it's like I have to protect him from this. I know he says he's okay with everything. At the same time, I don't want to see him hurt. So, I'm doing my part to make sure that doesn't happen."

"And that's very commendable of you, although Bobby's more psychologically sound than you think. Not to say that you believe he's going to be fragmented and fall apart, but he has been through more trying matters. In the end, he's shown his resilience."

"So you're saying if I really love him, I should have more faith in him?"

"Something like that."

Jubilee sighed wearily, realizing that the redhead was right in her sage assessment of what was going on. Yet, she was still reluctant in a firm commitment to follow her advice. "I just don't know, Jean," she said finally. "I don't think I could live with myself if he suddenly wigs out."

Jean was silent was for a minute, carefully mulling over the young girl's response. Then she placed a hand over Jubilee's and said, "But in the unlikely event that he should react badly, you'll be there for him. He's pretty lucky in that respect, don't you think?"

Bobby was waiting for one of the elevators from Sub-Basement Level Two of the mansion. During his break, he decided to check on Dani and Rahne's first Danger Room session with their students. While he was not close to either of the women, he did want to offer his support. After all, he knew what it was like to be a young instructor just starting out. Much to his surprise, he ran into Scott. The grim look on the other man's face conveyed the fact that he wished to observe the session as well, but not to support the younger instructors.

His boyish features arranged themselves into a puzzled expression as he continued to wait. For some reason, all of the elevators were running especially slow that day. He remembered asking Scott about it in passing, who in turn told him that he would have Hank check into the matter. Normally, Bobby would have taken the stairs through the emergency exits, but those areas were locked during Danger Room sessions.

He placed his hand against the wall, drumming his fingers quietly along the steel-reinforced exterior. The worst that could happen was that he could be late and class would be shortened as a result. Somehow, he could not see his students shedding too many tears over that prospect. They were supposed to go over the quiz he gave out last week on quadratic formulas.

In the weeks since his intoxicated birthday outing, he received some teasing from his friends. Warren would jokingly offer to pay for dancing lessons whenever Cook was nearby, while Hank pretended to waltz awkwardly with an imaginary partner. Kurt seemed content to smile and wink at Bobby in passing. While the ribbing was slightly annoying, the fact that none of them chose to outright embarrass him in public spoke volumes about their friendship.

Other than the worried phone call from his mother about his health (Hank had made up an excuse about Bobby being sick in order to cover for his absence), the young man did not think much about that night. Most of what happened was a blur to him. Besides the wisecracking commentary of his friends, Jubilee was there to supply information in order to fill in the missing blanks. Her patient reassurances put his mind at ease, letting him know that he had not done anything too terribly embarrassing.

In spite of the time that had passed, he still felt a twinge of guilt. He knew that he was not fully in control and could hardly be responsible for his behavior. However, it was difficult not to feel some remorse, especially when Jubilee was concerned. The last thing she probably thought about doing, after helping to plan such a gathering, was taking care of a drunk Bobby that night into the morning. From what he had managed to piece together, he was pretty belligerent, providing to be a handful for her and his friends to deal with. But there she was, bringing him water when he was dehydrated, holding him in her arms, and telling him that everything would be fine. He was relieved he was not hung over to the point where he was sick and vomiting in front of her. Now that would be totally mortifying beyond belief.

His attempts to apologize were quickly dismissed. A smile touched his lips as he recalled her explaining to him that he had nothing to be sorry for. When he tried to comment on her efforts to care for him, she stopped him from putting her up on a pedestal once again. As she had eloquently and succinctly put it, "I love you… That's what people who care about each other do, you know."

It was hard to argue against that kind of logic.

Finally, Bobby heard the bell that signaled the arrival of the elevator. He stepped in front of the doors so that he would be ready when they opened. As they slid open, he took one step and paused in surprise.

Lorna.

There she was, carrying two large, paper shopping bags and wearing a pink, argyle halter sweater over a white skirt with brown sandals. Her light-green hair tumbled down her shoulders and back in wild waves. Dark-green eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and shock as she stared at him. Standing there, the air of haughtiness she seemed to carry with her these days receded.

He adjusted his purple-tinted sunglasses, strolling inside and trying to act as casual as possible. The doors closed, breaking the silence between them. Moving past Lorna, he pressed the button to his floor. Then he stepped back.

The discomfort he experienced when he was near his ex-girlfriend was not based on any active dislike. Instead, Bobby found that he was at a loss when it came to interacting with her at all. Their history was complicated, filled with hurt feelings on both ends. She was his first love. Unfortunately, the intensity of these emotions was not reciprocated. It had taken him some time to deal with that rejection.

But that was a long time ago. Things were different now. He was happy and with someone else. He wasn't pining away for Lorna Dane anymore.

Unable to tolerate the quiet in the air, Bobby decided to speak. "So, uh, how's it going?" Inwardly, he cringed. Not the most suave opening line, but what could one expect under these circumstances?

Lorna blinked, startled by his initiation of conversation. After several seconds, she composed herself and replied, "Fine." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, making it clear that this was not where she wanted to be at the moment.

Contrary to what some people thought about her, she hated seeing Bobby hurt. She hated herself for being the one who hurt him. It pained her to know that she was responsible for his anguish. Bobby was the first one to reach out to her, to befriend her when she was lost in the world. He was such a sweet, caring person who deserved better. Better than her, at least.

Since that night with Alex, she steered clear of Bobby and his girlfriend when it was possible. It was hard to forget what transpired. Even at this moment, she could still see Bobby's face—dumbfounded and blank—as he stood in the doorway. Lorna had expected him to start yelling or stomp out as he had done many times before when he caught her with Alex. It was a response she found familiar and could deal with. She braced herself for the worst.

Instead, Bobby laughed.

Lorna felt herself reeling now as her memory of that night filled her mind. It was nothing like she had seen before. Bobby was screeching with peals of laughter, pointing a finger at both of them. She remembered feeling very confused and off-balanced as she attempted to understand what was happening. Then just as sudden as his laughter started, he had slammed the door. Outside of the door, she could still hear him cackling away.

Standing with him in the small elevator car, she stole quick glance at him. As they moved up from the basement level, there was a part of her that anticipated him making some remark about that night. Seconds passed by, but seemed like eons while they traveled in awkward silence. Usually, she would think nothing of this encounter. Her newly hardened outlook on life compelled her to think this way. She had been through much worse in her young lifetime to be bothered by the complexities of social nuances.

Yet, here she was, bothered.

She cleared her throat. "So, how are you doing?" she inquired.

Bobby was startled, raising his eyebrows. He could tell she was tense even though she was desperately fighting to hide it from him. "I'm doing okay," he answered slowly, still surprised._I wonder what's next? _

She nodded, which wasn't meant to convey anything in particular. "That's good," she said quietly. All the while, she was trying to look for some faint sign of residual anger. It was definitely throwing her for a loop that he was insistent on playing things cool—no pun intended.

He frowned at her, genuinely confused as to where she was heading with this conversation. Clearly, she was dancing around something here, but was reluctant to talk about it explicitly. Never one to aggressively pressure anyone into talking, he decided to lightly tread. "If you're going to ask me if I've found my first gray hair, the answer is no," he joked.

Lorna shook her head, taken aback by his comment. While she was aware of Bobby's penchant for comedy, she did not expect him to say something like that. Why was he being so cagey? He had never been that way before. Was he deliberately trying to make her feel even more uncomfortable in her skin than she already was?

Fed up with the ambiguity of the situation, she extended her hand out and flexed her fingers. The car jerked abruptly. Both she and Bobby were sent stumbling backwards. She was about to completely fall over when she felt herself being held up by a pair of familiar arms.

Bobby helped to steady her. Then he pulled away and stared at her quizzically. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his sense of confusion threatening to overwhelm him. While he was one of the few who believed in giving her the benefit of the doubt after the wedding debacle, he began to question his position now.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I was going to ask the same of you," she snapped, not wanting to tolerate this game any longer. "I mean, aren't you going to say something?"

"Say what? What are you talking about?" He felt himself grow increasingly apprehensive. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Lorna."

"Don't play dumb, Bobby. Not now, OK? After these past few weeks—"

"I'm not playing."

"Oh really?"

"Really. Listen, all I know is that you've got us trapped between floors, going off about some unresolved issue that somehow involves me. Maybe if you told me what that happens to be, I could help."

Lorna was quiet for a moment, placing her hand over her mouth. Her dark-green eyes were locked on his gray ones. Again, she looked for any hint of deception on his part. When she found nothing behind those boyish features, she exhaled loudly. She was feeling very off-balanced again, but this time, for different reasons.

"I'm sorry," she finally managed, shoulders sinking slightly. Then she laughed bitterly. "Aren't you tired of me saying that?"

Concerned, Bobby leaned towards her. "What do you think you've got something to be sorry for?" he asked gently. He was honestly at a loss as to what she was talking about. If he were pressed to make a guess, he would probably suppose that she was referring to what she did to him at the wedding. However, she had already apologized for that.

She pressed her lips together, suppressing another bark of self-deprecating laughter. "You're better off not knowing," she told him. "Hell, maybe that's why Jubilee didn't say anything."

Alarm bells suddenly went off inside Bobby's brain. Instinctively, a wave of anxiety washed over him. He swallowed hard and frowned. "What does Jubes have to do with any of this?" he asked.

As much as Lorna regretted saying anything at all, she realized that she had gone too far to backpedal and feign ignorance. Her concerns about Bobby's reaction and saving her face eroded. In short, there was no turning back now. "The night of your birthday," she began.

Bobby groaned, raking a hand through his sandy hair. He guessed Jean forgot some people in her mind wipe efforts and that Jubilee was trying to spare him the mortification. Filled with a familiar sense of embarrassment, he cut her off. "Listen, whatever I did, I'm sorry. I was kind of out of it and—"

Lorna put up her hand. "Bobby, stop. Just stop." When he complied, she took a deep breath and pressed on. "That night, Alex and I… I'm going to skip the gory details, but basically we got together."

Bobby mulled over her words carefully, diving into silence once again. He turned his gaze away from her face as he contemplated what she said. In the past, he would have experienced a myriad of emotions, most of them centering on anger and frustration. He might have groused about how the world was unfair.

That was then and this was now. Circumstances had changed. Both of them were different people.

Most importantly, Bobby had moved on.

Finally, he spoke up. "I'm not upset, if that's what you were trying to get at. But I'm still not following you when you mentioned Jubes."

The self-proclaimed Mistress of Magnetism clenched her jaw, irritated that she was in the position of playing messenger. "You two walked in on this," she explained. "I guess you were drunk, but I'm pretty sure she remembers." At this moment, Jubilee's shocked face was vivid in her memory.

With this information, Bobby suddenly found himself very troubled. At first, he wanted to believe that she merely omitted this piece of information because she simply forgotten. Then he reasoned that this could not be entirely true. This bombshell of catching Alex cheating on Annie with his former girlfriend would be difficult to overlook.

_Why would she keep this from me?_he wondered, perplexed. He thought about asking Lorna, but she appeared as if she were in the dark as well. Shaking his head in disbelief, he continued frowning. He made note to confront Jubilee about her intentions as soon as he met up with her. Then he reached over and hit the STOP button again to start the elevator once again.

The elevator began its' trek back up the mansion's floors in a smooth manner. Together, Bobby and Lorna spent the rest of the ride in silence. They also chose not to look at one another. It was as if it to do so would provoke something neither one of them were ready to deal with.

Jubilee was standing outside in a blue-and-green striped T-shirt over cargo pants and espadrilles. She looked startled as she peered into the elevator. Her sapphire eyes were as round as saucers when she noticed who was in there. "Bobby?"

He turned to Lorna, who was gathering her shopping bags and preparing to exit. Then he stepped out and made his way towards his girlfriend. "We need to talk," he whispered to her urgently, taking her hand in his.

"Are you mad?" Jubilee asked, crystalline eyes studying Bobby's subdued face.

He turned his gaze to her, tearing it away from the rippling waters of the lake, which shone brightly from the afternoon sun's rays overhead. The two of them were sitting at the edge of the dock by the mansion's lake. A soft breeze tempered the unusually warm air that day, adding to the picturesque quality of the scenery.

Bobby had wanted to talk about the revelations as soon as possibly. However, he soon remembered he had a class to teach. While he disliked delaying this conversation, he had to keep his commitment to his students. He also had time to absorb the fact that Jubilee had kept something from him.

Before they met up here, he was fixated as to reasons why she would keep something like this from him. It was that aspect of the situation that troubled him most of all. As for the matter involving Alex and Lorna, he was not at all concerned either way. He simply felt badly for Annie, who had been in love with the younger Summers brother, and for Carter, who desperately wanted a father-figure.

There had been plenty of opportunities following that morning to tell him what happened. Bobby supposed that whatever the reason was, it had to be a good one. For her to keep something from him for the last several weeks, there had to be something compelling behind her actions, or lack thereof. Jubilee wasn't the type to deceive for flippant motivations.

So he listened to her, with an open mind and without prejudice. Granted, he already knew the basic gist, thanks to Lorna's account of the events. He informed Jubilee of this, which elicited a crestfallen and guilty response from her. But, he had explained to her, he needed to hear what occurred from her mouth. It was important for him to have her tell him everything.

As she disclosed what transpired, he knew that doing so was quite difficult for her. At times, she struggled to provide details. Her voice cracked a little when she said that he had laughed hysterically upon discovering Lorna and Alex together. She seemed quite bewildered by this reaction, even to this day. To her credit, however, she managed to finish without prompting from him.

He watched her fidget nervously as he continued to stare at her lovely face. "No," he finally replied quietly, noticing her knuckles turning white from gripping the edge of the wooden planks tightly. "I'm not mad at you, Jubes."

She looked relieved, but did not release her hold until Bobby pried her hands away. "You're not?"

He nodded emphatically. "Really," he told her in a low voice, placing her hands in her lap. Then he said, "I'm just…confused, that's all."

"Confused?" Sable brows shot up quizzically. "What do you mean?"

His boyish face was uncharacteristically serious as he shrugged his shoulders. "Why didn't you tell me? I mean, why did I have to find out about this from Lorna?"

Jubilee scooted back from the edge, drawing her knees to her chest. She rested her chin between her knees and hugged them tightly. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I don't know."

On the contrary, she did know. Yet, she was hesitant to make her reasons known. She wasn't sure how he was going to take her spin on things.

"That's not true," he insisted, sensing he was right from her tone. He watched her hair lift from her face and shoulders by a warm wind. "You do know."

She peered over at him._How the hell does he know?_ "Can't I just say I'm sorry and we can leave at that? I can throw in one of my special backrubs as a bonus to the deal. What do you say about that?"

"No."

"Oh dammit."

"Language..."

"Sorry."

"So, why, Jubes? Don't tell me you don't know because we're both aware that's not entirely true."

"Bobby…"

"Come on. No more dancing around the subject. Just tell me, OK?"

"Fine. I didn't tell you about the whole thing because I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of stuff."

"Jubes…"

Jubilee turned to face him again, trepidation evident in her delicate features. Up to now, Bobby had been taking things rather well. It was clear that he was not upset about finding out the truth about Lorna and Alex. True to his word, he was completely over that soap opera. In fact, he seemed unruffled by the matter altogether.

However, his calm front was not guaranteed to last long. While she wanted to take solace in Jean's words from this morning, there was a part of her that feared some kind of hurt radiating from Bobby's end when it came to her justification. Sure, her intention was somewhat noble—she only wanted to protect him. Yet, the implicit messages behind her reason were hurtful as she considered them.

I didn't give you enough credit.

I thought you were going to fall apart.

I didn't give you enough credit.

She looked deeply at his handsome face. There were the eyes that she came to associate with such kindness and his mouth that relayed all sorts of reassurances and declarations that filled her with happiness. His endearing features were devoid of any hint of anger or frustration. Instead, they conveyed a patience that quickly put her at ease.

_Here goes, _she told herself before taking a deep breath. "I didn't want to see you hurt," she confessed. "I thought if you knew, you'd be hurt just like before."

"I would be hurt?" Bobby frowned, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

She sighed, a crease wrinkling her smooth forehead. "I know about the complicated history between the three of you," she said.

He pressed his lips together. While he had never discussed the matter with Jubilee, it did not surprise him that she knew. The romantic triangle between him, Lorna, and Alex was no secret. They had tried to keep things rather private, but every once in a while there had been outbursts and arguments that took place in front of teammates. During the more trying times, when it was clear that things were not going in his favor, he confided in his friends.

Jubilee continued, her voice solemn. "I know about how upset you were to lose Lorna. She was the first real girlfriend you had, the first woman you had real feelings for. That's not something people get over easily. Even I know that."

"But you do know that things have changed, right?" He reached over to push a wisp of dark hair from her soft cheek.

"Now I realize I was wrong, but at the time, I believed what I did was right." She shrugged her shoulders. With shining, sapphire eyes, she whispered, "I'm so sorry, Bobby. I only wanted to keep you safe, make sure you wouldn't be hurt like that again."

Bobby was silent for a moment, allowing the sound of the water slapping against the poles that supported the dock to fill the void. He wasn't sure what to think then. This was certainly a first for him. Outside of a familial or platonic relationship, someone was looking out for him, valued his feelings, and fought to maintain a sense of security. The idea was thrilling and nearly overwhelming.

He reached for her and pulled her lithe fame close to him. His arms tightened around her as he rested his chin against her forehead. "You never have to worry about telling me anything," he murmured, inhaling the sweet fragrance from her hair and skin. "You have to know that by now."

She nodded, relishing the closeness. "I do."

Bobby's fingers grasped her chin, tilting her face to look up at him. "Then you also know that I'm not going to fall apart," he said softly, his cool breath caressing her cheek. "Because I'm stronger than I've ever been. Because I have you."

Then he leaned in and kissed her deeply. He had never felt more loved than he did at that moment. Now, he was safe.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two: You Gave Your Love t...

Hi everyone! Just got back from Europe last night and I'm battling some nasty jet lag. All in all, it was incredible. I'm trying to find a way to move their permanently. In the meantime, I'll be saddled with school and teaching so there might be a little lag between chapters.

Here's the latest. There's a more explicit version. If you're interested in reading that, you can let me know and I'll send it to you.

Thanks again for the reviews and comments. Please keep them coming.

The characters belong to Marvel. I only own the story

**Chapter Thirty-Two: You Gave Your Love To Me Softly (Non-explicit)**

Summer arrived quickly on the heels of spring, ushering in even warmer temperatures and brighter days. By this time, the shrubbery that decorated the mansion's spacious grounds was in full bloom. At night, the soft glow of fireflies could be seen dancing along the trees and around the lake. The promise of vacation was tantalizingly close. Like the students, many instructors became distracted with prospective plans. It was not an uncommon occurrence to see class being held outside. Most of the time, the idea of sticking to any lesson plan was left behind in favor of walking barefoot in the grass or simply sitting under the broad shade of the trees.

More than most people, Jubilee found it increasingly difficult to stay on task during this time. She was vaguely aware that classes for her at the university would be ending and that there were various assignments and exams to be concerned with. Yet, those things were shelved in the back of her mind in favor of other matters.

First and foremost, her birthday was fast approaching. Unlike her boyfriend, she was looking forward to hers and the promise of celebration entailed. While she was turning nineteen, she never quite outgrew the child-like glee of receiving presents and a big cake. Around the Summers' house, she had already spied Jean making the preparations for the party. The last she heard, Cook was supposed to bake a chocolate cake with yellow frosting and pink flowers.

Her attentions had also been occupied by thoughts of Bobby. It was about this time last year that they started seeing one another. She had never known anything like it before. The experience had been and continued to be a thrilling one, filled with incredible, intense emotions and moments. Bobby taught her a great deal during their time together, imparting things that had been so foreign to her but were now so fundamentally important. He showed her that she was not alone in the world and that it was safe to trust and care about someone else without any fear. Sitting behind the wheel of her yellow Volkswagen Beetle in the mansion's garage, she stared down at the gold band he had given her. A smile graced her mouth as she was suddenly filled with the familiar euphoria that was associated with any memory of him.

While she was driving home, she was trying to rack her brain in order to come up with something special to commemorate their year. There were several possibilities, but she was hesitant to commit to any one of them. It was not that she was afraid that Bobby would not have a good time. He was rather relaxed about these things, assuring her that he was fine as long as she was around. However, this was not enough for the young girl. She was determined to do something amazing.

Jubilee hopped out of her car, slinging her black messenger bag over a slim shoulder. After she locked up, she jogged to the door that basically connected the garage to the kitchen. Slipping inside, she waved to Cook and the new sous-chef in greeting, who were preparing dinner for that night. Then she immediately drifted to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. Her mouth was dry as cotton, which made the cool liquid trickling down her throat all the more satisfying.

She sauntered towards one of the windows that provided a view to the pool and surrounding deck area. It was late afternoon and the sun was still shining against the deep-blue sky. Normally, many of the students would be relaxing by the Olympic-sized pool or enjoying the waters, following a day of classes. Yet, Jubilee did not observe any of the children nearby. Instead, she noticed some familiar, older figures in their place. Grinning, she decided to make her way outside.

"Well, look who's come to join us," Tabitha sang in greeting, shifting in the steamer-inspired lounge chair she was sitting in. The blonde was in the midst of untying her seersucker bikini top so that she could lie down on her stomach.

Jubilee tossed her long tresses over one shoulder, closing the French doors behind her. "I see you've kicked the kids out," she observed wryly, her coltish legs carrying her towards the poolside where Tabitha was stretched out along with Paige, Kitty, and Amara.

The swimsuit-clad quartet appeared to be enjoying the mild temperatures. A teak ice box was placed by Amara's chair, filled with bevy of bottled sodas, juices, and water. Next to the outdoor cooler was a portable stereo/CD player. The local college station was on the air, which was playing an acoustic version of "Baby One More Time" by the Fountains of Wayne.

"No one was kicked out," Kitty protested, pulling up the strap to her red-and-black, rugby-striped swimsuit. "Kurt, Dani, and Xi'an took a big group to the IMAX showing of that movie about those mountain climbers."

Amara smoothed on some additional sunscreen over her golden skin. "Is it our fault that we're simply capitalizing on this opportunity?"

"I guess not," Jubilee laughed, feeling out of place and overdressed in her black-and-white rugby shirt and boy jeans.

"Come sit with me, Jubes." A red bikini-wearing Paige swung her legs over the side of the lounge chair she had been sitting in and motioning for her friend to come over.

Tabitha nodded, rolling over on her belly. "Yeah," she said, echoing the younger Guthrie's sentiment, "you're just in time for some scintillating conversation."

Jubilee smirked, seating herself in front of Paige. "Oh really? And what would that be?"

Amara paused dramatically and took a deep breath before introducing the topic. "If you were about to do it, what would you want the other person to say right before?" She pulled up the navy bandeau top to her bikini.

Tabitha slipped on a pair of dark, sunglasses. "This won't take long," she quipped, eliciting giggles from the others.

"No, seriously," Kitty finally said, rolling her eyes and stretching her arms over her head.

The blonde tilted her head to the side and looked rather pensive. Then she brightened and cried out, "Ooh, I know. How about this, 'Do I know you?'"

Kitty shook her head in disdain, brown ponytail swinging behind her head. "No, for real. Like romantic."

As Kitty and Amara debated with Tabitha regarding the perfect line, Paige leaned over towards Jubilee. "So, has Bobby tried any of these on you?" she whispered.

Jubilee turned around, smiling sheepishly at her friend and tucking a lock of silky hair behind her ear. "He knows better," she replied. Then she dropped her voice lower and added, "And, we kind of… haven't."

"Kind of?"

"OK, Hayseed. We haven't. Satisfied?"

"Oh. Wow."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It's just that it's great that you're waiting. I wish I did…"

"Well, it's not like I haven't thought about it. I mean, I have. Tons of times."

"But he's not pressuring you into anything?"

"Trust me, no. Bobby's been the greatest. He wants me to be ready."

"You're so lucky. It's so hard to find a guy like that."

"Yeah, I know."

"Jubes, you have to promise me something."

"What?"

Paige grabbed her friend's hand and looked into her face with her most earnest expression. "Just use something," she began. "Like a condom—"

Jubilee pulled her hand away, laughing lightly. "You sound like an after school special," she chided.

"Come on," her former roommate pleaded, keeping her voice down to a whisper. "I'm being serious here. Please tell me you've considered it. I don't know if the world's ready for a baby with your prankster genes."

Jubilee placed a hand over her friend's knee reassuringly. "Listen, I'm fine," she told her. "If you have to know, I've been on the pill for the past seven months. How's that for the girl who used to do her homework an hour before it was due?"

Paige fell back in her chair, sighing with relief as the trio of women on the other side of her erupted into a chorus of giggles. "Well, that's good to know," she breathed.

"Hey," a familiar voice drawled.

Jubilee turned around. Her cheeks almost turned pink as she stared up at her boyfriend. His sense of timing was uncanny. She hoped he had not heard any of that. "Hey, yourself."

Bobby grinned and nodded in greeting at Paige and then at Kitty, Amara, and Tabitha. The women briefly acknowledged his presence before returning to their conversation. Then he extended a hand to his girlfriend, pulling her up to her feet. The two of them exchanged a glance, the meaning of which was only known to the couple.

Clasping Bobby's hand in hers, Jubilee turned to Paige with a smile. "I'll see you around."

Paige nodded. She watched Bobby lead Jubilee through the French doors and inside the mansion. As she stared after them, she felt her friend's excitement and joy course through her own veins. Protective as she once was, the younger Guthrie was reassured that Jubilee was truly happy.

Bobby drummed his fingers quietly against the steering wheel, his Jetta coming to a complete stop at a red light. The windows were rolled down, allowing a late evening breeze to rumple his sandy hair. Fresh honeysuckles lined the roads that led toward the mansion, filling the air with aromatic sweetness. The sound of crickets chirping added to the tranquil and serenity of the evening.

Waiting for the light to change, he turned to the passenger side and smiled. His girlfriend was curled up in her seat, fast asleep. She looked angelic while she was in repose. Her long, silky hair framed her delicate features, which glowed under the moonlight. Every once in a while, she would shift in her seat, sighing but never completely roused.

Bobby had decided to take Jubilee out the night before her birthday extravaganza the following day. He wanted to have a private celebration of the occasion with just the two of them together. Given the large-scale nature of most parties Jean planned, he realized he would not being seeing much of Jubilee. He imagined she would be whisked away to talk to the many guests expected to appear or open the many presents that would be awaiting her attention.

The night started off at the Silver Platter, which served Jubilee's favorite strawberry milkshakes and cheeseburgers. Then the couple found themselves at the local arcade, challenging one another to the various games there. Bobby had even made a gallant attempt at winning her one of those tacky, oversized pink bears at the prize machine. However, his skill at the controls managed to yield a whoopee cushion, which Jubilee told him would be saved for a future prank. They soon ended the night at the Uptown for a movie. The theatre was showing Hugh Jackman's latest flick, an action film about a detective whose family was gunned down by the mafia, forcing him to go undercover as a tortilla salesman. While Bobby was rightfully wary of seeing the movie, Jubilee expressed great enthusiasm about seeing it. Much to his confusion, she was a huge fan of the Aussie heartthrob. Personally, he didn't see the appeal.

_I guess that's what love is all about,_he mused, brushing a tendril of hair from her smooth cheek. _Doing things you totally can't stand so that someone else can be happy. _

Bobby grinned to himself, noting that his statement was not entirely true. Over this first year of their relationship, he went through things never delved into during his previous romances. With Jubilee, there were deeper emotions at play and experiences that were more meaningful than anything he had ever known. Both of them had opportunities to learn from one another and how each saw the world. Granted, there were times that reflected the anxieties of getting over the inherent learning curves associated with being in a new relationship. Fortunately, they were overshadowed by moments of unbridled happiness he never believed was possible.

He supposed much of this joy stemmed from the feeling of being completely understood by another person, without the fear of being judged. It was this aspect that had been largely absent from his other involvements. Before, he had to keep a running list of what was safe to talk about or do, especially around the more sensitive girlfriends. Now, there was no concern regarding any of that. Jubilee knew the man behind the jokes and pranks, and to his sheer relief, she wanted him just the same. The insecurities and anxieties that might have pushed others away, she accepted with an open mind and seemingly unending patience.

Given this, Bobby wanted to be good for her, to be that romantic hero she deserved. He made a point to show her every minute of every day how much she had come to mean to him. Whether it was kissing that wonderful mouth of hers or remembering to grab extra napkins whenever they got popcorn at the movies so that she wouldn't have to wipe her hands on her jeans, he loved these chances to communicate his affection for her.

This was why waiting to have sex had not been an issue for him. Bobby was aware that most of his peers would not be as patient as he was, but he liked to think that he was, in a way, better than these men. He had been in other relationships where sex had become a prominent part of the picture by the end of the first month. Many of these involvements (with the exception of Opal) failed to make it beyond the year-mark, and all of them were, in one way or the other, were filled with conflict.

It was not that he didn't think about the subject. Sometimes, Bobby found it hard not to considering what it would be like to sleep with her. There were times when they were on the verge of taking that next step, only to be interrupted. Neither one expressed too much grief over it (although Bobby fought the urge to curse his luck following the more intense encounters), but both of them reasoned that when the time was right, things would simply fall into place accordingly.

The traffic light turned green and Bobby tapped on the gas pedal. The rest of the drive to the mansion was rather peaceful. Jubilee did not stir until the car entered through the iron-wrought gates, which creaked ever so slightly. He steered the Jetta up the hill to the garage with one hand on the wheel, while the other held Jubilee's hand.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, smiling gently at her.

She yawned, smiling sheepishly when she finished. "I didn't realize I was," she told him as he pulled the car into the spacious garage.

"Maybe my version of a birthday celebration bored you to tears," he pretended to huff, feigning a hurt expression. The twinkling in his gray eyes belied the wounded front he put forth.

She nodded wryly, unbuckling her seatbelt when the car was in park. "You got it," she replied. "The worst pre-birthday outing I've ever had."

He pouted and turned his face towards the driver's side window. "I was going to invite you to spend the night with me, but if you're going to be that way, then consider the invite revoked."

Jubilee stifled a giggle. Then she leaned towards him, affixing her most beguiling expression across her delicate features. "Oh come on," she cajoled, playing with the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. "I was just fooling around."

"Hmmph." He was finding it harder and harder to keep up his act with her fingers sliding across his throat like that.

She smiled smugly, detecting the effect her actions had on him already. Her eyes flicked to the clock inside the car before returning to Bobby. "Please, Bobby. Don't make me beg—not on my birthday."

Surprised, Bobby peered over at the clock. Sure enough, it was midnight. He turned to Jubilee, who was nearly in his lap. "Well, what do you know?" he asked, his voice husky as he pulled her lithe frame on top of him. "Does that mean I get give you your birthday kiss?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He kissed her deeply, moving his mouth over hers. His tongue traced over the detail of her lips and teeth, exploring the warmth from her mouth. Slowly, he began to lose himself in the feel of her lips, her skin, and her perfume of bubblegum and cinnamon. If he had his way, Bobby would stay in the garage all night. However, he realized this was not feasible.

With a heavy reluctance in his heart, he drew away. "You just got your invitation back," he told her.

They soon made their way into the mansion and upstairs to his bedroom. Fortunately, the couple's entrance went unnoticed, thanks to Sage and Bishop hosting movie rental night for some of the students. Their selection, 'Event Horizon', captivated the students' attention with the eerie suspense that permeated throughout the picture. It also helped that Bishop had cranked up the sound.

Jubilee followed her boyfriend into his room, allowing him to close the door behind her. Spending the night with him had become a regular occurrence, much to Logan and Scott's collective chagrin. So much so that she began to store some of her things in his room, like pajamas and an extra toiletries bag in his private bathroom.

She went to the dresser as Bobby tossed his wallet and keys on his desk. Taking out a white tank top and a pair of blue pajama pants with sheep printed on them, she kicked off her brown flip-flops. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bobby saunter towards his stereo system, as he always did when she slept over. He liked to have his music playing just as they were going to bed.

"I've got Coldplay in here," he told her, running a hand through his sandy hair. "Is that OK?"

Jubilee nodded and walked towards the bathroom with her nightclothes tucked under her arm. "I'll be out in a minute," she said when she reached the doorway.

Bobby smiled at her warmly. "I'll be waiting in anticipation," he replied, meaning every word.

She laughed, closing the door. In almost a routine-like manner, she removed her jewelry and placed on the counter. Quickly, she brushed her teeth and removed her make-up, another part of the ritual that came with spending the night with Bobby. Then she stripped out of her pale-blue shorts.

As she hung them on the back of the door, she paused. While everything about what she was doing seemed standard for a night in Bobby's room, there was something resonating inside of her that indicated otherwise. At first, she wasn't sure what it was. Perhaps it was the excitement of her birthday and the party to be held tomorrow. Perhaps it was the prospect of seeing Logan and Ororo for the first time in several weeks.

In the end, none of those things came to the forefront.

Ever since her conversation with Paige at the pool, Jubilee had given some careful thought about sleeping with Bobby. She indeed thought about it and came very close to doing so. The fearful girl who was naively unaware of this aspect of a relationship had been replaced with someone who bravely prepared for what lay ahead. She and Bobby had discussed the fact that she was going on the pill. They talked candidly about other issues that might arise once they consummated their relationship. What was important to both of them was that the moment was right for both of them, not just for one.

As someone who was a little more experienced, Bobby was concerned that she would jump into bed to please him. He told her repeatedly that that would diminish the meaning behind making love. The way he saw things, waiting would be worth it to make her first time a good one. "I want you to want me as much as I want you," he had said to her.

Her cheeks flushed pink at the memory of his words and the way he said them. In spite of his commitment to wait, he did not hide the fact that he desired her very much. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he touched her, hear it in his voice, and taste it in his kisses. It was all too palpable.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she studied herself. Sapphire eyes sparkled with an intensity she had not known before. She could feel her heart racing a million miles a minute. The blush still remained, but was evoked from something else. At that moment, she came to the realization that Bobby was not alone in wanting anymore.

_I'm ready. _

Jubilee opened the door to find Bobby unbuttoning his Hawaiian shirt and tossing it on the back of his swivel chair. He then made his way to his dresser. After a few seconds, he became aware he was being watched. Turning his gaze in her direction, he looked surprised.

"Something wrong?" he asked, wondering why she wasn't in her pajamas yet. Not that he was complaining. He definitely liked having a chance to admire those slim legs of hers.

"I don't want to sleep tonight," she told him softly, dark hair cascading down her slim shoulders as she walked towards him. Her face glowed with a brilliant radiance that made her look even more ethereal.

He looked at her quizzically, pausing as he attempted to retrieve a T-shirt to throw on. "What do you mean?" he asked in a low voice. His boyish face was transfixed when she stood in front of him. He was always fascinated as to how she had that effect on him.

She took both of his hands in hers, relishing the cool dryness of them. Tenderly, she raised them to her mouth and kissed the palms. "I don't want to sleep tonight," she reiterated. She smiled shyly up at him, placing his hands on her waist.

His heart started racing inside his chest. He pulled close to him, cupping her head in his hands. His gray eyes searched for any hesitation in those intoxicating sapphire depths. As badly as he wanted her, he needed to know she was ready and not bowing into pressure he might have given her unconsciously.

"You're sure about this?" he asked huskily, resting his forehead against hers. "Because you know I'll wait for you. This should be right for the both of us. Don't feel like you have to—"

The young girl shook her head firmly. "I _want_to," she corrected, her smile all the more endearing and sweet. She leaned in for a deep, lingering kiss before pulling away, leaving him breathless. "I'm ready for you to show me, Bobby…"

Then she drew back from him. Her hands traveled to the hem of her yellow T-shirt. With the sound of his heart thudding wildly in his ears, he watched as she pulled it slowly over her head. He did not even notice her tossing it on the floor next to her. All he could focus on was the significance of this moment, on how much he was in love with her, on how desperately he wanted her.

Bobby's gray eyes smoldered with unadulterated desire and yearning. He moved towards her, pulling her lithe body against his. He then brushed his lips along her shoulder, unclasping her bra with fervor and slipping it off of her. "I've waited so long to touch you like this," he whispered huskily. He nipped at her neck, burying his face in her silken hair. "You feel so good, Jubes."

"Bobby…" She shuddered against him, feeling tingles of excitement dancing across her skin. Her sapphire eyes glittered from beneath her thick, dark lashes. She allowed her small hands to roam across his bare chest, marveling at firm muscle that met her touch. Then her fingertips trailed down his flat stomach and paused at his trousers.

He drew back slightly. His gray eyes watched her begin to unbuckle his belt. Her movements were hesitant, but focused as she freed him. Slowly, he stepped out of pants, which left him in only his blue boxer shorts. His gaze, still steady, remained on the beautiful, half-naked nymph in front of him.

The next moment he had her pressed up against the wall. His mouth devoured hers hungrily. He buried his hand into her silky hair. Meanwhile, the other pulled her hips against his, letting her feel the evidence of his arousal. His fingers skimmed along her panties, tugging insistently.

Her breathing was rapid when she pulled away. Every inch of her flesh was warm with anticipation. Staring up at Bobby, she knew this time was right. Never had she been sure of anything in her entire life. "Take them off," she whispered, taking his hands and hooking his fingers at the waistband.

His heart continued to race inside, still trying to convince himself that this was no dream. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She shuddered against him when he began to trace tingling circles across her skin with his fingertips.

He smiled at her, lowering himself to divest the last article of clothing from her. As she kicked her panties away, he slowly rose to his feet. Then he paused, admiring the breathtaking picture in front of him: the dark hair, the beautiful face, and the slim build of her body. Her breasts were full, but not disproportionately so; her stomach taut, and her arms and legs perfectly toned. Everything about her was created to fulfill an ideal of perfection just for him, from her creamy skin to the slender column of her neck.

Bobby snaked his fingers through her hair, still smiling tenderly at her. "So beautiful," he murmured against her mouth. There was no way he could be any more sincere.

She gazed up at him, the look in her dazzling eyes filled with wonder and affection. "Yes, you are," she replied softly as she stroked his hair. Her heart swelled inside her chest, surprised she could ever feel this safe and cared for with anyone.

He quickly stripped off his boxers. "See how much I've wanted you," he whispered huskily, guiding one of her small hands along his throbbing length. His eyes twinkled upon hearing her gasp in surprise.

Then he slid his hands around her waist and lifting her against him, her bare chest pressed to his for just a moment. Her gorgeous breasts swayed as she breathed heavily. Bobby lowered her on the bed, following her down until he was lying on his side next to her. Her hair fanned out behind her head like a halo, and she moistened her lips as he gazed upon her.

Jubilee bit her lower lip, suppressing the nervous smile quivering there. The cause for it was suddenly apparent. He was staring her with such intensity it made her self-conscious. Her cheeks immediately began to flush pink.

Bobby observed her slight embarrassment, which perplexed him somewhat. She was so beautiful simply lying there in his arms. It was hard for him to believe that she didn't realize this. Perhaps it was something else. Maybe she was experiencing second thoughts.

He kissed her deeply, a sign of the overwhelming affection he felt for her and reassurance. "Are you sure? We don't have to do anything if you're not ready." he whispered, stroking her silky hair tenderly.

Her sapphire eyes were shining as she stared up at him. There was no way she turning back now. "I want to," she breathed. "I want to…with you."

He smiled. That was all he needed to hear. His gray eyes looked down at her chest, flushed with desire. Breathing heavily, he began to nip at her throat and made a trail downward. "Do you like that?"

She sighed in pleasure. "Oh yes, Bobby, yes," she whispered.

Bobby continued to move his mouth toward her chest, and Jubilee's back arched in response. She moaned, unable to contain the pleasure that his lips began to inflict upon her sensitive flesh. His tongue swirled, and then applied strong suction.

He raised his head and gazed upon the lovely angel in his arms. "More?"

There was frantic nodding of the head. "Ohyesohyesohpleaseohplease…"

Bobby grinned, kissing her mouth softly. He sucked strongly at her, and then moved his mouth toward her stomach, where he laved the taut skin with long, slow licks, all the while continuing to stroke her breasts with his hands.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against his her belly. "I've been dreaming about this…"

She clutched the sheets beneath her tightly. "Bobby…"

Several minutes later, Jubilee lay there a moment, never feeling more connected to one person than she did in that moment. The feel of him still inside her, her body throbbing around him, the warmth they generated together, the beat of his heart. It seemed completely natural to lift her head and smile weakly at him.

Bobby's arms wrapped around her as her fingers lazily traced the firm contours of his shoulder and chest. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Smiling, she sighed. "Are you?" she whispered.

"Best I've been in a long time," he murmured. He was still shuddering from the intensity of it all.

"Then I was…OK?" Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment from her lack of experience. "Because there were things I didn't…"

Incredulous, he widened his gray eyes. "You were amazing," he told her earnestly, stroking her hair lovingly. "You were worth waiting for, Jubes."

"Really?"

"Really."

"I never knew anything could be like that. I mean, I've heard things and read magazines…"

"What kinds of things?"

"Like flowery, mushy stuff. I used to get a real laugh whenever I came across it. But now… I know. I mean, what it's like."

"It's nothing like the real thing."

"Definitely. Bobby?"

"Yeah, Jubes?"

"I'm glad we waited."

"Me, too."

"I'm also glad that you're my first. I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with…"

Bobby smiled, feeling his heart float inside his chest. "It's not over yet," he told her, nuzzling her neck with his nose and mouth. His nostrils inhaled her trademark scent of bubblegum and cinnamon, which was mixed with his sweat. He had never smelled anything so good in his entire life.

Jubilee intake of breath was shaky. She was not sure how there could be possibly anything else. "Bobby?"

"Do you want me again?" he whispered, planting kisses on her forehead and cheeks.

She framed his handsome face in her small hands. His gray eyes were filled with such want and desire. It was unthinkable to her that she had aroused those feelings in him. She smiled up at him and nodded. "I do," she breathed as he kissed her mouth fervently.

His hand cupped the curve of her bottom, then down her thighs. They soon slid to her calves. She sighed at the feel of his lips kissing her bare legs. When his mouth brushed over her ankle, she became startled and jerked her leg from his hands.

"It tickled," she murmured apologetically.

He grinned, his lips feathering against her slender ankle again. "I can stop," he told her, his voice husky.

Jubilee shook her head firmly, her limbs tingling in anticipation as to what would follow.

Bobby smiled again. Then he made love to her a second time, relishing the feel of her skin against his and her soft cries for him in his ears. He did so until his sweat mixed with hers, her moans became his, and the rest of the world faded away into their private bliss.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three You're Still the On...

Here's the next installment. Sorry for the delay, but school has been nuts!

There's an explicit version of this chapter. If you want to read it, just let me know.

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix and Lee for their comments and help in cranking this one out! Most importantly, thanks to all of you who have reviewed both here or via email. I love hearing from you!

The characters belong to Marvel, but this is my story.

**Chapter Thirty-Three: (You're) Still the One (Non-explicit Version)**

Warren Worthington was sifting through a series of reports as he sat in his spacious office. The handsome President and CEO of Worthington Industries sighed wearily behind his streamlined Strand desk, which was polished in a piano black finish. He leaned back in his English rococo chair, running his fingers over the ornately covered arms stained in an ebony walnut color. The office was reminiscent of his penthouse, which he still kept on Park Avenue. Black leather mixed with polished silver and graphic zebra prints to create the definitive statement of sophistication.

As comfortable as he was in the confines of his luxurious working space, Warren was beginning to feel restless. He tore his blue eyes from the papers in front of him to peer out the window. A picturesque view of Central Park met his wistful gaze. The young entrepreneur found himself envious of the many individuals enjoying the warm sunshine and clear skies overhead. Briefly, he considered the possibility of leaving his responsibilities behind in order to feel that euphoria from the fair weather, the soft wind rumpling his golden locks and caressing his face.

With a weary sigh, he forced himself to return to the task at hand. He had arrived at the office early in order to meet with a consultant hired to assess the staff and inner workings of the company. Results from various aptitude tests were analyzed as well as observational notes. In spite of the fact that he already had recommendations from the consultant as to what actions needed to be followed up on, Warren was of the mindset that he should make his own decisions independently. Unfortunately, this process proved to be rather tedious and time-consuming for the man who was meticulous with his dealings at the workplace. He had to be, especially after the events that had come to light earlier that year. Finding out that his company was involved with a bordello out West did little to instill confidence among investors.

But there was also something else that compelled the blond Adonis to close himself off. It haunted him, rousing his body from any semblance of slumber. At first, he was hard-pressed to even label what was happening. He tried to attribute it to his anxiety, stemming from his responsibilities at the office and at the school. Yet, in the end, his denials could not stand up to the truth. The images that flashed before his eyes, even when closed, still shook him to the core as he sat in his office now.

Seeing a face he thought was gone with the shadows.

Mercifully, his thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing sound. Peering down at his phone console, he noticed that the line that linked him with his receptionist was blinking. Given that he had been locked away in his office for most of the day, he was grateful for the distraction.

He hit the speaker button. "Yes, Marie-Claire?"

His receptionist's lightly accented voice echoed through the intercom feature on his phone. "Mr. Worthington, Mr. Drake is here to see you. He's here for your lunch appointment at Tavern On The Green."

"Send him in." Warren made reservations at the venerable restaurant, which was known for its glass-enclosed Crystal and Terrace Rooms. In addition to the excellent cuisine and impeccable service, he was a fan of the ambiance created from the decorating scheme. Completing the elegance of the establishment were lavished brass, stained glass, etched mirrors, paintings, antique prints and above all, chandeliers, which created a visual theatre in which to display the current owner's passion for fine art and fantasy. Finally, after paneling the rustic baroque-inspired Rafters and Chestnut Rooms in rare, wormy chestnut, long-hidden and-hewn rafters and their soaring vaulted ceilings were featured.

Rising from his chair, he began to straighten his red, silk tie. Today's lunch with his good friend was intended to obtain advice about accounting practices for one of his company's newly acquired subsidiaries. As Warren mulled over the list of questions he had, he became aware that he also wanted to catch up with Bobby as well. Over the past few weeks, the two of them had not seen much of each other. While Bobby was committed to his teaching responsibilities and active team member status, Warren was taking a more hands-on approach to the company.

The tall, blond playboy made his way to his closet to retrieve his jacket when he heard a familiar rapping at his door. "Come on in, Bobby," he called over his shoulder. Quickly, he slipped on his navy, pinstriped jacket with graceful ease. Then he turned around to greet his friend.

"Oh, good grief," Warren muttered under his breath when Bobby sauntered into the office. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Bobby gave him a quizzical look. "What?" he inquired in a rather innocent voice, peering down at his outfit. "Listen, I followed your instructions about the dress code to a tee. I don't think you have any grounds to criticize me this time."

Warren narrowed his eyes in disdain. Indeed, Bobby had taken his advice to heart when he was told about the jacket and nice-casual attire requirement. The boyishly handsome, young man wore a navy blazer with a pair of freshly pressed khakis and polished brown loafers. However, it was his choice of shirt that earned the disparaging tone. For some reason, Bobby had chosen to wear one of his Hawaiian shirts. Today, it was a black one with red chili peppers printed all over it.

"You're lucky I'm a preferred customer," Warren informed his friend as he stood in front of a nearby mirror. "Otherwise, I'm sure management would have no hesitation commenting about your shirt."

Bobby watched him smooth down his blond waves. He knew that his friend's grooming routine, particularly regarding his hair, would consume some time. Needing to find something to occupy him, he strolled towards Warren's enormous desk. "What's all this?" he asked, staring at the piles of papers. For a moment, he was afraid that they concerned the accounting issues Warren wanted to speak to him about.

Warren turned briefly to follow his friend's gaze. "Reports from the psychologist I hired," he answered, returning to fixing his hair.

Bobby's gray eyes widened. "Warren, I had no idea," he deadpanned, "it's great that you're getting the help Hank and I always knew you needed. Do you guys talk about your obsession with your hair?"

Warren abruptly ceased his fussing. "Hilarious," he remarked sarcastically, backing away from the mirror unconsciously. "If you must know, they're results from this work aptitude test. It's supposed to tell you what your strengths and interests are based on the answers you get."

"Really?"

"Really. There's also recommendations as to what kinds of positions people are best suited for."

"Sounds fascinating. Have any examples?"

"Sure. Off the top my head, I can remember the profile for accountants."

"Ah, an area that piques my interest. Go on."

"Well, according to the report, accountants like order and organization. They also tend to be quite relaxed, too…"

"Accurate. Whoever heard of an uptight, disorganized accountant anyway?"

"Oh, and they tend to see things in black and white…"

"Are you kidding?"

"And, they have no creative tendencies whatsoever."

"What a bunch of bull."

"What do you mean?"

"Whoever wrote that crap up doesn't know anything about individual differences."

"Come on, Bobby. I think it's pretty fair. At least, based on the accountants that work for me. Pretty dry guys all around."

Bobby snorted indignantly. "That's not universally true," he retorted, deeply wounded by this assessment. He hated to think of himself as just another dull accountant. It was something he strived to move beyond. " I _I _/I can be creative."

Warren raised a golden brow. "How so?"

The other man's somewhat condescending tone irked Bobby. Had they not established a long-standing friendship, Warren's increasingly snobbish front would have deeply wounded him. Instead, he merely attributed it to a part of his friend's breeding and background. To Bobby, it was simply a pattern of behavior Warren fell into from time to time.

Nonchalantly, Bobby shrugged. "I have plans for my anniversary with Jubes," he explained casually. "Before you ask, I made sure that I'm not on call and that I'm not scheduled for any field missions. I learned my lesson."

Warren grabbed his cell phone and placed it in his jacket pocket. He reconnoitered his surroundings in order to make sure he was not missing anything. Satisfied, he made his inquiry. "OK, so what's going on?"

Bobby grinned. His anticipation of his anniversary plans filled him with a sense of euphoria that lifted him high in the air. Every detail of his planning had been scrutinized with meticulous fervor. He wanted the whole event to be special. She meant that much to him.

Although several days had passed since he and Jubilee consummated their relationship, he continued to experience the rush from the first time. He could still smell her hair and skin, taste her kisses, hear her voice call out for him, and feel the lushness of her skin under his fingertips. While the memories of the physical encounter were pleasant to think about, Bobby was more intrigued with the emotional aftermath. In all his previous experiences, never did he feel more in synch with anyone in his life. For the first time, his desires and needs were congruent with someone else's. He was not alone in feeling the way he did, wanting what he wanted. It was an incredibly powerful sensation—one he did not think he could ever be privy to.

As ecstatic as he was about the new development, Bobby remained tight-lipped about the situation. In addition to the peculiarity of the idea discussing his sex life with other people, he was not the type to brag about his exploits. Such behavior seemed to undercut the trust involved, not mention the fact that it seemed to be a sleazy thing to do. However, his reserved approach did not completely leave people in the dark. Both Jean and Emma, on separate occasions, gave him sly and knowing looks. Damn telepaths.

Following the taller man to the door that led outside of the office, Bobby erased the smile that had been plastered across his boyish face. He patted his friend's shoulder. "Trust me," he said, his tone cryptic. "I'm going to prove that assessment wrong with all the creative juices running through my veins."

Jubilee was at the front door of the Summers' farm-style, white clapboard house. The late summer afternoon found her digging her house keys from the pockets of her green, cropped chinos. With a triumphant smile, she fished them and quickly unlocked the front door. Balancing the grocery bags she had been carrying in one arm, the young girl strolled into the air-conditioned coolness that awaited her.

"Jean!" she called as she made her way to the bright kitchen at the end of the foyer. "Jean, the guy at the store said they didn't carry basmati rice. So I picked up some jasmine instead. I hope that's OK? I mean rice is rice, right?"

Despite the stillness that seemed to permeate the house, she was not convinced yet that she was alone. Jean had recently taken up meditation to combat the increasing levels of stress associated with her new duties at the school. Jubilee peered around the kitchen, keeping her ears peeled for any sounds consistent with another person's presence. The empty, but sunlit room met her eyes, and the sounds of the fan running throughout the house greeted her ears.

Her attention was soon caught by a pink piece of paper affixed to the refrigerator door by a ladybug magnet. Placing the grocery bag on the nearby island, she sauntered to the refrigerator and noticed that the note was addressed to her. She grabbed it, her eyes scanning. In Jean's loopy cursive, the note read:

_Jubilee,_

_I have to run out of town at the last minute with Scott and Logan. I'm afraid you'll be on your own for a couple of days. If you need to get in touch with us, you can call Scott and Logan on their cell phones, or reach me through our usual route. In the meantime, take care and try to eat a meal that doesn't consist of chili cheese fries. _

_Love, Jean_

_P.S. Bobby left something upstairs for you. _

Jubilee smiled fondly. Jean's last line about her dietary recommendations struck as particularly funny._What is she talking about? I would never eat a whole meal made up of chili cheese fries,_she mused to herself._I would at least throw in a pizza!_

After she put away the groceries, she raced upstairs. Her curiosity as to what surprise her boyfriend had planted propelled her to her room. She burst through the door, tossing her black messenger bag on the floor. Her sapphire eyes widened, reflecting her excitement of what was promised to come.

Tonight was the anniversary of their first date. While she was aware that she and Bobby were going to be celebrating it, Jubilee was absolutely in the dark as to what the plans were. For the past several days, Bobby had been irritatingly vague. He refused to divulge any information, telling her that she was better off waiting. She tried everything to get him to budge, from offering to wash his car to kisses. As much as the second offer appealed to him, he remained intransigent. He simply indicated that she was going to be very pleased with what he had in store.

The more Jubilee thought about it, the more she was convinced that she did not need to know what Bobby was planning. In the end, no special gift or dinner was important to her. What really mattered was being with him. She could care less about the extraneous details.

Since sleeping together, Jubilee felt a new bond with Bobby. The physical intimacy introduced into their relationship facilitated something deeper. It was characterized by an intensity she had never experienced before. Simple glances or brushes of hands conveyed so much more now, where the two of them only knew the meanings behind these gestures. For her, it was comforting.

The young girl had also expected to observe some noticeable change following her first time. She remembered scrutinizing her reflection in Bobby's bathroom mirror, searching for a sign. Perhaps, she looked more mature as she imagined she would be. Yet, as she studied herself, she found no evidence to support her hypothesis. There was nothing she could detect that would immediately alert anyone; nothing that communicated the fact that she was now a woman. While she was able to laugh off her suppositions as silliness, there was a part of her that was disappointed.

Compared to the experiences of her friends, Jubilee was cognizant of the fact that she was extremely lucky. Sex tended to make relationships complicated, sometimes to the point of causing conflict. Specifically, Paige had warned her about how it was simply expected following the first time. There would be implicit pressure for her to bend and give in since a precedent had been set. According to the younger Guthrie, sex would become expected, a part of the routine.

However, none of this happened with Bobby. In fact, he was quite conscious of such complexities. After they made love for the first time, he told her how incredible she was and how fortunate he was to be with her. To him, sleeping together was not something that was a prerequisite to moving forward in their relationship. Instead, he viewed it as a special part of being together.

As for other people knowing, Jubilee had only disclosed to Paige. It only seemed natural to do so. Her role as Jubilee's friend made it easier to openly talk about consummating her relationship with Bobby. The idea of discussing it with any of the other people in her life was deemed unrealistic. Their possible reactions began to flood Jubilee's mind. Scott would immediately cringe, his disapproval radiating from behind his ruby-quartz sunglasses. Kurt, a devout Roman Catholic, might question her decision to engage in premarital sex. Tabitha would probably force her to spill all the details, or to even to draw diagrams as to what happened.

However, these responses were mild in comparison should one particular person find out.

Logan.

Jubilee inhaled sharply as the face of her beloved Wolvie flashed in her mind's eye. Although she had not mentioned anything, she was reluctant to believe that he was completely in the dark. No amount of showering or immersion in heavy perfume could fool a man with enhanced senses. Her efforts to act as laid-back as she could were probably a flimsy attempt in his eyes. In spite of all of this, she was positive he was aware of the situation. Yet, the gruff Canadian appeared rather calm and even diffident when they were together.

Looking back, Jubilee was not sure if she should be relieved or apprehensive. While known for his feral rages, Logan was also capable of a cool, collected exterior. It was a rather deceptive front, often used to mask anything that might be brimming underneath.

The young girl gave a weary sigh, trying to push the conflicted thoughts out of her mind. She had more pleasant things to focus upon. With a pensive expression etched across her delicate features, she began to search for whatever Bobby had left for her. After several minutes of rummaging about her room, she was close to declaring a silent surrender. She threw herself on her bed and lay down. However, she bolted up when she heard a crackling sound underneath her head. Jubilee discovered a piece of paper where her head had been. Her eyes roved down the page to read:

_Jubes, _

_A special anniversary calls for special attire. Check out your closet. _

_Bobby _

Jubilee felt as if she were floating as she sauntered to the closet. Pulling the doors open, she was curious. Could it be a burlap sack? Perhaps a uniform to go play paintball? They had talked about an outing…

Her amusement was replaced with pleasant surprise when she found what Bobby was referring to as "special attire". Hanging on the back of one of the closet doors was a light-blue, cotton strapless dress with an A-line skirt. On the adjacent hook hung a plastic bag, containing a pair of strappy sandals. Impressed with her boyfriend's selection, Jubilee nearly missed the note taped to the bag. The second message read:

_Jubes, _

_Finish getting dressed and look for the one thing that's almost as beautiful as you are. Find it in the one place where things grow and bloom all-year round. _

_Bobby _

Jubilee frowned, confused. She racked her brain for a list of possibilities as she proceeded to shrug out of her chinos and white T-shirt and into the clothes Bobby had left for her. Still at a loss when she was applying make-up and fussing with her hair, she wondered if Bobby was going to send her on a mission to take one of the X-Jets for a spin. It seemed that was the only way she was going to be able to locate this supposed oasis.

_No, think about it, Jubes,_she told herself calmly, slipping on her sandals._Bobby wouldn't have you do that…unless he came with you. There'd be more laughs that way. _

Pressing her lips together, she paced back and forth. Jubilee toyed with the pink beads from her necklace. Mentally, she ran through the probable locations that were in close proximity. When she came up with nothing again, Jubilee paused in front of her window. Her gaze peered out at the manicured grounds, as if the answer was embedded there.

Suddenly, she figured it out.

Grinning at her own cleverness, Jubilee grabbed a clutch from her dresser. There was no time to lose. Then she stuffed her house keys, cell phone, bubble-gum, and lip-gloss in the small purse before racing down the stairs and out of the room.

Ororo adjusted the brim of her straw hat, shielding her eyes from the white sunlight that streamed through the windows of her greenhouse. The weather goddess was reveling in the serenity that seemed to emanate from the botanical scenery around her. Her plants, otherwise known as her "lovelies", provided a soothing calm that counteracted the weariness that was associated with field missions and teaching responsibilities. It was no surprise that one could often find the elegant woman here, seeking refuge.

This day found Ororo watering one of her begonia bushes. She was rather concerned about this particular plant. Since she and Rogue had picked it up from a local nursery, the leaves appeared rather limp and lifeless, and the flowers had yet to bloom. Hoping to work some magic from her green thumb, the weather goddess was determined to revive the begonias to their striking state.

She soon paused, straightening the watering can. Though her back was turned to the door, Ororo could still discern another person's presence. With characteristic grace, she placed the watering can down and turned around. A slight smiled tugged the corners of her lips upward when she saw who it was.

"I was wondering when you would come," she remarked, as if in greeting. Then she made smooth strides to the door, her white hair flowing behind her.

Jubilee gave her a sheepish smile. "Bad time?"

Ororo placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "For you, never," she replied. As she stared at the young girl, she could not help but be awed at how quickly she had grown up. Granted, Ororo had witnessed the process first-hand, but there was a part of her that still thought of Jubilee as the urchin everyone at the mansion adopted as one of their own. However, it was difficult to continue doing so with the stunning picture in front of her. Here stood an adult, whose strength was conveyed by her maturity and thoughtfulness.

The more she mulled over the issue, the more she was convinced that she was not the only one who was still reeling. Logan, on many occasions, expressed his own sense of disbelief. While it was rather implicit, the loner was clearly having quite a hard time adjusting to the idea. Exacerbating things was the fact that "his little girl" was now dating. It seemed to unnerve him to no end.

This was quite evident when he paid a visit to the greenhouse two days ago. The fact that he had done so was not out of the ordinary. They had become closer over the past few months. Logan had grown to feel much more comfortable around her. He was less guarded, and much more inclined to talk without the hardened, and sometimes roguish façade.

What did strike Ororo as rather unusual was how perplexed and out of sorts the loner appeared that day. It was as if he received earth-shattering news, and he had no idea how to react. Amused with this strange picture, the weather goddess decided to engage him in some good-natured ribbing. When it was clear that Logan was not in the mood, she decided to directly query him.

At first, he was reluctant to answer. However, he caved under her unflinching gaze. In his gravelly voice, Logan explained that he had been in a War Room meeting with Kurt, Warren, Bobby, and the Professor. During the conference, he told her that he had been sitting next to Drake. It was then that he suddenly sensed something—specifically, he I _smelled _/I something. The scent that met his nostrils was startlingly familiar. There was a part of him that wanted to ignore what his mind telling him. This was countered by the simmering rage that existed just under the steely surface he was projecting to the world, which stressed the ultimate truth.

Drake had slept with Jubilee.

Ororo remembered raising a brow at him, surprised that Logan seemed so collected and rational in the fact of this realization. She commented on this observation. Her words were met by a low, rumbling growl and a grimace. Finally, the Wolverine gave her his response.

_"I made a promise to the kid," Logan had spat out, making it unequivocal how displeased this made him. "I won't kill him."_

"_But?" She had noticed a hint of reservation in his voice._

"_But I'm still pissed. Maybe I should tell Drake that I've got a shovel and a backyard, and I'm not afraid to use both of 'em." _

Fortunately, she had been able to talk Logan out of exercising that option. A combination of cajoling and cool-headed reasoning helped to deescalate things. She pointed out that his little girl had grown up. As such, Jubilee was now able to make her own decisions, without needing the input of her Wolvie. The weather goddess then added that to harass Bobby in any way would risk losing Jubilee. Her warning elicited a grunt and glare from Logan, signs that he knew Ororo was right in her assessment.

"Storm?" Jubilee's soft voice shattered her reverie.

Ororo quickly returned to the present. She shook her head and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, child," she said quietly. "I was in another world. What were you saying?"

Jubilee tucked a lock of silky hair behind a delicate ear. "I asked if Bobby left something for me here?"

The taller woman nodded, striding towards a nearby worktable. She motioned for the young girl to follow. When Jubilee was standing next to her, Ororo pulled a glass box from the corner of the table. The box contained a cream-colored rose that had been stripped of its thorns, very much like the one Bobby had given Jubilee on their first date.

Ororo removed the lid. "This is for you," she said, handing the young girl the flower. "He was very keen on me giving you this particular one."

Jubilee wondered if Storm knew about Bobby pilfering the flower the first time around. Her musings were quickly abandoned when the weather goddess held out a piece of paper. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she took it and read:

_Jubes, _

_Guess you're starting to work up an appetite. Don't worry; I won't let you go hungry for long. There's a meal waiting for you. It's at the place that attracts people from our past and present. Find it there and you're that much closer to me._

_Bobby _

Jubilee's brows furrowed together._The place that attracts people from our past and present?_She re-read the note, hoping to decipher Bobby's clue into something more tangible. Her lips silently mouthed the words, as if imprinting them into her brain.

_The place that attracts people from our past and present. _

Confusion was quickly replaced by inspired confidence as Bobby's riddle unraveled. Jubilee folded note and tucked it into her purse. With rose in hand, she turned to a curious Ororo. "Thanks for everything," she said, giving a quick hug. "I'll see you later!"

"Good-bye…" The weather goddess was nearly knocked over by Jubilee, who dashed out of the greenhouse at breakneck speed. With ethereal grace, she moved towards the doorway and leaned against it. Her piercing, ice blue eyes cast their gaze across the spacious grounds. She watched with fond amusement as a love struck girl became absorbed in her own euphoria.

Several minutes later, Jubilee found herself placing her yellow, Volkswagen Beetle in park. Slowly, she pulled the key out of the ignition. There was a dreamy quality to her dazzling, sapphire eyes that made it hard to contain the excitement that flowed through her veins. It was as if every part of her very being threatened to burst from any available pore.

Composing herself, she stepped out of the car. As she locked her car, she took a moment to pee around at her surroundings. The seasonal and picturesque conditions set a romantic scene. Daylight had not quite faded as the summer sky shone against the soft, blue sky. Against the backdrop of blooming bushes and strong, green trees, stood a mammoth brownstone. It was familiar, almost welcoming as the young girl sauntered towards its doors.

Avalon.

The significance of the location was not lost on her. She remembered it as the restaurant where Bobby had taken her on their first date. The walls lined with gold, linen paper and the sepia-colored photographs of landscapes around town brought back memories of that night that seemed so long ago. While so much had changed, there was one thing that remained the same.

She was still head over heels for Bobby.

Jubilee paused in front of the hostess's area. "Hi," she drawled, feeling somewhat strange about what she was going to ask. "I'm here to pick up a take-out order… It should be under the name Drake."

The waif-like girl clicked her tongue, her onyx eyes scanning down the book on the table. "Oh, right. Um, could you wait a second while I go to the bar?"

"Sure." Jubilee watched her sashay to the other end of the restaurant. The small frame seemed to be swallowed up in the crowded room of customers enjoying their meals. While she waited for her to return, Jubilee watched the flurry of activity of the wait staff that struggled to keep up with the diners' demands.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if Zelda was still working at Avalon. Jubilee recalled the feelings of insecurity that had eaten away at her upon their first meeting. At the time, she felt small and terribly unpolished compared to the other woman. The plethora of nagging questions that flooded her brain was endless. Would Bobby rethink his decision about wanting to be with her? Was he making comparisons between Jubilee and Zelda during dinner? Given how perfect and compatible Zelda was, could Jubilee even compete?

The corners of her eyes crinkled slightly as she smiled down at her hand. Around her finger, the Claddaugh band shone brightly. It had come to not only symbolize their commitment, but also how right they were together. Beyond that, she was not sure if she could verbalize in any other way.

The hostess soon returned, carrying a large paper bag. "Here you go," she said as she handed it to Jubilee. "The kitchen was keeping it warm for you. So, that's an order of our dim sum sampler, beef stir-fry, rice, and two slices of lemon cake. The silverware, napkins, and plastic plates are also inside."

"Thanks." Jubilee managed to get a good grip on the handles before slipping her wallet from her clutch. "So, how much do I owe you?"

The hostess shook her head, dark-brown ponytail swinging. "Mr. Drake took care of everything," she explained, smiling warmly. Then she jumped suddenly. "I almost forgot!"

Curious, Jubilee observed the smaller girl bend down to grab something from behind the table. She found herself grinning when the hostess held out a folded, slip of paper._Another clue. _

"He's so such a sweetie, if you don't mind me saying," the hostess remarked as Jubilee took the note from her. "I hope you two have an awesome night."

Jubilee nodded, still smiling. "Thanks. You, too."

It seemed perfectly natural that the next clue should point her in the direction of the Uptown. After all, the pseudo-scavenger hunt Bobby was sending her on appeared to recreate their first date. Picking up the rose from Storm's green house, steering her to Avalon to collect their dinner for that evening… It made sense. Still, Jubilee decided to open the note to see if her hunch was right.

_Jubes, _

_You're probably thinking that you're should go to the Uptown because of the trend in the clues. I can tell you right now that you'd be wasting your time. Instead, you'll want to go to the place where people can laugh, cry, and be grossed out at their own choosing. _

_Bobby_

_PS Did you think I'd be so predictable??? _

Jubilee laughed out loud at the last line. She pressed her lips together thoughtfully, leaning against her car._Go to the place where people can laugh, cry, and be grossed out at their own choosing. _What could he mean by that?

Her fingers twirled a lock of silky hair as she continued to search for answers to Bobby's riddle. She lifted her gaze from the piece of paper in her hand to stare absently across the street. There was a crop of new buildings that had been constructed where empty land once existed. Some of them were new condominiums, which neighbored a strip mall. The shopping center consisted of the usual stores, such as a grocery, a hair salon, and a pharmacy. Most notably, there was also a video rental place.

_The place where people can laugh, cry, and be grossed out at their own choosing. _With a rush of enthusiasm pulsing throughout her body, Jubilee darted to the crosswalk. While she waited for the light to change, she could not help but continue to be impressed with herself.

Moments later, she was inside Salem Center Video. A tall, gangly Vietnamese teenager was working the front counter. He nervously ran a hand through his thick, black hair as Jubilee quizzed him about someone leaving a note and possibly something else at the store. At first, he appeared tempted to call in his supervisor to consult about this strange request. Then he relented and decided to humor the pretty girl.

"I just got in," he informed her, turning to one of the cupboards behind him that flanked a TV that was currently playing _Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle_ . He hated that movie. Ever since his parents saw clips of it, they began worrying that he was doing drugs and binging on hamburgers with his friend, Amal. "I guess I can check, though."

Jubilee tried to tamper the blush that was warming her cheeks. She realized how weird it all sounded, but felt taking the risk was worth it. A sigh of relief was released when the boy sauntered back to her with a piece of paper. It was taped to a video jacket.

"You're in luck," he told her, looking at her quizzically when she smiled at the presentation of the video. "I guess he already paid the rental fee."

No longer concerned as to how out of sorts she seemed under the adolescent's watchful eye, she nodded her thanks to the clerk. Peering down at the video jacket, Jubilee noticed that Bobby had reserved _The Sting. We never did finish that,_she mused as she made her way out of the little store.

She decided to read the note once she returned to her car. After placing the dinner and video on the passenger seat, Jubilee unfolded the paper eagerly. No matter what, she knew that she was closer to Bobby and that this journey would end. The anticipation of seeing her boyfriend was nearly too much. With a great deal of self-restraint, she focused as she read the next note.

_Jubes, _

_I'm pretty sure it took you no time to figure out what I was talking about…Yet another reason why I'm so nuts about you. OK, you're near the end and I can't wait to see you. But first, another clue. Look for me near a place that's not only special to you and me, but also to other people you know. _

_Bobby _

This time, it did not take Jubilee very long to decipher this clue. After reading through the note once, she instantly knew he was referring to Orchard Park. It was there that she and Bobby had concluded their first date, which had been riddled with awkward moments. The goodnight kiss she had given suddenly sent a tingling sensation to her lips. Her fingertips flew over her mouth, tracing the outline as Bobby did whenever he kissed her.

In terms of what was nearby, that took some careful thought. Jubilee frowned as she continued to struggle to remember what else was there. There was a townhouse development and a bus station. She also knew there was a man-made lake near the park, which often attracted people in the spring and summer months. While the lake or the bus station were possibilities, neither struck Jubilee as locations Bobby would choose to meet with her.

Undeterred, she decided to drive over to the park. Perhaps she would be able to see something that would be more plausible. Jubilee was careful to remain alert. Familiar buildings passed as she drove, many were unlikely as answers to the riddle Bobby posed. When she stopped at a red light in front of the park, she decided to reconnoiter her surroundings once again.

Suddenly, she noticed something she had not seen before. It was a distinctive, bungalow-style house that was overlooking the man-made park. Tucked away behind a cluster of generous trees and lush greenery, the structure was like a serene beacon with its' cornflower blue exterior and stone-reinforced chimney and columns. Outside the house was a sign that read: Orchard Park Inn.

Bingo.

Jubilee was cheery as she pulled her car toward the inn. After finding a close spot in the generous parking lot, she gathered the paper bag containing dinner and the videotape. Then she hopped out, locking up her Beetle. Her heart raced inside her chest as she climbed up the rickety steps. She was close.

Inside, the inn conveyed the warmth of an elegant lodge with its wood paneling and exposed beam ceilings. The air was sweet with scent of peaches that seemed to radiate from every corner. The walls were adorned with framed prints of various cartoons from_The New Yorker_ . Colonnade-style lamps illuminated the first floor with a soft glow while antiqued rugs added to the classic flavor of the décor.

"Welcome to the Orchard Park Inn. May I help you?" a curvaceous, dark-skinned woman with cropped, silvery-blond hair asked when Jubilee approached the concierge desk. She was polished in a navy, pinstriped pantsuit and red blouse.

Jubilee nodded. "I'm here to meet my boyfriend. The reservation should be under Drake."

The concierge nodded, retrieving a key from a nearby drawer. "Yes, he's here," she replied, noting the twinkling in the girl's brilliant eyes. "It's Room 306. Just walk down the hall and take the elevator to the third floor. Can't miss it."

"Thanks." Jubilee took the key gratefully.

The concierge beamed, revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. "No problem. Enjoy your stay with us."

Jubilee did not even remember traveling up to the room. It was as if she were floating solely on the high she was experiencing. Not that the game was particularly frustrating, but the conclusion was surely welcomed. She missed Bobby. Every clue, the trip that brought her back to their first date built up the anticipation of seeing his handsome face and feeling his loving arms around her. When she reached Room 306, she took a deep breath. With a steady hand, she unlocked the door and sauntered inside.

The room overlooked the lake via a deck. A four-poster, king-sized bed with white, cotton percale and red, satin-stitched trimming was situated at one end of the area. Closer to the door was a sitting area, containing chairs with deep seats and plump cushions that seemed to pay homage to 19th century salons. Turned, hardwood furnishings with brass casters completed the vintage-style look.

It was the sitting area where Bobby stood. He grinned at her, gray eyes twinkling. "You found me," he said in greeting.

Jubilee flashed him a dazzling, radiant smile of her own as she closed the door behind her. Then she sauntered toward the small table and placed the takeout from Avalon there. "You made it entertaining," she observed wryly. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, as it always did when he was near.

"Did you expect anything less?" he inquired, pretending to be hurt that his abilities were being questioned.

She shook her head, black hair with midnight blue highlights rippling down her shoulders and back. "Not at all," she replied playfully, slipping her shoes off. "It was a sentimental trip."

He raked a hand through his sandy hair. "Would you say I was creative?" he inquired, looking boyishly handsome in his black Hawaiian shirt with purple orchids over a pair of chinos. He had taken off his own shoes and socks earlier.

His girlfriend nodded, which sent a rush to his head. Bobby was tempted to call Warren and boast about proving the test wrong. However, he realized that this would kill the romance of the moment.

Jubilee suddenly shrugged. "It's just that with all the running around I've done all day, I wonder what's next."

Bobby suppressed the urge to broaden his smile. The warmth in her voice conveyed to him that he did not have to do anything else. She was simply happy as long as he was with her. Yet, this was not adequate for him. He wanted more for her. He wanted to show what the past year together meant to him.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he moved easily around her. He stopped inches from her, gray eyes fixated upon the stunning vision in front of him. "Well, I'm going to show you how lucky you make me feel," he told her, gray eyes crinkling at the corners.

She turned with him, watching his face. "Really?" she whispered as the corners of her mouth lifted in a tender smile. "I was going to say something along those lines."

"We've got all weekend," he informed her, still astonished as to how lovely she was. The dress he had bought was definitely a good investment. She looked like this ethereal vision, too beautiful almost for words. Once again, he found himself hardly believing his luck.

Jubilee's teeth caught the edge of her bottom lip, trying not to immediately let on how infatuated she continued to be with Bobby Drake. She caught him looking at her mouth again, but this time his eyes were leisurely returning to meet hers. She raised her head slightly in response. Her skin tingled, as if electrified by the intensity of his stare.

His love ran the tip of her tongue over her lips nervously. Then she stepped back and leaned against the wall. Finally, she asked in a low voice, "What is it?"

"Just looking at you makes me happy." Bobby was standing over her without her having any real sense that he had moved. He stared down at her, the smoldering quality of his expression forcing her to quicken her breath.

She could feel the heat pulsing from her body. Her skin began to flush pink, contrasting against her sparkling, sapphire eyes. She loved the way he looked at her. It made her feel special, loved, and wanted.

Softly, their mouths caught and their bodies melted together. Bobby wrapped his arms around her willowy frame, feeling her fingers sliding through his hair. Tasting slowly with a teasing tongue, he explored her lips, and then kissed her deeply. As he continued to kiss her, he pressed her tightly against his body. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, and across his back. His hands tangled in her silken tresses, cupping the back of her head so he could kiss her deeper. She drew his bottom lip between hers. In response, he opened her mouth with his tongue.

At last he drew back, his hand still caressing her neck under her hair. "How's that?" he asked huskily.

Jubilee looked up, moving against him. She couldn't take her eyes off the hollow of his throat and the skin of his chest sinking into the shadows of his Hawaiian shirt. "Is there more?" she asked breathlessly.

Gently, his fingers stroked her jaw. "If you want there to be," he murmured affectionately.

She tightened her arms around his neck. "I do," she told him.

Bobby smiled tenderly at her, realizing she meant every word. Not wanting to keep his Jubilee waiting, he lifted her easily into his arms. His steps were swift as he carried her to the bed on the other side of the room. By the time her feet slipped back to the floor, his quick hands had unfastened Jubilee's dress so that it slid down her body to pool at her ankles. She pressed her sweet lips against his, kicking her dress to the side. Their mouths sealed together in a lingering kiss. Then she raised her hands to unbutton his shirt. Meanwhile, his fingers deftly unclasped her bra, feeling the satiny flesh of her back as he tossed the article of clothing on the floor.

He pulled away briefly so she could push the shirt over his shoulders to slide down his arms. Bobby paused to drink in the sight of her indescribable beauty. He wondered if she had any idea as to how fascinated he was with her, how being with her like this drove him to the depths of happiness he had not known existed.

Jubilee laid her small, delicate hand on his chest and drew it down with agonizing slowness, her fingers playing over the ridges of his muscles until they came to rest at the waistband of his chinos. His breath deepened and he dipped his head to kiss her again. She unzipped his pants with frenetic energy. Then she eased them, along with his boxers, down his hips.

Bobby's cool palms slid from her shoulders to wrap around her waist, lifting her up again. She tucked her coltish legs around him as he lowered her to the bed. Jubilee held him close above her, raising her mouth to kiss his neck. She trailed her tongue across his skin, tasting and sucking softly. When she heard him groan and felt him shudder against her lips, she smiled.

He raised himself above her, pulling off her panties and tossing them over his shoulder with a playful chuckle. Her cerulean eyes stared up at him lovingly. At the same time, she was tentatively tracing patterns over his hips and buttocks with her fingers. His handsome face appeared to reflect the growing sense of pleasure drawn out from her touch.

Bobby lowered himself on top of his angel. "I never thought it could be like this," he murmured into her hair.

"But it is," she said breathily, smiling up at him. "This past year, I feel like I've been given a chance to know what's like to be happy. It's because of you."

"It's not going to end here, Jubes."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

After a passionate lovemaking session, their breathing quieted. She pillowed her head on his chest, eyes closed. Bobby cradled her against him, smoothing her wildly tousled hair and stroking it away from her neck. The heat on her back competed with the coolness of his skin against her chest. A heavy exhaustion played against the aching pleasure lingering in her limbs.

Jubilee was finally able to summon the strength to speak. "Is this how people really celebrate anniversaries?" she whispered, smiling shyly up at him.

He grinned and pressed his lips against her forehead. "It's how we do it."


	34. Chapter Thirty Four Locked Out

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Locked Out (Non-explicit)**

I'm back. Sorry for the delay. I've been swamped with school and teaching. Who knew students were so neurotic about assignments to the point of emailing you every five minutes to figure out what they're doing? Anyway, I hope to be more consistent in posting... Thanks to all of you for your reviews and comments. Please keep them coming.

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her help. This chapter is dedicated to her.

Also, there's an explicit version. If you'd like to read it, let me know.

Finally, the characters belong to Marvel, but the story is mine.

"I need an honest opinion," Jay Guthrie said thoughtfully, wrapping his arms around his acoustic guitar. Like his sister, he worked hard to shed his Kentucky accent. However, his rationale differed from hers in that he found it better to annunciate his lyrics while he was singing without the Southern twang indigenous to their home.

His older brother reached over and affectionately rumpled the younger Guthrie's copper locks, a gesture he knew Jay disdained. "Feelin' self-conscious?"

This mild, but cloudy afternoon found the two of them, relaxing on the mansion's spacious patio. They had set up their lounge chairs right outside of the French doors that led inside the mansion. Jay had insisted that they stay further away from the pool and the activities surrounding it in order to keep his guitar safe from the splashing of water from people diving in or making strokes as they swam the length of the Olympic-sized pool. After all, he reasoned, it was like another appendage to him. He was not very far from it, even while classes were in session.

"Cut that out," Jay grumbled, shrugging out of his brother's reach. He scowled when he noticed the beginnings of an amused smile touching Sam's mouth. "I thought you were supposed to be the mature one."

"Ain't Ah allowed some momentary lapses?" Sam quipped, chuckling. When he saw that his brother was honestly annoyed and hurt, he relented. He had forgotten how sensitive Jay could be. The years away from his mother's home in the backwoods country of Kentucky had contributed to that. Since the arrival of their younger siblings, both he and Paige were making conscious efforts in becoming more involved by acting as guiding forces in the brothers and sister's lives. The way the older Guthries perceived things, it was their turn to pick up the slack and help their mother.

Sam leaned forward in his chair. "Ya know ya ain't got anythin' ta worry about," he said reassuringly. "The school talent show ain't gonna know what hit 'em."

Jay sighed, tapping his pick against his chin pensively. "It's been a long time since I performed in front of anyone.'' Then he amended his statement. "Well, not counting Sammy. He's hardly biased. Of course, he's gonna tell me I'm good. We're roommates. How do I really know if I'm really OK?"

"Because it's true." Sam could detect the note of wistfulness in his brother's voice as he spoke. Through his mother and Paige, he was aware of the early and tragic heartbreak Jay experienced almost a year ago. It almost stunned him sometimes to still see how the loss continued to affect his brother. There was a haunted quality to his demeanor, a cynicism that reflected Jay's shaken faith in humanity, in anything that was good and pure in the world. Inwardly, Sam told himself that Jay was too young, too inexperienced to have that kind of wariness. Then again, he remembered he was about Jay's age when he came to similar realizations.

"Maybe I should tell Ms. Rogue that I've changed my mind," Jay mused glumly, looking despondently at the guitar he cradled against his bare chest. He was suddenly feeling out of place among the excited squeals and barking laughter from his classmates who were engaged in a game of Marco Polo. Contemplating a return to his room for another afternoon of songwriting alone, he began to rise from his seat.

Sam shook his head. "Oh no ya don't," he admonished, firmly placing a hand on the younger Guthrie's shoulder. "Paige has been goin' on and on about these amazin' pipes ya have. Ain't really fair for ya to share the talent with her and everyone back home and not with the rest of us. What about your friends here? Ah think they'd want to hear ya."

"Sam, I'm not in the mood…" Jay tried to shrug out of his brother's grasp, but failed. While he had both the ability to soar the skies and serenade like a choir of angels, the younger Guthrie did not have enhanced strength. Narrowing his green eyes, he exhaled loudly. "What do you want from me?"

"Ya asked me for an opinion. Ah'll need a chance to go over the material 'fore Ah give one."

"What's the point? You're going to say whatever you think is going to stroke my ego."

"That ain't true."

"You expect me to believe that? I'm your brother. You're not going to say anything that would totally crush me. Apparently, that's Ms. Frost's job."

"Ya also know Ah'm one to tell the truth no mattah what."

Jay glanced over at him. He hated to admit it, but Sam had a point. The eldest Guthrie child retained that country-boy candor and honesty that many mistook for being simple. Those who knew better saw it for what it really was—Sam's steadfast commitment to his core values. Never in all their years of growing up together in the same house did Jay ever observe his brother even telling a white lie. To Sam, the truth was the truth. There were shades of gray.

Conceding, Jay slumped his shoulders and settled his guitar on his lap. He held the pick in his hand, trying not to think how unsure of himself he felt as he prepared for his first public performance in over a year. "Honest truth, right?" he prompted, searching his brother's pale blue eyes for any indication of otherwise.

Sam held up his right hand, features solemn. "So help me."

Taking a deep breath, Jay began to strum the first chords of the song he had decided to play at the talent show. He closed his eyes. The warm rays of the sun touched his face in spite of the thick clouds that fought to act as a barrier. There were so many metaphors that could have been drawn from the sensation. However, Jay chose to focus on the music that flowed in the air.

"There's a place for us," he sang, his voice filled with a warmth and hope that he long forgotten was there. It continued to radiate from his throat and from the chords he was strumming. "Somewhere a place for us/ Peace and quiet and open air/ Wait for us/ Somewhere…"

Captivated as he was with his brother's earnest performance, Sam found his attention wandering. He did not even notice the intrigued countenances of those lounging in or around the pool. Instead, Southern gentleman's gaze was fixed upon a familiar person on the other side of the patio.

Or rather, _someone_ .

Walking past the flowering azalea bushes Ororo recently planted was Jubilee. The young girl appeared ready for an afternoon of relaxing by the mansion's pool. Her ebony hair with midnight-blue streaks tumbled down her graceful back, providing a contrast to her creamy skin. A pair of pink sunglasses guarded her sapphire eyes from the summer sun. She was wearing a bright-yellow, string bikini, which revealed the slim curves of her slender body. Had Logan been in the vicinity, the gruff and protective man would have ordered her to cover herself with the beach towel she had slung over her shoulder.

Sam swallowed hard, feeling his heart thumping wildly inside his lean chest. He wanted to tear his eyes from her. He wanted not to think about dazzling she was. He wanted to have the inner resolve to regard her as just a friend or even as another younger sibling.

But in the end, he could not accomplish any of these things.

As he continued to watch her look for a vacant sling back chair, he was quickly taken back to her birthday party several weeks ago. Unlike last year, he was able to attend. Days before, he had taken the time to put careful thought into what he was going to get her. While he was walking around Salem Center, he found a small antique shop tucked in between Greenberry's and a bridal salon.

The Southern gentleman was immediately attracted to a cedar jewelry box. Simple and authentically crafted, the piece spoke more to him than anything else in the shop did. It was beautiful without any excess decorations and smelled like the trees outside of his mother's property. In a way, he had thought, he was giving Jubilee something that would remind her of him.

Sam remembered how broadly he had smiled when she opened the gift. Her arms immediately flew around his neck, hugging him close to her. He could still hear her voice whispering in his ear as she told him how much she loved it. The young girl's perfume of bubblegum and cinnamon filled his nostrils. It made him yearn for more.

Quickly, he was faced with the reality that what he wanted was not possible.

Almost on cue, Bobby appeared by from behind her. The boyishly handsome Iceman draped his arms around Jubilee's waist. Weeks later, Sam could still feel his stomach drop as he struggled to hide his disappointment. Desperately, he feigned a nonchalant façade even though he was implicitly reminded of what stood in the way of his happiness. Somehow, Sam managed to remain composed throughout the painful encounter. He forced himself to laugh at Bobby's remarks and to put forth a guise that nothing was wrong.

As he contemplated his predicament, there was a part of him that wanted to hate Bobby Drake, to believe that he was not good for Jubilee. Sam racked his brain to come up with the evidence to justify this argument. If there were anything, perhaps there would be a reason for him to hope.

Much to his dismay, he could not. Sam actually liked Bobby. The two of them had been roommates several years ago during Operation Zero Tolerance. When Sam was feeling stressed about their undercover work, Bobby was always there for him, ready to offer a joke.

Then there was the way Bobby treated Jubilee. From what Sam was able to observe, Jubilee's constant beaming and upbeat mood was easily traced back to Bobby. He seemed to have a knack for making her erupt into a fit of giggles. In addition, he was quite attentive, always trying to ensure that she was fine and that nothing was amiss. While he was affectionate, he was not overtly and sickeningly so. It seemed to be enough to convey the message that he cared about her.

Following the party, Sam despised himself for what he had done. He could not stand himself for not being able to be his forthcoming self. The fact that he was coveting someone else's girlfriend made his stomach turn. Given that that someone else was a person he considered to be a friend made him feel even worse. He left that kind of thing to other people. His mother had raised him to be better than that.

Sam stared Jubilee adjust the strap to her bikini top. For her part, she was still unaware that she was being watched. As much as he wanted to will himself to tamper his feelings and thoughts surrounding her, he was aware that this nearly impossible. He had done so many times over since their dance on Valentine's Day. His stubborn heart refused to allow him any relief.

"There's a place for us," Jay continued singing, his face lit up as an audience surrounded him composed of his peers and several instructors. His voice was dreamy and strong at the same time. "A time and place for us/ Hold my hand and we're halfway there/ Hold my hand and I'll take you there/ Somehow/ Some day/ Somewhere…"

Jubilee found herself fixed to where she was standing. With rapt attention, she watched Jay Guthrie perform his rendition of "Somewhere" from _West Side Story_ . Despite the fact that Paige had repeatedly boasted about her brother's talents, Jubilee merely attributed her ramblings to sisterly pride. Now witnessing it, she could see why her friend was so proud. Jay's comfort with singing seemed to put the most experienced musicians to shame.

Her focus quickly shifted to Sam, who appeared uncharacteristically glum. It seemed rather strange to see him like that. Yet, here he was, wearing an expression that was a stark contrast against the pleasant backdrop of that afternoon. Usually, the Southern gentleman exuded a relaxed contentment. While he was not as gregarious as Bobby or Hank, the young man got on with other people just as well. His easy smiles and earnest demeanor made other people comfortable. No matter the situation, he was hardly the type to be stressed or anxious. Most surmised that this came from the low-key upbringing he had out in the country roads of his beloved Kentucky.

Jubilee contemplated approaching him. It bothered her to see him so unhappy. She knew this because he was such a decent person. He didn't deserve to have whatever troubles on his mind weighing him down. The kindness he had shown her over the years, particularly when she and his sister were rooming together, continued to make an impression to this day. There was also this sense of chivalry she came to associate with him, which seemed to be lost nowadays. He still opened doors for women, pulled out chairs for them, or stood up whenever they walked into a room. When addressing people he did not know, he would call them either sir or ma'am.

Paige had remarked that it was part of their mother's influence, a strong woman who saw nothing wrong with having good, polished manners. However, Jubilee had a feeling that Sam's adherence went beyond that. He genuinely cared about other people, placing them at ease and expecting absolutely nothing in return. In this day and age, it was truly rare to find someone that altruistic living in the world. Even more impressive, was the fact that none of his experiences fighting for Xavier's cause, where he witnessed some of the ugliness and hate from others, did much to change him. He was still Sam.

"He's pretty good," a voice mused in her ear.

Instantly recognizing to whom it belonged to, she smiled. Her skin tingled with excitement as she turned around slowly. She could feel her heart fluttering inside, which competed with the butterflies in her stomach. "Hey," she greeted.

Bobby, wearing a pair of navy swim trunks with snowflakes printed all over them and a pair of black flip-flops, grinned at her. "Hey yourself," he replied, taking in the vision of his scantily dressed girlfriend with a wolf-whistle. "I'm surprised anyone let you of your room like that. Not that I'm complaining or anything." His gray eyes twinkled.

She pretended to be indignant, but stopped when it was clear that she was on the verge of laughter. "I'm a big girl now," she said. After a brief pause, she whispered in a conspiratorial manner, "Scott and Jean are off with Logan and Warren on some mission."

"Ah, there's the catch." His boyish features were amused as he took her into his arms. He kissed her gently, relishing the feel of her body against his. "I love it, by the way."

She giggled. "You would," she told him as she returned the kiss.

"But that pales in comparison to the way I feel about you, my lady."

"Shut up, Drake."

Bobby rested his chin on the top of her head. "What's up?" He did not have to look at her to know that she was pensive. During the year plus they had been dating, it was startling to realize how attuned he was to her.

She was about to say something about her concerns about Sam when she was interrupted by a clap of thunder. Almost immediately, the skies overhead opened up. The dark clouds that briefly threatened were now black, water streaming down. In the background, she could hear the groans of the others, who were now surrounding Jay Guthrie and his guitar. Quickly, they scattered hurriedly to collect their belongings in preparation to retreat inside.

Jubilee watched the surge of bodies that made their way to the French doors. "Why don't we go back to my place?" she suggested, raising her voice so that she could be heard over the booming thunder, the squeals from the crowd of people hurrying away from the patio, and the rain that began to beat down. "We'll make it there before we get anywhere close to the doors."

Bobby followed her gaze. There had been more people out here than he initially suspected. Agreeing with her assessment, he nodded. "Let's get going before it really starts pouring," he shouted, taking her towel and draping it over her head.

The two of them jogged away from the poolside. Bobby contemplated traveling via ice-slide. However, he decided against this when he noticed Jubilee shivering. They were halfway to the Summers' home when a flash of lighting crashed against the ominous sky. Not wanting to take any additional chances, he guided Jubilee to the boathouse, the closest form of shelter to take refuge in. Jubilee, sensing his reasoning, picked up the pace.

The rain continued to fall when they finally reached the tiny building. Jubilee opened the door frantically, leading Bobby inside. The towel she had used to cover her was now soaking wet. For some reason, this struck her as rather funny. She tossed it on the wooden planks of the floor.

Bobby was peering outside of the tiny window, the smell of the lake and dust hanging in the air. The rain was now falling steadily, resembling a sheet of water that hovered over the manicured grounds. "I didn't know you found the weather hilarious," he said, smiling at her.

"You have to look for the humor in any situation." She nestled her body close to him.

He turned to her, smoothing damp tendrils of hair from her face. "Looks like we'll be here for awhile," he informed her. "I don't want to take any chances with the lightning. Well, unless you can think of something else."

His girlfriend shook her head. Then she peered around the walls of the boathouse. Lifejackets, oars, coolers, fishing equipment, and nets were stacked along the back wall. "I think we can rule out board games to pass the time," she said, sapphire eyes adjusting to the dimness of the tiny structure.

"Are you saying I'm not enough to amuse you?" Bobby added a histrionic wail to his wounded act.

She laughed, the sound resembling the tinkling of a bell. "Are you going to do that impression of Juggernaut singing the 'Twelve Days of Christmas'?"

"I'm much more talented than that," he snorted. Suddenly, the teasing twinkle from his gray eyes disappeared as he pulled her close to him. He leaned in and kissed her, his fingers ensnared in her long tresses.

She shivered. This time, it was not from being drenched from the rain or the coolness of the air, but by Bobby and the feelings he roused in her. Her hands roved over his damp hair and cheeks. A low moan was trapped in her throat as the kiss deepened.

Bobby allowed his hands to roam down her back. He smiled against her mouth when she shuddered. "I can stop," he murmured, knowing full well that neither one of them wanted that.

She confirmed his suspicion when she shook her head no.

Bobby's familiar touch was upon her once more. His gentle hands moved her hair out of the way and exposing more bare skin. Then his fingers were around her back, untying her bikini top. With a single discreet move, the fabric was undone and dropped by her feet. He lowered her onto the towel on the floor, gray eyes roaming across her creamy skin. His gaze was hungry and ravenous as they devoured her the sight of her.

He lifted his head to look at her face. "How's that for starters?" he asked thickly.

"It's alright," she gasped, her coltish limbs quaking in the aftermath of his attentions.

Bobby raised a brow at her, feigning hurt since he knew she was feeling otherwise. "Just alright?" His boyish face lit up with a playful smile, but his gaze was asking her for permission to go on further. "Let me redeem myself."

She flashed him a teasing smile when her shuddering ceased. "I don't know if you can," she challenged wryly.

"We'll just see about that."

"Oh, really?"

"I can be persuasive."

"Show me."

Jubilee's eyes widened she felt the fabric of her bikini bottom lifted away from her stomach. After tossing it aside, he spread her quivering legs and, settled himself between them. His soft breath only exaggerated her anticipation.

She opened her eyes at the new movement and smiled weakly. Semblance of rational thought that could be expressed in words and complete sentence flew out of her mind. All she could concentrate on was Bobby and how desperately she needed him.

He smiled lovingly at his Jubilee. "How am I doing?" he asked, his voice husky. He was now naked and over her, his gray-eyed gaze locked with hers.

Jubilee writhed in frustration as his hands on her stilled.

Bobby smiled tenderly at his gorgeous love lying in his arms. He planted a kiss against her mouth, amazed how incredible she was. "Do you want me now?" he asked huskily, the rain continuing to beat against the tin roof of the boathouse.

Her sapphire eyes were heavy lidded, thick lashes leaving shadows along her exquisite cheeks. She was breathing heavily now, making her answer more than obvious. Instead of telling him, she decided to keep him on his toes by coming up with an inquiry of her own. "Do you want me?"

Nodding, he brushed wet tendrils of hair from her face. "I… I want you so bad, Jubes," he groaned, nearly on the edge.

She held his face in her small hands. "I'm yours…" she breathed, smiling when she noted the look of relief on his face.

Moments later, the two of them were still entwined; neither was able to catch their breath. Jubilee gazed up at him with wide, loving sapphire eyes. Bobby felt his heart swell inside in his chest. Tenderly, he planted a slow kiss on her lips. Her mouth welcomed the contact and moved gently in response. Lips still pressed together, their bodies rolled until she lay on top. Needing a deep intake of air, she slowly pulled her lips away and dropped her head contentedly to his chest.

He stroked her hair gently, his fingers smoothing the strands from her forehead, damp with the rain and now, perspiration. "I could stay like this all day," he told her softly.

"Why don't we?" she whispered, raising her face to peer up at the handsome man holding her in his strong arms. She couldn't imagine anyone she would have rather been with at that moment. "You know, forget the rest of the world. I mean, the rain doesn't seem like it's going to let up anytime soon."

Bobby mulled over her words, listening to the rain beat outside of the boathouse. It made sense. There was no reason to wander outside in the torrential downpour. Neither one of them had anywhere to be or had pressing plans to attend to. He also had to admit that the prospect of making love to her again and again was another added bonus.

His gray eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her affectionately. "Sounds like the best idea I've heard all day," he murmured. Then he cupped her lovely face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her deeply.

Several yards away from the boathouse stood a lone figure. The tall, lean frame almost blended in with the trees that surrounded the mansion's property. The rain plastered his hair and his clothes close to his head and body. It was uncertain as to whether the wetness that streamed down his cheeks was from the steadily falling rain, or from tears he was shedding for something he realized was lost.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five Mysterious Ways

Here's the latest chapter. I decided to post this while at home sick. Just to let you know, there isn't an explicit version of this.

Thanks again for all the reviews and comments. Please keep them coming.

The characters belong to Marvel, but the story is my own brainchild.

Enjoy.

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Mysterious Ways**

International travel was not something new to the active teams. It was not unusual for a group to make their way to places such as London, Munich, Jerusalem, or Cairo in the same week. While it was exhilarating to see the sights and experience the culture and people, the down time away from the mission was not enough to indulge. The pace during these missions was too fast. Literally, the trips were like whirlwinds, composed of fragmented memories of places and events that mingled together in some semi-coherent fashion. Sometimes, the only souvenirs obtained to commemorate any of these trips were the stamps and visas in their passports.

For some strange reason, the frequency of missions seemed to increase as the temperatures cooled. It was a rather peculiar correlation, one that many were aware of, but never really bothered to bring up during War Room meetings. Depending on where one was being dispatched, it was a blessing or a burden.

The first day of fall this year was no exception. As soon as the leaves started turning colors and the air gained a crisp quality, the Professor was alerted to a disturbance in Istanbul. Through his link with Cerebro, he was able to ascertain some mutant activity. Tessa's research provided evidence and additional detail as to what exactly was going on. Her findings told of a rash of attacks, where people were being disfigured. The manner of maiming—or transformation being the more operative word—could only have been achieved through mutant abilities. Some cases involved the disappearance of facial features, or the addition of limbs, which resulted in some jarring images. The government, fearing mass hysteria, not to mention the prospect of lost revenue from the growing tourism market, decided to keep a low profile in their handling things. It was not long after that a cabinet member contacted Professor Xavier for his assistance. He, in turn, decided to dispatch a team to conduct a more thorough assessment and hopefully, containment of the mutant in question.

The team, led by Warren and Logan, departed the mansion early the following morning via the Blackbird. In spite of the vessel's ability to travel at high speeds, the estimated time in the air was still roughly six hours. Being the more experienced pilot, Warren took it upon himself to fly the plane. Meanwhile, Logan was finalizing landing plans with the staff at Atatürk airport. This left the remaining members of the group, which consisted of Hank, Gambit, and Bobby, to plot out sections of the city to explore.

The team arrived in Turkey while there was daylight out. In early autumn, Istanbul was quite a sight to behold. The weather painted a lovely scene against the historic structures, such as various cisterns and fountains, and modern flats. Central to the Turkish economy, Istanbul housed a great number of businesses and factories. The diversity of the city was also quite evident through the people who lived there. Adding to the Greeks, Armenians, and Jews, were recent migrants from Anatolia, Eastern Europe, and the Middle East. Many of the streets remained unchanged from their original design. They were narrow and constructed from cobblestone, and often on hills. Unfortunately, this did not help much with the burgeoning traffic that crowded the city.

The five teammates met briefly with the government delegation to update the details of the assignment. The officials lamented that not much had changed with the exception of the increasing fear of the city residents. Relieved to obtain assistance with the situation, they fervently pledged their support. Shortly afterwards, they had the team whisked away by a car hire service to their hotel in Sultanahmet Square. Much to Hank and Bobby's amusement, the driver struggled to remain compose when he first laid eyes on the group he was to transport in his vehicle. Apparently, it was not everyday that he saw a winged man, a man with red-on-black eyes, and a large, blue cat-like creature that spoke fluent Turkish.

"Once we check in and get settled in our rooms, we should try to explore this part of the city to see what's what," Warren said, leaning back in the backseat. After being confined to rather tight spaces for several hours, he was looking forward to getting some fresh air and most importantly, spreading his wings.

Bobby adjusted his purple-tinted sunglasses. "Do you think we can stop for some food?" he asked, feeling his stomach rumble when the car passed by several kebab and pide salons.

"You could have had something to eat on the plane ride over," Warren sighed, sounding quite exasperated. "Why did you wait until now, just as we're about plan where we're going to stake out?"

Gambit shuffled a deck of cards and muttered under his breath, "Because he's Drake and dere's no known cure, homme."

Bobby shot a withering look at the Cajun, who snickered with Logan in response. "I wasn't hungry then," he said to Warren pointedly.

Logan chewed on his cigar, grinding it between his teeth. "We don't got time for you to enjoy a four-course meal and cocktails," he informed the younger man sardonically.

"Perhaps, we can work out a compromise," Hank piped up, sensing his friend's need to have someone on his side. He held up his travel book on Turkey he had been reading. "If we visit the Covered Bazaar as we originally planned, we would be able to find some eateries that are similar to fast food haunts back in the 'States. It would not take up so much time, really. We would also be able to search for the mutant."

_Good, old Hank,_ Bobby mused, trying not to appear too smug when Warren and Logan relented. He flashed a grateful smile to his good friend when the other three were occupied. Had it not been for the reassurances and playful comments from the big, blue one, Bobby would certainly be in a much more glum mood than he already was. It was not that he hated traveling or going on missions with the team. In fact, he always enjoyed the adventure and excitement of it all. It was nice to get away from teaching, from the children, from the everyday routine of being at the school. To be free from that, even for a few days, was quite refreshing.

Yet, this time was different. This time, he found himself wishing he did not have to leave Westchester. For the first time, he did not experience the rush of that came from being somewhere else. It was a strange, perplexing sensation. As much as he wanted to concentrate and focus on what he was supposed to be doing, he could not.

Bobby Drake wanted nothing more than to hop another plane back to the U.S. Instead of thinking about what sections of the city he was going to scout, his mind drifted to memories of that curve between Jubilee's neck and shoulder, her perfume of bubblegum and cinnamon, and the sparkle of her eyes. The thought of her so far away from him sent pangs to his heart, mixing with his longing to see her again.

Having never felt something like this before, he was at a loss. The more he mulled over things, the more he was able to make sense out of the whole thing. Before Jubilee, he really did not have anyone to leave behind. Granted, there was Opal. But looking back at that relationship, he thought there was a part of him that actually looked forward to getting away from her.

No, things were different now. They were definitely better. He had someone worthwhile to come home to.

This mission marked the first time the two of them would be separated for a substantial amount of time. While the Professor provided no exact timeline as to how long the mission would take, it was almost certain that Bobby would be away for at least two weeks. Faced with that prospect, he and Jubilee refused to engage in the angst-like bemoaning couples participated in when they were forced to part for some time. Instead, they made an implicit decision to make an effort to be light-hearted about the situation. She teased him about getting presents from his trip, while he joked about her keeping things together while he was gone. Underneath all the banter, it was clear that the two of them were not looking forward to this time apart.

It was quite evident the day he was set to leave. He and Jubilee were in the third level of the basement where the jets and helicopters were housed. As they watched the rest of the team file into the Blackbird with their gear, the young couple held hands. He remembered squeezing her hand tightly for fear that she would somehow slip away from him.

_"Ow." Jubilee winced, trying to pull her hand away. _

_He smiled sheepishly, raising her hand to his lips and pressing his lips against it gently. "Sorry. Better now?"_

_She nodded, sapphire eyes twinkling. Then she peered over at the Blackbird warily, realizing what was to come. Her sunny expression slowly faded. "I guess this is it."_

_He sighed dolefully as he tightened his grip on the strap of his travel bag. "Yeah." He shook his head. "I know we agreed not to be all sappy, but I have to say this."_

"_Bobby…"_

"_I know. I'm not going to see your face when I wake tomorrow."_

"_Oh come on. It's a change of pace, isn't it?"_

"_I don't want to say goodbye to you."_

_Jubilee turned to stare up at him, her face losing its solemn expression. She draped her lithe arms around his neck. "Then don't say goodbye," she told him as she stood on her tiptoes. "Say something else… It's not like you're never coming back."_

"_I know. I'm still not crazy about leaving…" Bobby made a point to inhale the sweet, familiar fragrance from her hair and holding her body tightly against his. Then he brightened as he said, "How about 'Smell you later'?"_

_His girlfriend smirked, rolling her eyes. "Try again, Romeo," she quipped. _

Bobby was startled out of his reverie when he heard Hank talking to the driver. He blinked, noticing that the car had stopped in what appeared to be an older residential district. Stray cats ducked in between older model American and European cars, sitting in traffic. On one corner, sat several shoeshine boys on old paint tins with their polish and brushes on cheap wooden boxes. Some of the nearby shops displayed their goods through large windows. There were dozens of cut-glass bottles in gold-plated cases, embellished with scenes of Mecca, along with autographed pictures of overripe chanteuses. Meanwhile, weary fishermen, trying their luck at the Bosphorous, were carrying their bounty up one of the many hills of the city.

_"Çok teşekkür ederim,"_Hank said to the driver, handing him several Turkish lira and grabbing his large, black duffel bag. He opened the passenger's side door quickly and motioned the others to follow suit. "This is us, the Hotel Erguvan."

The rest of the team filed out of the car with their baggage, staring up at the salmon-colored building that looked vibrant compared to the neighboring buildings. Marble steps led to the heavy mahogany door, where a reed-like man with black hair and olive skin was smoking an unfiltered cigarette. His glassy eyes widened when he saw Hank and Warren, but he quickly regained his composure. Throwing his cigarette on the ground and stamping it out, he smiled and began to take their baggage inside. He led them to the front desk staff, who greeted the travelers. The head concierge, efficiently but cordially, provided an orientation to the hotel and their amenities, as well as of the city in terms of where to eat, what tours to take, and where to shop. Fortunately, the introduction was given in English so that everyone could understand.

When they reached the elevators, Warren crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Let's just get the bags inside our rooms and we'll meet down here in five," he said, watching the reed-like man scurry inside one of the elevators with their baggage.

Logan nodded in agreement, stepping inside the elevator with the man and Gambit. "The Covered Bazaar is two blocks away. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can catch whoever's behind scaring the hell outta these people."

Bobby climbed inside another elevator with Warren and Hank. He pressed the button to reach their floor, which was on the top floor of the building. "But we're still getting food, right?"

Warren heaved an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Bobby." While he was aware that his friend had a bottomless pit for a stomach, he had never seen him like this—antsy and pretending that hunger was on the forefront of his mind. Studying Bobby, Warren could only surmise that the younger man was preoccupied with something else. For the man known as the comedian of the group, it seemed like it was easier for him to channel his anxiety through another means rather than openly talking about what truly bothered him.

Instantly recognizing where the conflict was stemming from, he softened. Empathically, the tall, blond patted Bobby's shoulder as he added, "I'll even pay."

As the largest Eastern market in the world, the Covered Bazaar in Istanbul boasted a vast and rambling structure with arches, barrel vaults, and skylights overhead. It was like a city unto itself, with over five thousand shops, a mosque, a school, and even its own post office and police station. Signs in either Turkish or German advertised trinkets and other manner of goods. The design of the entire market was similar to an endless maze of wholesalers, warehouses, and workshops. Located in the center and near the entrances, were various jewelers and purveyors of copper and rare antiques. Dealers in raw leather or children's clothing were tucked away in low-rent alleys.

The merchants and other prospective customers made no effort to avert their curious stares as Hank and Warren led the team inside. Logan and Gambit exchanged amused glances, while Bobby was making a valiant effort to find a kebab place to stop into. He grinned at the many shopkeepers attempting to lure him to their shops with promises of good deals, apple tea, or compliments of what a fine young man he was in broken English. Passing them by with easy charm, he continued to follow the rest of his teammates through the crowded marketplace.

Hank found himself squeezing his large frame in between the swells of people. Almost every five minutes, he would excuse himself in Turkish as he bumped into various people, who seemed intrigued and frightened of him simultaneously. Pulling his black leather jacket closer to his form, he attempted to make his way forward. He kept his head, trying not to attract any more attention than he already had.

His eyes widened when he felt a sharp jab at his side. Immediately, his head snapped up in order to locate the perpetrator. His gaze was greeted by the sight of a woman in birka with wide, hazel eyes. A hand slipped out to briefly brush against his. Then, just as suddenly as she touched him, she was swallowed in the crowd.

Pushing the incidence from his mind, the scientist found a brightly lit store vending shop that caught his eye. On the main display were sweets, such as bins of Turkish delight, containers of helva, nuts, and baklava. Further inside, were more substantive choices like stuffed vine leaves, Russian salads in mayonnaise, a variety of beans in sauces, mushrooms, stewed chicken and lamb dishes, rice pilafs and bulgur, kebabs, and cooked aubergine salads. Satisfied with the selection and the apparent prompt service, he made a decision.

"Let's stop here," he suggested, oblivious to the beaming face of the rotund, wild-haired merchant who was motioning for him to come in. "I could use some nourishment before we press on."

Bobby needed no additional urging. He darted inside, as if controlled by the grumbling of his belly. The others shook their heads, not completely surprised by the young man's reaction. Logan and Gambit migrated towards the meat dishes. Being more health-conscious, Warren was selective, perusing the displays more carefully.

Meanwhile, Hank was feeling out of sorts. It was no longer hunger that was consuming him, but something else as well. There was an odd sensation that pulsed through his entire being. He could feel it inside of him, not from one particular area but from multiple places. It radiated through his skin and the blue fur that covered it. His body felt as if it were shrinking and expanding at the same time.

Alarmed, he peered down at himself, placing a hand to his forehead. For some reason, his black leather uniform, usually snug around his form, seemed to hang off of him now. Furthermore, he suddenly noticed there was a part of his body that vanished.

A part of him that he was quite sure was there this morning.

_Stars and garters, what's going on?_His mind screamed in ever-increasing confusion.

An unintelligible cry escaped from his lips. "Something's amiss," Hank announced, his blue eyes worried and voice trembling with panic. "I fear something significant of mine has disappeared."

Gambit was perplexed as he slapped down some Turkish lira to pay for his meal and Logan's, his eyes locked on the attractive brunette behind the cash register. "What dat be, Beast?" he asked, searching the deep pockets of his brown leather duster. As a former thief, he was cognizant of the fact that a crowded city like Istanbul was a haven for would-be pickpocketers. Given this, he took precautionary measures by keeping his wallet and money underneath his uniform.

Warren, having heard the distress nature of the noise that emanated from his friend, was keener to investigate further. He peered up from array of teas. Upon taking in the sight that met his disbelieving eyes, he blinked and wondered whether or not he had gotten enough sleep the night before. "Hank, no offense, but your hips look a little wider," he noted as he took several steps back to get an overall view of the other man and his suddenly changing appearance. "And your hair..."

"What about it?" Hank's hands immediately flew to his head. Much to his surprise, he found that he now possessed long, flowing tresses that ripped down his shoulders. "What on earth…"

Logan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, taking in the appearance of his friend at that moment. The gruff Canadian chewed on his cigar, perplexed and amused at the same time. "Call me crazy," he drawled, "but I think you've turned into a chick."

Hank brought his hands in front of his face. It was at that point that he noticed that they were smaller than he remembered, possessing a more delicate quality. Startled, he assessed the rest of his body. His once hulking, imposing physique was now replaced with an unfamiliar slender frame. As his friend pointed out, his hips now had a flare to them, and his chest…

"How did this happen?" he cried, ducking into a far corner of the shop. The rest of the group followed him. The shopkeeper and his staff were left to stare, uncertain as to what exactly was going on with the blue, furry man that was now a woman.

"Look on the bright side," Bobby remarked, gray eyes twinkling, "at least your boobs are still the same size."

Hank slapped him upside the head.

"Ow!" the younger man screamed, rubbing his scalp tenderly. "Sheesh...what a bitch!"

Warren and Gambit grabbed Hank before he had a chance to claw his friend's eyes out. Logan frowned deeply in concentration, as if trying to use his senses to deduce the catalyst responsible. He growled, producing a rumbling sound from his throat. Then he strode away, tossing the carton of food Gambit had just purchased on a nearby counter.

"Come on," he called over his shoulder in his gravelly voice. "I smell our mutant."

Warren, Gambit, and Hank jogged after him. Bobby shook his head, disheartened that their meal break was interrupted. The boyishly handsome man followed his friends, but not before grabbing the food Logan had discarded earlier. Flashing the owner and his staff a charming smile, he quickly hurried to catch up with the rest of his friends.

In another continent, miles away, fall was reigning over Westchester with a fierceness rarely seen. The weather was less than pleasant with brisk, swirling winds that sent golden leaves flying from tree branches. The sun was hiding that day behind thick, gray clouds. In short, the conditions were perfect to spend the day inside.

Inside for a group of young women from the mansion meant Salem Center Mall. They languidly window shopped, browsing a variety of stores housed within the complex to search for something that might pique their interest. With caffeine-infused beverages in hand, the quartet of Jubilee, Paige, Tabitha, and Kitty allowed themselves to enjoy the mundane quality of the day, free of concern or worry regarding the outside world or their responsibilities around the mansion.

As Kitty led them into Halliwells, Jubilee could not help but wonder if her former roommate had anything to do with organizing this outing. While she did not pine openly about her boyfriend's absence as the younger Guthrie did, she was counting the days until Bobby's return. She refused to sigh by a window to demonstrate her loneliness. Instead, she put on that sunny face she was known for, hoping, as she always did, to throw people off. Apparently, this approach did not work with Paige.

For someone who believed herself to be accustomed to the comings and goings of others, she was surprised to note the effect Bobby being away had on her. It was not that she expected not to miss him. Rather, it was the fact that she missed him as much as she did. His face, his voice, and his touch were constantly at the forefront of her mind. Thinking about him made her want him back with her even more.

Granted, the couple had been separated before during the Christmas holidays, but this time was different. There was no scheduled return date she could mark on her calendar. From what Logan relayed to her during one of their outings several weeks ago, the team would come back when the objective was achieved; nothing further than that. As a result, she felt deflated and unsure what to do with herself other than wait.

Not that she minded. Aside from the yearning to see his boyish face again and experience the closeness of his body next to hers, Jubilee liked the idea of someone coming home, just for her. It was an entirely new concept she was dealing with. Sure, Logan, after his solitary travels or missions with a team, would check in on her, but she was not necessarily the reason for his return. There were the romantic tensions with Jean, the need for the Professor's help to soothe his fragmented psyche. Settling as second or third best had been fine enough for her. After all, she had conditioned herself to be used to it all her life.

But with Bobby, that was not the case. He was coming home to her. Days before he was scheduled to leave for Turkey, he expressed this sentiment. His words were sincere and poignant. The way he loved and cared for her provided ample evidence. She did not have to worry about any underlying motivations for him wanting to come home. To him, she was what made coming home safe and inviting. She was his sanctuary.

And he was hers.

The thought elicited a wistful, dreamy smile that lit up her lovely face. It reached her sapphire eyes, which seemed to sparkle brightly. Such an expression reflected the euphoria she experienced simply thinking about Bobby Drake.

Paige caught a glimpse of her friend as she was pushing up the sleeves to her azure turtleneck, which she wore over a pair of green corduroy slacks. The Kentucky native was inwardly pleased to see her friend in a happier mood. Over the past few days, she had noticed Jubilee and the act she often put on in order to reassure everyone around her that nothing was wrong. As the young girl's best friend, she easily saw through the deception. In the end, she supposed it was this knowledge that compelled her to suggest this outing. Directly addressing Jubilee regarding her missing Bobby would have been laughed off.

With the smile that seemed deeply etched across Jubilee's delicate features, Paige decided it was safe to talk about it. "Thinking about him?" she inquired casually.

Jubilee walked alongside her friend, watching Tabitha stroll to a nearby perfume counter and dousing herself with a sample bottle. "I'm not going to deny it," she replied calmly, "but I never thought it was so obvious."

"Trust me, it is." Paige laughed as Kitty pretended to cough when Tabitha raced back towards the group.

Jubilee made a face, disdainful of the fact that she was quickly looking more and more like a sap. In her younger days, she made fun of such people. Now, she was one. "I can't help it," she said defensively. The tone was directed more at herself rather than at her best friend. "The guy brings it out in me."

"Aw, that's sweet."

"Watch it, Hayseed. I know where you sleep."

"I'm genuinely happy for you, Jubes. I haven't seen you this silly since Sugar Bombs came out in cocoa flavor."

"Hilarious."

"No, really, I mean it. This thing with Bobby… This is the happiest I've seen you. I'm glad."

"Thanks. Me, too. I just…"

"What?"

"I just miss him. A lot. I mean I can't wait to see him again. It's crazy how much I think about him. I know he has a job to do and that it's to save other people, but I'm selfish. I want him back."

"It's not selfish."

"It's not?"

"No, you're just… It's a normal reaction, especially when you really care about the person."

"When you care about who?" Tabitha asked, dropping back several steps and inserting herself between Jubilee and Paige. Then her heavily lined, aqua eyes widened as she turned to Jubilee. "Are we talking about Drake?"

Jubilee jumped back, her eyes tearing up from the pungent scent that seemed to permeate from the other woman's skin. "Jeez, did you bathe in that?" she gasped between coughs.

"I told you!" Kitty exclaimed, standing at a safer distance away from Tabitha in women's apparel section.

The blonde stuck her tongue out at her before returning to her attention to Jubilee. "Don't change the subject," she chided lightly. "It's OK. You're among girlfriends. We can talk about these kinds of things. Are you planning something special for when he comes home?"

Jubilee picked a piece of fuzz from her thick, gray crewneck sweater that she wore over a pair of distressed boy jeans and black loafers. Truth be told, she had not thought about that sort of thing. In what she viewed as magnifying her naiveté, she asked, "People really do that?" Almost immediately, she regretted her words.

If the woman known as Boom-Boom picked up on her self-consciousness, she was acting oblivious to it. "Oh yeah. Don't you hear Scott and Jean going at it after being separated for a while?"

"Yuck!" Jubilee could have sworn she was turning green at that moment. She wanted to believe that the couple merely held hands and that was the end of it. "Stop talking about them like that. I live with them. I can't have those images running through my head when we're at the dinner table."

Tabitha rolled her eyes as they made their way towards Kitty. "Fine." She peered over at Kitty and asked, "When you were dating, did you ever do something special for your guy after being away for a while?"

Kitty's cat-like eyes flashed indignantly. "You make me sound like I've taken this oath of celibacy," she huffed, crossing her wiry arms over her chest. "I happen to like being single. I have a lot more freedom and I—"

Tabitha groaned and then glared at Jubilee and Paige, who were giggling. "I'm sorry," she sighed, exasperated. "I like being single, too. Well, except for not having a boyfriend part… Now, help me out."

Kitty relented. "Yeah, I did," she replied nonchalantly, fingering a green-and-gray striped sweater on the rack. She was thinking how nice it would look with a pair of patchwork jeans she had bought the other day at a vintage boutique.

"What did you do?" Paige asked, sounding as if she were soliciting advice. While her relationship with Warren was somewhat more stable than it had been, there were times when she felt unsure of what was going on. She vacillated between blaming her own insecurities and his aloofness for this feeling. This only left her wanting to do something to remedy the situation.

Kitty pushed a tendril of brown hair from her forehead. "Nothing, really," she said and took a sip of her large, café mocha. "Sometimes, I'd go by the movie rental place and get something he'd like, make a nice dinner. Guys love it when you cook. You know that old saying about getting to them through their stomachs? It's totally true."

"Here I was, thinking that only applied to Bobby." Jubilee remarked wryly, referring to her boyfriend's reputation for a never-ending appetite. It was not unusual to see him being chased out of the kitchen by Cook or one of her staff after pilfering a treat.

Kitty shook her head, brown ponytail swinging behind her head. "No, it happens that for once, Bobby is part of the norm," she quipped as she played with the zipper to her magenta jacket, which was worn with a green turtleneck and faded jeans. "So, you're thinking about doing something for him to welcome him back?"

The young girl shrugged, trying to mask her reluctance to share. While she and the woman she longed considered competition for Logan's affection were now getting along, she was not completely comfortable discussing her love life with her or anyone else for that matter. It was a subject she was protective of, not wanting to involve others.

Yet, she could not quite help being intrigued by Kitty's advice, and wanting to hear more. Being in her first relationship, Jubilee continued to feel as if she were maneuvering the nuances in spite of Bobby's reassurances and the time they had spent together. There was still much she did not know. Perhaps soliciting for additional guidance would not be such a bad idea.

"Cooking is nice, but where's the fun in that?" Tabitha smirked, brushing her chunky, blonde bangs from her aqua eyes.

Kitty raised an eyebrow at her. "What are you talking about? It's romantic."

"It's boring," the other woman corrected. Shaking her head, she pursed her magenta-painted lips slightly. "So, you make a great meal and he gets stuffed. So what?"

"Actually," Paige drawled thoughtfully, "food has been shown to be a great aphrodisiac. I was reading that even mushrooms—"

Tabitha waved a hand at her dismissively, the rings on each finger shining underneath the track lighting. "Whatever." She leaned towards Jubilee and grabbed the young's girl arm, pulling her towards another section of the department. "If you want to totally turn Drake on, I've got something."

Jubilee's sapphire eyes became as round as saucers. "I don't know if I like the sound of this," she said warily.

Kitty and Paige exchanged amused glances before following them. No one was surprised when they finally ended up in the lingerie section. Jubilee freed her arm from Tabitha, shaking her head.

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered. Sweeping her eyes over a table with items under the clearance sign, she was amazed as to what some women were willing to keep in their closets. One piece that caught her attention was a leopard-print, nearly transparent cat suit.

The wild child blonde rolled her eyes, disdainful of Jubilee's somewhat prudish reaction. She quickly assessed the situation and decided it was time for some re-education. "Men like aggressive and decisive," she explained matter-of-factly. "Look at Sharon Stone or Angelina Jolie, for example."

"Men really like that?" Jubilee asked in disbelief. It was hard to wrap her mind around.

Paige gave her a perplexed look. "Um, Jubes loves Bobby," she said slowly, "she doesn't want to kill him."

"Or drink his blood." Kitty added helpfully with a wide, cheeky smile.

"I'm not talking about that kind of stuff," Tabitha retorted defensively. She picked up a lacy, red teddy and tilted her head to the side in reflection. "All I'm suggesting is adding some spice to her welcome home thing. Trust me, it's a guaranteed turn-on for any guy to be greeted by their woman wearing anything here."

Jubilee stepped back, peering at the piece with great scrutiny. "What is that? I think dental floss has more material than that thing." She and Paige giggled, earning a glare from one of the saleswoman at the cashier's desk.

Tabitha ignored the former Generation-Xers. Instead, she turned to Kitty and held the teddy in front of her. "So, what do you think?" she asked cheerily. "Is red Kurt's favorite color?"

Kitty choked, catlike eyes widening with surprise and almost horror. The thought of her best friend and the man she considered as a brother in a sexual scenario was something she wanted to purge from her consciousness. "First of all, eww. Second, I don't know. And, third, eww again." With that, she shook her head violently and sauntered away.

"Oh come on," Tabitha cajoled, jogging after her with red teddy still in hand. "You've got to help me out!"

Kitty grimaced as she picked up the pace. "I don't have to help you do anything. You almost made me throw up in my mouth."

Jubilee and Paige grinned at each other. The absurdness of it all—getting romantic advice from the sex-crazed Tabitha, Kitty being freaked out by the image of Kurt and Tabitha being together, Tabitha chasing Kitty for the sake of exacerbating things—was nearly too much. It was just shocking that they were not rolling on the floor, laughing with tears running down their cheeks.

Finally, the younger Guthrie patted Jubilee's shoulder. "We should make sure there's not going to be some kind of melee because of those two," she suggested, taking a few steps to catch up with them.

"I'll catch up with you," Jubilee told her friend, pulling off her loafer and shaking it out. "I've got something in my shoe."

Paige nodded, pressing on without her. Meanwhile, Jubilee slipped her shoe back on and turned to the clearance table with interest. She noticed a black, satin number, which seemed to stand out since it was tamer than the other items. Slowly, she picked it up, noting that it was not so bad. She also observed that it would probably fit her quite perfectly.

Author's Note: Hank tells the driver: Thank you very much in Turkish


	36. Chapter ThirtySix Everybody's Changing

Here's the latest update. Still sick and now hungover. Bleech. Stupid green beer.

I made my beta laugh a couple of times with this chapter. Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for all her help!

Also, thanks to all of you for your reviews and comments! It's great hearing from you. Please keep them coming! I promise that things will get more interesting.

As always, the characters belong to Marvel, but the story is mine.

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Everybody's Changing**

"You t'ink we be lucky today, Wolverine?" Gambit inquired, lighting a clove cigarette with a spark from his finger.

Logan shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket, his features rather grim. His expression was in stark contrast to the mild, autumn day, where the sky was clear and blue and the sun shone brightly against it. "Not counting on luck to help, Cajun," he replied stoically. "It gave up on us weeks ago."

"We can't do de same, mon ami," Gambit noted, exhaling a cloud of sweet-smelling, bluish-gray smoke from his sculpted lips. He dropped a couple of steps behind Logan as he continued to smoke. "Beast be countin' on us."

It was exactly two weeks since Hank had suddenly gone through his new transformation, or as Bobby jokingly put it, his "extreme makeover". In spite of devoting the available manpower towards to tracking down the person responsible, the results had been less than spectacular. Even with the new Cerebro link that connected the mansion's resources to them, it was difficult. Because the culprit was a shape shifter who could change gender and facial and body features, the team was often at a loss as to who they were looking for. Logan's sensitive nose, combined with the portable Cerebro device, were the key tools that consistently kept them on the trail. At this point, the only thing they were completely sure of was that the individual was still in Istanbul, but maintaining a lower profile. To date, there were no new attacks.

Unfortunately, this was little solace to Hank, who was now being called Hannah by Bobby and Warren. Known for being quite good at adjusting to the many physical changes, these set of alterations were not viewed the same way. The one constant about him, the one thing he could always be certain of in the face of the mutations that reframed his entire being, was his identity as a man. Now, that was gone. To have that taken away was rather devastating. It was as if he had lost his sense of what was real and tangible in the world.

In order to attempt to shake their friend's somber mood and despondent outlook on his present condition, Warren decided to have the team start their days a little earlier. While there were rumblings of disappointment, particularly by the members who were still adjusting to the time difference, it was agreed that they owed their best efforts to their friend's well being.

The team was walking through Gülhane Park as the minarets were making the calls for early morning prayers. The park was actually a public garden, which had been converted in 1913. As the merchants began to make their way to nearby mosques to pray, tourists stopped to admire the pond and the Atatürk Monument. The statue dedicated to the country's late, beloved statesman was the only one not located in a main square.

In order to be less conspicuous, all of them donned their street clothes as opposed to their black leather uniforms. Appearing more approachable to the locals might make it easier to be somewhat more covert about their investigation. Meanwhile, Hank, in an attempt to deal with his new gender, was forced to wear more feminine articles of clothing since his old clothes did not fit anymore. He managed to duck into a shop off of İstiklâl Caddesi to purchase some simple, cotton pants and a colorful, silk blouse that he got for a steal. To complete the look and to blend in with other females on the streets, he pulled on a paisley headscarf.

Still self-conscious, Hank bowed his head as he walked alongside Bobby. He was a having a hard time adjusting to this new form and all the associated baggage that came with it. Exacerbating things was the fact that he was in a foreign land. For some reason, it only served to make him feel more out of sorts than he already was.

Suddenly, he bolted upright. Glaring at his best friend, he hissed, "Bobby, if you pinch my rear again, I will tear your testicles off and shove them down your throat!"

Bobby jumped, unsure if the threat was going to be followed through or not. He dashed away from his rather grumpy friend. "I think I like Hank better as a man," he groused to Warren when he was at a safe distance. "Man-Hank would never threaten to rip my nuts off. Hannah here can't take a joke."

Warren, standing on Hank's other side, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You know, he's more butch as a woman than he ever was as a man."

Furious, Hank punched him in the gut.

"Settle down," Logan growled, not quite believing the situation and the circumstances. For what seemed like the millionth time, he contemplated leaving the others behind and tracking the mutant himself. It was bad enough the mission had this extra layer of complexity, but the fact that he was among the Three Stooges pushed things too far for the self-proclaimed loner. "You're pissing me off."

"Sorry," Warren apologized, shooting a chuckling Bobby a dirty look from behind his black, aviator-style sunglasses.

There was a brief period of quiet and calm, which dissolved into a distant memory when Hank let out what sounded like a muffled shriek. "Gambit, what did I say about your eyes going below my neckline?" he demanded, giving the Cajun a hard shove.

Bobby suppressed a snicker, hoping to avoid Hank's (or Hannah's) ire for the morning. He slowed his pace as the rest of his group made their way ahead. The boyishly handsome man found his thoughts drifting elsewhere. His mind carried him away from the crowded, narrow streets of Istanbul. He did not even hear the car horns beeping or a nearby simit vendor calling out for customers. The historic buildings and structures of Istanbul were now in the periphery of his consciousness.

All he could focus on were twinkling, sapphire eyes and soft skin that smelled like bubblegum and cinnamon.

It had been some time since he had seen his Jubilee. Corresponding over email and talking on the phone did not possess the same impact as holding her close to him. He had become very acquainted with Warren's new laptop with wireless, Internet access, monopolizing it in order to communicate with his girlfriend. As for his phone bill, he knew he was probably going to catch hell from Scott for the long distance charges. There was also the fact that the calls were often made at awkward hours, given the time difference.

Late at night, in his hotel room, Bobby would find sleep gradually only to dream that she was with him. The quality of the dreams was so real, to the point where he actually believed that she had been there. He could have sworn he had heard her voice, seen her beautiful face in all of its glory, and touched her skin. When he discovered his mind was merely playing out his longing for her, he instantly felt his heart become heavier with something he had never known before. It was as if he did not feel whole anymore, and was always preoccupied with the notion that something was missing.

He was cognizant of the fact that he missed her greatly. Yet, the intensity of it all seemed to take him by surprise. These feelings were not familiar to him—at least not from any of the relationships he had been involved in previously. As startling as they were, he embraced them quite readily. In a way, he felt a little closer to her because he knew she felt the same way.

It was difficult for both of them to hide their disappointment with the continued separation. Underneath the jokes and the wry teasing exchanged was their shared loneliness and desire to be reunited. But for some reason, the two of them seemed compelled by some unspoken understanding to keep things light. Perhaps it was to keep the other's spirits up during this time away.

Last night, while he spoke to her on the phone, Jubilee did provide some indication of her true feelings. In true fashion, she finally sighed and simply summed the situation for what it was. "This sucks."

At first, Bobby thought about saying something empathic, such as "I know". Yet, he did not. For some reason, neither response seemed to be all that appropriate. He remembered mulling over other alternatives as to how could respond to her assertion.

Then he realized there was only way. "I love you," he had told her.

To his surprise, she had laughed. It was such a sweet, light sound that seemed to lift his spirits. There was an infectious quality to it that soon he had found himself laughing.

As he continued walking, Bobby was still lost in the memory of that night. So consumed by his own thoughts, the boyishly handsome man failed to notice where his steps were taking him. If he had been paying any attention, he would have been alerted to the fact that he was heading straight into an old woman selling a myriad of scarves and other trinkets. Unfortunately, he did not realize this until it was too late.

BANG!

Roused from his reverie, Bobby found himself swathed in many scarves in various colors. He resembled one of those Eastern Europe from the late nineteenth century, his limbs draped in flowing fabric. The remaining scarves and wares the woman was peddling were scattered on the ground, along with the milk crates she had used to place them upon.

A few feet away, Gambit made no effort to suppress his amusement. Immediately, he began to snicker. I _Classic Drake, _/I he mused to himself, wishing that he had his digital camera on him. He was still thirsting for revenge after Bobby posted a video of him singing and dancing to "Bootylicious" (originally a private performance for Rogue) on his website.

"Shut up, Cajun." Logan raised a brow, apparently not at all surprise that Drake was in this sort of predicament. There was a part of him that wanted to smirk and make some kind of comment, but this tampered by his focus with the task at hand. Shaking his head, he sighed. "Finish helping her out, Drake. We'll meet you at the Aya Sofya," he said, referring to the great dome in the city.

Bobby nodded, cheeks burning with embarrassment as the others began to saunter away. Quickly, he began to pull off the scarves and peered down at the old woman, who was now rearranging the milk crates she had been using as makeshift display tables._"Affedersiniz,"_he told her sheepishly; making use of one of the Turkish phrases Hank taught him.

The old woman stared up at him with dark eyes, which seemed to stand out against her sunken-in features. Though her head was covered in a black scarf that was pinned under her chin, there were wisps of white that escaped from underneath and framed her wrinkled forehead. Her expression was curious more than guarded, as if she had never seen anything quite like him before. Even though she was standing, the woman was rather diminutive next to him. Her loose-fitting coat and long, frayed skirt only served to make her appear even smaller than she really was.

Suddenly, she smiled and revealed a set of stained, crooked teeth. "It is all right," she said in a soft voice.

He was taken aback, expecting to have an awkward, one-sided conversation as he placed the scarves on the crates. "You speak English?"

She nodded. "English is OK," she told him, watching him drop to his knees to collect the items he had knocked over. "Better than your Turkish."

Bobby grinned at the slight ribbing. Then he looked at her earnestly. "Again, I'm really sorry about this," he said. "Lucky for you, I'm better at cleaning up than I am at speaking another language."

The old woman nodded again. After a brief lapse into silence, she began to speak again. "You are in love, yes?" she asked, crouching over Bobby as if it to supervise him.

He tried to mask his surprise as he continued to gather the scarves from the ground. "What makes you say that?" he asked in response, laughing lightly.

The old woman's lips stretched thin over her crooked teeth while she spoke. "I can tell," she replied. "You have the bright eyes… You're thinking about her, yes?"

Bobby shook out the scarves before folding them and placing them on top of the many milk crates around her. He smiled at her sheepishly. "You got all that from my eyes?"

She nodded. "Oh, yes," she told him, watching him smooth out her wares with great care. "You love her very much. She is very beautiful, yes?"

He straightened to his full height, digging into the pocket of his khakis for his wallet. "I suppose you're going to tell me she would be even more beautiful if I get her one of these scarves?" he inquired wryly, already retrieving some Turkish lira. It was the least he could do for being such a klutz.

Leathery, gnarled hands picked up a scarf, which was a mix of green and blue. "You were going to buy one anyway," the old woman said knowingly as she held it up for him to inspect. "You like the blue because it is like her eyes, yes?"

"How—" Bobby began, but stopped himself short. He quickly hid his astonishment with one of his easy grins. _Lucky guess,_ he told himself dismissively. "How much?"

"It is the color of her eyes," the old woman said, her tone rather triumphant. "You were thinking about them when you bump here. She is in your head always because she is so far. To you, she is your true love."

He felt a blush creep across his cheeks. Talking about his love life with a complete stranger was definitely something he was not accustomed to. What truly rattled him was the fact that this elderly lady was hitting the proverbial nail on the head. It was as if she read him easily like one of the cheap tiles she was selling. The more evasive he tried to be about things, the more perceptive she demonstrated herself to be.

Trying to keep his mouth from gaping, he swallowed hard. Before he could reflect upon how he should respond, he blurted out, "Yes."

"Ah, I think she will like this one, then." The old woman folded the scarf neatly, her smile smug. Then she peered into his boyish face once again. "Do not be surprised. You are not the first to feel this way about someone."

He felt his mouth become parched as he struggled to collect himself. "You always make these kinds of observations with all the tourists?" he teased, holding his wallet rather tightly.

She smiled, her expression not revealing any more than it had to. "How much do you want to pay?"

He grinned at the prospect of haggling. Unlike Western societies, the art of bargaining for a good deal was very much alive here in the east. Always one to look for a good deal, Bobby found himself eager for this challenge of wills. "I was thinking twelve lira," he replied.

The old woman gasped. Then she placed a wrinkled hand over her chest and feigned further disbelief. "My child, you're killing me," she said dramatically. "I can get that for a small piece of cloth." She demonstrated with her hands for emphasis.

He laughed easily, playing with the collar of his navy pea coat. "Fine… How about fifteen?" he proposed.

Her dark eyes flashed with excitement as she made a counter-offer. "I say twenty and you get one of these." She held up a small watercolor of the old city.

"Deal." He quickly pulled out twenty liras, satisfied that he had gotten a reasonably good deal. The old woman's friendly charm was another aspect that made him agree so readily.

She took the cash from him and gathered the purchases into a blue, plastic bag. Then she handed him the bag, clasping his hand in her small, gnarled ones. The light-hearted smile she had been wearing throughout their encounter was now replaced by one that was more serious. "Before you go with your friends, there is one more thing I need to say to you."

"Um, OK." Bobby was perplexed by this sudden change in demeanor.

Staring deeply into his gray eyes, she said, "Love is not always so happy. There will be troubles ahead. It will be up to you to be strong when things look bad. Even when all hope seems lost."

Scott Summers was crossing the expansive lawn that separated the mansion from his farm-style, white clapboard house. The fallen autumn leaves crunched underneath his brown loafers with each step he took. He could feel the coolness of a passing breeze tickle his cheeks. After spending most of the day indoors teaching classes and meeting with instructors, he was grateful for this moment of freedom.

With the Professor visiting Genosha, he and Jean were handling the hefty responsibilities of managing the school and various teams in the field. Both of them were experiencing the less glamorous side of their mentor's dream. This hectic schedule left the couple with little time for one another. In an attempt to make compensate for lost time, Jean suggested that they have lunch together at home, away from the distractions of what was going at the school.

Scott managed to wrap up his meetings with Jean-Paul about prospective courses earlier than he anticipated. Given this, he decided to head home to have lunch ready for Jean. On his way out of the mansion, he stopped by the mailboxes to see if anything arrived. In addition to his wife's many catalogues and fashion magazines, there was something for Jubilee.

As he edged closer to the house, his thoughts strayed from his statuesque wife to the young girl who was like a daughter. Like Jean, Scott felt he had seen very little of Jubilee these days. She was starting her second year of classes and balancing a peer mentor position at the Institute, which she had taken on at the request of Jean. When she was not devoting her time to either of those commitments, Jubilee was guaranteed to be with Bobby.

Scott's jaw instinctively clenched. Despite the amount of time the couple had been together, he was still reeling. Much as he wanted to shake off the perception of being stodgy Scott Summers, he continued to have his reservations. Even fiercely protective Logan, who sometimes thought of her as "his little girl", had learned to accept the reality of their relationship.

To his credit, Scott hid his wariness from Jubilee. Since their talk last year about trusting her judgment, he knew she was not going to tolerate any criticism from his end. However, that did not stop him from wanting to keep her safe. Again, it was not that he thought badly of Bobby Drake. Having known him for quite some time, Scott was aware that he was a good, decent man. From what he observed, Bobby was nothing but caring and devoted to Jubilee.

Yet, there was something else—something that prevented him from embracing the idea of them being together as others around him did.

One thing that stood out in his mind was the fact that Bobby had a great deal more of experience than Jubilee. His failed relationships with other women did not instill confidence. Granted, Scott was not privy to what transpired. At the same time, he wanted Jubilee to be spared of any possible heartbreak. There was also another issue related to Bobby's romantic experience. Given that he was more of a veteran, there were things that he probably expected. As such, he could be enlightening her…

Scott shook his head vigorously as he always did when similar thoughts danced in his brain. It was his way to deal with the need to disavow any acknowledgement of troubling situations. The idea of Jubilee and Bobby together like that was enough to make his stomach do a series of flip-flops. He inwardly reassured himself that Jubilee was a mature, responsible young woman now and that she would not allow herself to be talked into something she did not want to do. Doing this made it easier for him to sleep at night.

When he reached the front door, he slipped his house keys from the pocket of his brown corduroy blazer. Unlocking the door and venturing inside, he contemplated confiding in Jean about his reservations. No doubt that she already knew given their link, but actually discussing it openly was entirely another matter. He knew that she was close to Bobby, doting on him like the little brother she never had. There was the potential for her to respond to her husband's doubts with some level of defensiveness or dismiss them entirely. At the present, she seemed quite comfortable making the occasional comment about how Jubilee was now a grown woman.

Closing the door behind him, he decided to drop off the mail. He climbed the stairs. His ears picked up on music playing softly once he reached the second floor. It was then that he noticed Jubilee's bedroom door ajar._Must be an early day for her,_ he thought, smiling fondly._Maybe she'd like to join us for lunch. It's been ages since all of us have eaten together outside of the mess hall. _

He paused outside, rapping his fist lightly against the door. "Jubilee? It's Scott."

"Come in," she called out in her cheerful tone, her voice floating over the music playing.

He stepped inside. His features formed an amused expression while he absorbed the sight of her room. The antithesis of a neat freak, Jubilee tended to call her style "comfortably messy". Books, binders, and papers along with a shopping bag from Halliwells seemed to be piled in nondescript piles on her desk and on the floor. Magazines and more shopping bags flanked both sides of where her bed stood. The contents of her closet seemed to have exploded all over her bed, trailing onto the floor.

Jubilee peeked her head from behind a pile of sweaters on the corner of her bed. She laughed when she saw Scott's face, tugging on the navy baseball cap she wore. "What? It's like you've never seen my room before."

"I've seen it, but I'm not sure how you live in it," he remarked dryly.

She shrugged. "Kitty's organizing a clothing drive," she informed him as she stepped out from behind the pile and made her way towards him. "I'm looking for contributions."

"So this mess is for an altruistic purpose?"

"You can say that."

"I'm not sure Jean's going to buy it."

"Don't worry. I plan on having all of this cleared up before she gets home."

"Last time, I checked your ability didn't include super speed."

"Hilarious. So are you playing mail man today?"

Scott peered down at the envelope addressed to her before handing it over. "Here you go."

"Thanks." She immediately tore it open and pulled out a piece of paper. Suddenly, she grimaced. "Damn."

He looked at her quizzically. "What is it?" he asked.

She sighed, placing a hand on one of her slim hips. "I ordered these tickets for this concert in the city ages ago," she explained. "I was operating under the assumption that Bobby would be able to go. Last night, I find out he won't be coming back for a while and the concert is this weekend. I don't want to go by myself because that would be kind of weird… What am I going to do?"

"I'm sorry, kiddo," Scott said sympathetically. He leaned against her desk, resting his hand on a pile of books, which was next to the Halliwells shopping bag. Just as he was about to suggest asking Paige or one of her other friends to accompany her, he suddenly felt his hand slide. This knocked the bag over, spilling the contents onto the chair.

Quickly, the comfortable banter that existed between them disappeared and was replaced with awkward silence.

His face turned red, almost matching his ruby-quartz sunglasses. He willed himself not to look at the piece of lingerie—at least that's what he thought it was. To him, it was more of a small piece of black, satin fabric. It nearly made what Emma's wardrobe appear demure. However, it was like a magnet, attracting his gaze, forcing him to look, to realize, and to accept.

Scott felt every muscle in his body seize as a plethora of images flooded his brain. As desperately as he tried to reject the idea of Jubilee being intimate with Bobby, there was no way he could do so now. It was quite obvious from this piece of evidence.

Jubilee tugged her baseball cap over her sapphire eyes as she grabbed the chemise and held it behind her back. "This isn't totally awkward or anything," she muttered, mortified beyond belief. This was not the way she had envisioned Scott finding out. Hell, she would have rather him operate under his "Don't ask, don't tell" state of mind at this point.

He cleared his throat, his cheeks still burning hotly. "So…" he began, not quite sure what to say afterwards.

She could have been defensive about the whole thing. It would have been easier to simply clam up and insist that she did not want to talk about it. They could pretend that nothing happened and that nothing changed.

But, for some reason, that avenue did not sit right with her. Not after their talk about having faith in her decisions, not after cultivating what they had now—a relationship based on respect, trust, and honesty. To abandon all of that, Jubilee sensed, seemed very wrong.

"I'm careful," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We're both careful."

He watched her tug at the blue, boat-neck T-shirt she wore over a longer sleeved one in aqua. The need for him to believe her was palpable. As much as he wanted to shield her, he knew that she was telling him not to anymore. "You're careful?" he asked, trying to mask his continued disbelief with what was being discussed.

She nodded, lowering her eyes for a moment before returning her gaze to his stunned face. "Yes," she replied firmly, her confidence growing with each passing second, "we are. I'm not a kid anymore. I know about the real world and the problems that exist outside of this school, outside of this home."

He sighed, tucking Jean's mail under his arm and digging his hands into the pockets of his chinos. "I'm aware of that," he said.

"Then you also know that I would never do something without carefully thinking it over. Yeah, that was how I lived when I was thirteen, but not now. Contrary to what people think, I've really learned a lot from you." She stared into his eyes intensely to punctuate her words.

He pressed his lips together before speaking. "I hear what you're saying and you're right," he said. "It's just hard sometimes. Not speaking for Logan, but for me, I think I'll always have this urge to wait up for you, to wonder where you are when you're not here, to hope that Bobby is treating you the way you should be treated. That's not going to go away just because you're an adult now."

"In a way, I kind of like it. I just need for you to know that I'm all right. As for Bobby, he's been really good to me." Her voice was lighter at the mention of her boyfriend's name. "And before you ask, he didn't ask me to do anything I wasn't ready to do."

Scott nodded, slowly tracking with her. He could only rely on time to allow the information to sink in. "OK," he finally sighed wearily. Then he asked, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." Jubilee braced herself for an onslaught of questions.

"In the future, do you think you can hide your…things a little better?"

"It's like you're reading my mind."

The early evening hours found Sam on the patio, just outside of the French doors that led into the mansion. The Southern gentleman was sitting on one of the deck chairs, which was draped in a protective cover to shield it against the harsher elements. His countenance was thoughtful as he peered up at the darkening sky overhead. For a moment, he thought he could make out the twinkling of stars.

The past few weeks had been rather difficult for him. During a recent field mission, he had been seriously injured. Being nearly invincible, the wounds were not life threatening. However, they were enough to take him off of the active roster list for quite some time. Even though he was able to move around on his own without pain, he was still not at 100 percent. While conducting private training sessions in the Danger Room, he could sense his reflexes had slowed. For someone who relied on his quickness a great deal, Sam found himself frustrated.

Being confined to the mansion without accompanying a team on a mission was not something he was used to. He was beginning to feel restless and bored. There was a growing yearning inside him to leave, to be occupied with a field assignment. That way, he could distract himself from other things.

Rather, from thinking about someone else.

Sam grimaced as his mind replayed the events of that summer day. His heart ached inside his chest with the images flashing before his eyes. He covered his mouth with a calloused hand, willing himself not to cry out his pain. It had become that poignant for him.

He was not sure why he chosen to follow them that day. Common sense dictated that he should have sought shelter inside the mansion with the others. Yet, he found himself walking after Jubilee and Bobby. It was as if some outside force was compelling him to do so.

With a heavy heart, he remembered watching the object of his unrequited affections huddle close to Bobby Drake. For what seemed like the millionth time, he wished he were the one to hold her. He cursed himself for his ineptitude, his inability to take initiative to get what he wanted. Desperate envy flowed through every fiber of his being as he continued to follow them, remaining unseen through the sheets of rain that fell that day. When they ducked into the boathouse, he considered turning around and heading back to the mansion. It was what he should have done. Perhaps he could have saved himself some additional heartache that way.

But he did not.

Instead, Sam found himself standing outside. Any semblance of hope he might have soon vanished as he watched Bobby making love to Jubilee. As much as he wanted to flee, something was holding his feet in place. Acting as an unwilling voyeur, he could not help but see the bliss in her face, the want in her eyes for Bobby. All the while, his mind raced with thoughts that wondered why that couldn't be him eliciting such responses from her.

"What's eating you?" a familiar voice drawled, shattering his reflections.

Sam nearly jumped out of the chair, but relaxed when he attached the voice to his good friend, Roberto. The former New Mutant-turned-business executive was loosing his green-and-navy tie as he sauntered to where Sam was sitting. He flashed him a grin, revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth that contrasted against his deeply tanned skin. A well-groomed hand pulled up his charcoal slacks before he seated himself in the deck chair adjacent to Sam's.

"Well, look at ya, Roberto." Sam made a wolf whistle. "Rahne's right. Ya sure do clean up nice."

Roberto gave him a wry look, peering down at his navy blazer and classic, striped shirt. Ever since he was placed in charge of X-Corps in Los Angeles, playing the role of business executive was put at the forefront for the young man. "I can't help if the business world has a dress code. Besides, if you think this is dressed up, you should have seen my investors."

"That's OK," Sam replied, rolling up the sleeves to his green, corduroy shirt he wore over a pair of faded jeans. "They're probably a bunch of stuffed shirts anyway."

"It's like you were there!" Roberto chuckled. Then he peered around them, noticing how quiet and still it was outside compared to the flurry of activity that transpired inside the mansion. Jean, Rogue, and Paige were conducting rehearsals for the talent show with their group of students. In the kitchen, Cook and her staff were making preparations for dinner that night. The remaining students and instructors were in the rec rooms, playing video games, watching television, or simply chattering away about the day's events.

He turned to the coal miner's son and asked, "Trying to get away from it all?"

Sam tried to smile, but it appeared rather weak since his eyes were dull. "You could say that."

If he were more perceptive, Roberto might have been able to detect that something was amiss. However, he was not gifted with such ability. As a businessman he learned to be concerned about clear-cut facts, things that were tangible and evident. He simply took his friend's answer at face value.

"You're not the only one," he said to Sam, completely oblivious. "Amara and Tabitha are looking for an apartment. Neither one's too crazy about living with a bunch of kids now."

Sam frowned, not sure if he could picture the two women living together. Amara was somewhat of a princess and as some bluntly put it, "high maintenance". She was used to having things a certain way. At the other end of the spectrum was Tabitha, who prided herself on being able to live anywhere and under any conditions. Despite their obvious differences in attitudes and lifestyles, the two of them managed to be very close friends. But living together? That was something else entirely.

Roberto continued talking, leaning back in the chair and staring up at the clear night sky. "They were pretty bummed about the market downtown. Most of what they've seen has been those railroad apartments. Demand's up, but supply is really lagging. Makes me glad I have a place of my own, you know."

"I'm sure they'll find somethin'," Sam said absentmindedly as he stretched his arms over his head.

"That's what I told them," Roberto replied, crossing his ankles. "But I guess we'll see. Speaking of gloomy faces, I just ran into Jubilee when I was coming out here. She seemed really upset. I mean she didn't even bother to make fun of me in this get-up."

Sam straightened in his chair. "Did she say what was botherin' her?" he inquired, concern edging into his voice.

His friend shrugged. "I don't talk to women when they're emotional," he told him. "They're allowed to slap you."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Ya know, Ah'm really glad Ah ain't you sometimes." The thought of her in some sort of distress did not sit too well with him. In spite of what he knew now about Jubilee's relationship with Bobby, he still cared about her. There was a part of him that wanted to seek her out, to see what he could do to assuage her troubled mind.

Quickly, he rose to his feet. "Listen, Ah'm gonna head in," he told Roberto, already sauntering towards the French doors. "Ya comin'?"

His friend shook his head. He was still taking in the serene beauty of the sky above him. "Not right now," he replied, "but save me a seat at the dinner table with you, OK?"

"Ya got it, buddy." Sam laughed, ducking inside and closing the doors behind him.

He strolled into the kitchen, nodding hello to Cook and her staff, who were in the throes of putting together tonight's menu. From what he was able to tell, the students and instructors would be enjoying a hearty meal of roasted squash soup, chicken with garlic-balsamic sauce, garlic mashed potatoes, cheddar bacon biscuits, and Cook's special apple pie with homemade vanilla ice cream. Only so many people should be lucky to enjoy the Englishwoman's epicurean talents.

The Southern gentleman was mulling over where he could find Jubilee at this time when he suddenly noticed her out of the corner of his eye. It took him a moment to recognize her because her hair was pulled into a bun, topped off by a navy baseball cap. She was standing in the doorway that connected the kitchen to the corridor that led to the mess hall. One of the younger students, a little girl with wild, dark hair and green eyes with no pupils, had her arms circled around one of Jubilee's legs. For her part, Jubilee was laughing and talking with the child, stroking her hair affectionately.

Sam smiled, reminded of another reason why he was infatuated with her. The goodness that seemed to radiate from her was all encompassing and easy to discern. It attracted anyone and everyone, including himself. Before he could reflect upon this, he soon found himself by her side.

"Hey there," she greeted him. Then she tapped the little girl's head and motioned to Sam. "Dylan, can you say hi to Mr. Guthrie?"

Dylan raised her head and stared up at the tall, blond man, who smiled at her gently. She beamed back, revealing two missing teeth. With an impish twinkle in her eyes, she then darted off into the mess hall.

"Looks like you have a way with the ladies," Jubilee remarked wryly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sam forced a low chuckle, inwardly commenting to himself that there was only one he was interested in. He raked a hand through his straw-colored hair nervously. "So, how's it goin'?" he asked, wondering if she knew what kind of effect she had on him.

"Not too bad," she answered, adjusting the brim of her cap. She had heard about his injuries through Paige. "What about you? Are you feeling better?"

He nodded. "Yeah, Ah've been gettin' around bettah," he told her earnestly. "Can't wait to get back out there, though. Bishop says Ah'll be back to my normal self in a bit. Just gotta be patient is all."

She smiled at him empathically. "I'm sure he's right. You are practically invincible."

_In some ways,_ he thought. "Enough about me," he drawled, "Let's talk about somethin' else. Ah'm borin'."

Her sapphire eyes were solemn as she shook her head. "I don't think so," she objected quietly. "I don't think you're boring at all, Sam."

For a moment, Sam thought his heart stopped. He knew she meant every word she said. The way she said what she did spoke volumes. But, he knew he could not afford to read any more into it. He just could not.

Clearing his throat, he attempted to deflect the attention from him. "So, what's new with ya?"

She studied his face, noting how tense he was at that moment. There was a part of her that wanted to inquire as to what was wrong. She had meant to approach him since that summer day, but found that things suddenly coming up. His availability since then had been an issue as well. Now that he was here, she could ask him. Yet, as she stared into his kind, pale eyes, she saw something. It was as if he were pleading with her not to bring her concerns forward.

Against her better judgment, she decided to oblige him. There was no sense in pressuring him to talk when it was clear that he did not want to. Besides, he would probably open up once the time was right.

"Well, I've got a problem," she confessed, chewing on her lower lip.

"Shoot."

"See, there's this concert I was interested in going to, and I ordered tickets to go like months ago."

"Who's playing?"

"Keane."

"They're pretty good."

"You've heard of them?"

"Sure. When Ah was workin' in Paris, they were tourin' with some other bands."

"Wow."

"So the problem?"

"At the time, I thought Bobby would be able to go with me."

"Will he?"

"It's not looking like it. He told me last night that he'd be away for a little while longer. That doesn't help me now because the concert's this weekend in the city."

"Ya try askin' someone else?"

"Yeah. Your sister's tied up with this talent show, as is Rogue. Tabitha's busy with apartment hunting. My friends at school already have tickets."

"Sounds like ya really want ta go."

"I do, but it's not looking good." Jubilee shook her head glumly as she contemplated putting the tickets up on eBay. She had been looking forward to attending the concert for so long. To give up was simply heartbreaking. Suddenly, her eyes brightened, lighting up her lovely face. "Do you think you'd want to go? I mean, I know it's last minute and all, and that it would mean spending a night in the city… But don't worry. I've taken care of everything."

Sam was almost overwhelmed by this shift in mood. It was hard not to get caught up in it all. As he looked upon her sweet, smiling face, he knew his answer was all that stood between her and going to this concert. Finally, he grinned. "Sure. Count me in."

She shrieked excitedly and threw her arms around his neck. Her voice revealed her gratitude. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" she cried, hugging him tightly. "Oh, Sam, you won't regret this. You're so awesome!"

While he realized that he would be spending time with her, he would do so as her second choice. Somehow, the latter did not matter. The prospect of being near her was what counted. It almost erased his memory of the heartache he suffered.

Author's Note: Bobby says 'Pardon me' in Turkish.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven Knockin' on Heaven'...

Back with an update. Uploading might be a little irregular as I'm entering hell-month at school. I have a paper to write and a dissertation proposal to get into shape. But I'll see what I can do in the meantime...

There is an alternate version. If you'd like to read it, please let me know.

Thanks again for the feedback and reviews. I love hearing from you guys. Please keep the comments coming!

Finally, the characters belong to Marvel. I'm only having fun with them.

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Knockin' on Heaven's Door (Non-explicit)**

Late Saturday night found Sam and Jubilee attempting to leave Madison Square Garden. Home to the Knicks and Liberty Basketball teams and the Rangers Hockey team, Manhattan's widely known 5,600-seat theater, formerly called the Paramount, played host to Keane. The venue was packed to capacity with fans, waiting to see the British band. With their soaring melodies and choirboy falsettos, the trio attracted comparisons to other bands like Coldplay, Travis and Radiohead.

"Wasn't that just awesome?" Jubilee breathed, sapphire eyes sparkling with excitement. She wrapped her arms around herself, the rustling from her hooded, yellow, puffer jacket barely registering in her ears.

Sam grinned down at her, but became a bit more guarded as the swell of people around them increased. As a scantily clad blonde, hoping to meet the band backstage, pushed between them, the Southern gentleman called out to Jubilee, "Man, this place is a zoo. Let's make sure we don't get separated."

His companion nodded vigorously in agreement. She glared at a balding, middle-aged man prodding her with his elbow to move forward. "I get ya," she said, giving the man a shove back. "I can't move any faster, buddy, so just chill, OK?"

When they neared the main exits, Jubilee was able to walk alongside Sam again. She smiled up at him and tapped his arm playfully. "So… What did you think?" she asked, raising her brows expectantly.

He waited to provide his response once they were outside, and further away from the crowds, who were also discussing the concert. The tall, blond man with pale blue eyes thoughtfully rubbed his stubble-ridden chin as they continued walking. "Ah liked 'em," he said. The epic, cinematic sound brimmed with gut-wrenching melodies telling stories of heartbreak and romance. It was easy for him to relate to these themes.

She edged closer to him while they made their way to their hotel nearby. "Well, for a while, I didn't think you were having so much fun," she said.

He grimaced at her. "Ya wouldn't be if twelve-year-old girls were climbin' on top of ya, tryin' ta get closer ta the stage," he told her, rubbing his arm and feigning pain. "They're rough."

"Poor Sam." Jubilee laughed, tossing her long hair over a shoulder. "What a trip. You'll have to tell everyone all about it."

They had driven into the city early afternoon from the mansion. Sam took it upon himself to drive since he was more experienced getting around the city. Along the way, he and Jubilee chattered away about anything and everything that was relevant in their lives. Together, they laughed and caught up on the latest gossip around the mansion. He was especially amused when she choked on her water after he told her about his suspicions that Logan and Ororo were some kind of secret item. His shoulder was still sore from Jubilee slapping it repeatedly and telling him to, "Shut up".

By the time they arrived in Manhattan, there was about two hours to kill before the concert. Sam and Jubilee first stopped off at the Howard Johnson's to drop off Sam's black GMC truck and to check in. Much to Jubilee's dismay, the concierge was not able to provide her with a two single-bed room as she asked for over the phone. However, the hotel did give her a room with a king-sized bed, which seemed to be satisfactory to her in the end.

Quickly, they dropped off their things before descending into the city for dinner. Over a meal of pepperoni pizza and root beer, Jubilee repeatedly expressed her gratitude to him. Being the humble gentleman that he was, Sam dismissed the accolades and explained to her that he was merely enjoying an evening out with a friend. He also insisted on paying for dinner.

The events of the day, while somewhat of a blur, probably marked the first time he knew some semblance of happiness. In a way, this outing into the city was like a date. People who saw them, such as the waiter at the restaurant or the parking attendant at the garage, together noted what a nice couple they made. Granted, the romantic overtones were absent, at least from Jubilee's end, but to Sam, it was as close as he was going to get with her.

Throughout the night, he had the opportunity to know her better, to discover what the grown-up Jubilee was truly like. He learned about her eagerness about this band, that she was possibly declaring a major in film studies at college, and despite her initial reservations, she was enjoying her role as a student mentor at the school. Her sense of humor had matured somewhat even though she confessed to the occasional prank from time to time. She made him laugh and feel at ease with himself.

At the same time, she also made him remember his tortured existence. While she did not talk about Bobby Drake every five minutes, she did lament as to how much she missed him. Sam had to force himself to listen with his polite, empathic face, as if he could understand where she was coming from. He pretended that he did not long to hold her, to kiss her, to be the one that made her eyes light up.

Bitterly, he lapsed into silence. His face was drawn together in a preoccupied expression that strongly contrast against the broad grins he had worn all day. He was fortunate in that Jubilee did not notice right away. She was telling him about the woman next to her at the concert who kept shrieking that she was in love with the lead singer following the conclusion of each song. The woman had actually rushed the stage at the end of the encore to try to touch him, but was thwarted by other fans and security.

Her obliviousness to him did not last very long. As soon as they reached their room, she peered up at him. "You've been awfully quiet," she said, concern palpable in her voice. "What's up?"

He watched her slide the key card into the lock, opening the door. "Nothin'," he lied as the two of them sauntered inside.

She gave him a suspicious look. "You're not terribly convincing," she said, taking off her jacket and throwing it on one of the chairs in the room.

"Really, it's nothin'," he reassured her, slipping off his own leather jacket and shoes. He raked a calloused hand though his straw-colored hair and sighed. "Ya know what it probably is? Ah'm just tired. Maybe a shower will do me some good."

She kicked off her own boots and sat back on the expansive bed. "Are you sure that's it?" she asked, genuinely worried about his sudden change in mood.

He unzipped his travel bag and gathered his toiletries bag and some clothes to take with him into the bathroom. "Yeah," he said, forcing a tight smile. "Ya wanna jump in before me?"

Jubilee retrieved a magazine from the nightstand, shaking her head. "I brushed my teeth at the restaurant. I have this thing about oral hygiene, which is weird given all the junk I eat. So, go right ahead and indulge." She winked at him.

Once inside the bathroom, Sam stripped out of his green, V-neck sweater, white T-shirt, chinos, and socks. He was trying not to think about the object of his unrequited affections in the hotel bed, only several feet away. Determined, he turned on the shower and stepped inside, the steam building in the room. The Southern gentleman began to methodically soap himself, and then froze when he heard her humming a song one of the bands had played. Under the pounding water of the shower, thought about Jubilee and that afternoon in the boathouse and how much he wished he was making love to her.

The tall, blond coal miner's son quickly hopped out of the shower. He grabbed a white towel from the nearby rack and dried himself off. Then he pulled on the clean boxers he brought in with him as well as the T-shirt he had worn to the concert. His calloused hand reached out and wiped the condensation from the mirror. He leaned over the sink and bore his eyes into the reflection that met his gaze.

The eldest Guthrie could not help feeling guilty and ashamed at the same time. With Jubilee close by, he had done something unmentionable. He wasn't sure if he could face her again. Not after what he had done. It was as if he had sullied her in some way. He shook his head, disgusted with himself and with what he wanted. At the same time, he knew there was no way he could will himself to stop. Many times he tried and during those occasions, he failed miserably. Somehow, the thought of trying to erase her from his consciousness was nearly as painful as dealing with the reality that he could never have her at all.

Realizing there was no way he could hole up in the bathroom for the rest of the night, Sam quickly brushed his teeth. As he did so, he thought about the sleeping arrangements. Even though the issue had not been brought up since their arrival, he assumed that he would sleep on the floor. In a way, he was relieved. Thoughts and considerations concerning her would be further from his mind.

Finally, he opened the door and slipped out of the bathroom. He flicked off the light switch before walking towards the bed. His gaze fell upon her as she sat up in the bed, reading a magazine. She had changed into a red-and-white camisole and a pair of red, flannel pajama pants. Her long, silky hair rippled down her slim shoulders and her face glowed without any trace of make-up.

She was beautiful.

"Feeling better?" she inquired, tossing the magazine on the nightstand. She searched his face for any sign that the tension he was feeling had dissipated. At the moment, she could not tell for sure.

He nodded, nearing the other side of the bed. "Much," he replied as his stomach dropped low inside of him. It was hard for him to concentrate with her looking the way she did. Averting his gaze, he set to work removing a pillow and searching for a place on the floor to rest.

"What are you doing?" she asked, sapphire eyes wide with curiosity as she turned off the bedside lamp.

His pale eyes peered up at her quizzically. "Ah'm goin' ta bed," he said slowly, unsure where she was going with her interrogation.

"Not on the floor you're not," she informed him firmly, rising out of bed. "It's gross down there and not to mention the carpet doesn't feel like there's much padding to it."

He laughed softly, touched by her concern. "Ah'll be fine. Back in Kentucky, Ah slept on the hardwood floors of my momma's house. This ain't nothin' compared ta that."

"It doesn't mean that you should," Jubilee countered, grabbing the pillow from him and tossing it on the bed. She shook her head again. "Come on now. You're being totally ridiculous here. There's a bed in here and it's big enough for the both of us. I don't snore or drool in my sleep, so unless you've got some kind of aversion to me, I'm going to insist you come to bed with me."

Sam felt his mouth go dry. In another world, he would have been overjoyed with the proposition. Had the circumstances been different, he might have considered acting on the feelings bottled inside him for so long. The thought of sleeping with her was nearly too much for him to handle. It was what he wanted and did not want rolled into one as the epitome of his own heaven and hell.

As she climbed into the bed, he realized he had to temper his emotions; he had to restrain himself. Unfortunately, the situation was making it increasingly difficult to do so. He racked his brain for a reasonable excuse not to join her. However, any cogent thought present in his mind was dashed away when he felt the intensity of her sapphire stare upon him.

She pulled back the covers and patted the spot next to her invitingly. "You do realize that I'm not going to sleep until you get in here?" she said, laying the guilt trip thick with a pleading, wide-eyed stare.

Saying no to her was never an option for him. He sighed, relenting. There was no graceful way to bow out of this one. "Ya sure?" he asked as he stood by the bed.

"Positive," she replied smiling up at him. "You came all this way with me as a favor to me—"

"But Ah wanted ta go with ya, too," he pointed out, feeling a blush creep along his cheeks. Embarrassed, he quickly added, "Ah mean ta the concert."

The young girl shook her head again, apparently not detecting his flustered presentation. "I couldn't let you sleep on the floor, Sam. That wouldn't be right, now would it?"

The Southern gentleman did not answer. He did not want to be reminded of the fact that her offer was merely out of friendship and concern, and nothing more. Instead, he made sure his long, lean frame was far from her body, as the bed would allow. He shifted slightly and turned off the lamp on the adjacent bedside table. The creaking of the bedsprings told him that she was settling down for the night as well.

Rolling over on his side, he turned to see her lovely face in the darkness. The glow of the streetlights filtered in through the cheap blinds, illuminating her delicate features. How he was going to be able to sleep with her next to him would be a miracle indeed.

Finally, he was able to summon enough of a rational mind to speak. "Goodnight, sweetie."

"Goodnight, Sam," she yawned in reply, the sheets rustling as she turned over to face the other side of the room. She was eager to get some shuteye after deciding that she would be the one to drive them to Westchester the following morning.

Contrary to what he initially thought, slumber found Sam rather easily. In a matter of minutes, he dozed off. His guilt, his longing, his anxiety were all washed away from his consciousness for the time being. For the first time since this outing began, he was able to relax.

Some time later, he found himself roused from his sleep. The Southern gentleman could hear the traffic outside his window, signaling to him that he was in the city and not in Westchester. His eyes opened to find it still dark, but noticed that light from nearby neon signs seeped through the cheap blinds of the hotel windows.

He turned his head to find Jubilee closer to him. From the alert sparkle in her eyes, she was awake as well. Her face was thoughtful as she propped herself on an elbow to peer down at him. At first, he wanted to scoot away from her, fearful for what he might do or say if he did not. However, the intensity of her stare fixed him in place.

"Why did you really come with me?" she inquired, her face solemn. She looked as if she had been up for a while, mulling over this inquiry carefully. "I don't want your standard answer that you liked the music because it was evident that you did not. So, I want the honest truth."

He swallowed hard, feeling like some kind of cornered animal. Nervously, he raked a calloused hand through his straw-colored hair. He was desperately trying to rack his brain for something. Unfortunately, his mind and his mouth were operating independently of one another. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Ah wanted ta be with ya."

Jubilee's eyes widened in surprise and her expression was unreadable. For a moment, Sam thought she was going to tell him to get out of the bed or that she might pull away and retreat from him. He could not and would not blame her. His admission was the last thing she probably wanted to hear. She was with someone else now, someone she cared about, someone who was not Sam Guthrie.

But neither of those things happened.

Instead, she asked quietly, "Why?"

He blinked, despondent that the damage had already been done. Inferences as to what she must have been thinking raced through his mind. Under his breath, he was cursing himself for his carelessness. He wanted to come up with a lie, one that would erase the awkwardness of the moment. As he stared up at her lovely face, he came to the realization that she would not allow him to get away with that.

Finally, he turned away from her. He needed to do so before giving her his reply. "Ah've… Ah've had feelins for ya," he admitted in hoarsely whisper.

"You… You do? How long?"

"Ah'm sorry. Forget it. Forget Ah even said anythin'."

"No, I can't. I won't."

"Sweetie…"

"No, Sam. You said it. It's not something I can put out of my mind just like that."

"Jubilee… Just please forget it. Forget it all. Ah didn't mean ta…"

"You didn't mean to what?"

Sam exhaled deeply, despising himself with each passing second that passed. How could have done this? Disclosing his feelings while knowing full well that she was in no position to return them. He was basically jeopardizing whatever shred of comfort that could possibly exist between them. The only thing that was left was to finish what he started.

"Ah never wanted ta make ya feel weird or anythin'…" he told her quietly. "It's just that Ah can't help thinkin' about ya or wantin' ta be with ya. If ya want ta hit me or tell me ta go ta hell, Ah'm ready. Frankly, Ah deserve it."

The Southern gentleman waited. He waited for her to tell him that nothing could and would ever happen between them. He waited for her to tell him that she was with Bobby. He waited for her to tell him that Sam was simply a friend to her, and nothing more. He waited to be hurt once again.

Suddenly, he felt her slim form nestled close to his, her hand tugging at his shoulder. While the course of action was unexpected, he did not stiffen or attempt to draw back. His body craved her and he turned over so that he was facing her again. Replacing her shocked and stunned look worn moments earlier was one that was warm. Her eyes gazed upon him with what he could only describe as tenderness.

"Why me?" she whispered, clearly baffled as to what warranted his affections towards her. "I don't understand. Why me?"

It was his turn to be bewildered. He returned with a question of his own. "How can ya not see it?"

She was breathing heavily now, chin trembling. "See what?"

"How ya are," he replied thickly, his earnestness threatening to overwhelm him. He watched with awe as she listened to him, her attention rapt. She resembled some kind of ethereal being, lying next to him. Simply looking at her was making it increasingly difficult to go on. "How really wonderful and special ya are."

Jubilee's brows furrowed together in disbelief. "You see that… You see that in me?" she asked.

"It's hard not ta," he told her, staring into those hypnotic, blue depths. "Ah just wish ya did 'cause that's what ya are ta me."

Silence fell over her. She looked as though she needed time to absorb what was transpiring now. There was no way to tell what she was thinking or feeling otherwise. While she had not thrown him out or slapped him, such reactions could have been delayed.

Just then, a small hand gently cupped his stubble-ridden cheek. She leaned towards him, her breath hot against his face. Her delicate features were illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the blinds. He could feel her hair tumbled down, shrouding him in silken tresses that smelled of bubblegum and cinnamon.

After a few moments lying like this, Sam was able to summon the strength to speak. "Jubilee?"

She laid a finger across his lips. "Shhh..." she said softly before covering his mouth with hers.

Her kiss sizzled in his veins, sent tingles across his skin. He relished the taste of her sweetness in his mouth, and her perfume in his nostrils. At that moment, all rational, sensible thought disappeared from his consciousness. The fact that she was involved with Bobby was a distant memory. All that mattered was having her here.

Instinctively, he reached for her, placing his hand on her waist. He pulled her body close to his, not wanting to allow another moment of separation between them. Kissing her back, his mouth was desperate and frantic against hers, revealing his want for her.

Sam drew away to the sound of her disappointed sigh. The sigh was immediately replaced by a gasp as his lips found the sensitive spot just below the pulse on her neck. His lips traveled up the pale column of her throat to lap gently at her earlobe. Teasing her, leading her on with gentle inexorability, he nipped gently along her jaw, down her throat, and across her collarbone. He allowed his bliss to lead him on this new experience; one that he yearned to happen but dared not to think about too much.

His hands slipped down over her hips, drawing closer her against the fierce hard heat of his arousal. He took her mouth back, possessive, but not overbearing. All the while, her hands explored him. He could feel her palms searching out the span of his chest, laying her hands flat against his pectorals as she leaned into him.

"Yer so beautiful," he murmured against her mouth, feeling her shift against him. Just kissing her and holding her were causing his head to swim. "All Ah've wanted is this for so long and now yer here..."

She smiled at him, sapphire eyes shining and delicate features lit up. Her fingers were in his hair, stroking gently. "Sam, I…" she began, her voice becoming more and more inaudible.

He reached for her, but found that she was gone.

It was then that Sam awoke, nearly jumping out of bed. Breathing heavily, he peered around him. The alarm clock next to him indicated that he had been asleep for only two hours. Then he turned his head to the other side, where Jubilee lay. The young girl was curled up, sleeping soundly.

After the initial shock wore off, dismay set in. The dream had been so vivid. He could have sworn he actually kissed her, touched her, heard her voice. There was a moment he thought he finally had what he wanted for so long. When it sunk in that all of it was simply a wish manifestation playing itself out in his mind, he resigned himself to his heartache.

He shifted slightly, turning to face her. Inwardly, he wished that he could turn off his feelings like a faucet. However, he was aware that such thinking was futile in the face of the truth. "Ah love ya," he whispered, brushing a tendril of black hair from her soft cheek. "God help me, but Ah do."

Jubilee rolled over on her side, slumber still holding her in its grips. "I love you, too," she mumbled.

He sat up, holding his head in hands and knowing that her words were not for him.

P

_"Bir tane simit," _Hank said, drawing out two Turkish lira from his wallet.

The wizened vendor nervously averted his stare as he scrambled to retrieve a bread ring with sesame seeds from his cart. He wondered for a moment if his vision was truly failing him under this early afternoon sun. The customer was obviously a tourist in spite of efforts to adopt more traditional dress, but was unlike any foreigner he had ever run into in his years. What he saw of the face was rather feline in nature, covered in blue fur. Yet, there was something distinctively female about the person.

The vendor shook his head, trying not to think about the old legends of strange desert people from the outskirts of the country. He quickly handed the simit to the person and took the money, nodding. Then he wheeled his cart away from the Bosphorous and the strange person.

Hank took a bite of the bread and wandered towards Logan and the others, who were waiting for him in front of signs for boat tours and seafood markets. "That was odd," he remarked.

Logan chewed on his cigar. "So he'll have a story to tell his buddies," he said flatly, peering down at the portable Cerebro link. "Big deal."

"You sure dat t'ing even works, mon ami?" Gambit asked, raising a skeptical brow. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. "We be runnin' around dis city because of it and nothin'. Beast is still a femme."

Warren pressed his lips together, irritated with the Cajun and the fact that he was expressing a universal sentiment. Adding to his annoyed demeanor was the lack of sleep he was getting these days thanks to his concern for the mission and the dreams he continued to have. "Well, if you've got any better ideas, I'm sure the rest of us would love to hear them," he replied crossly.

"The reality is that all we're dealing with someone who does not want to be found. Cerebro's all we've got left," Bobby added, adjusting his purple-tinted sunglasses.

"Guys," Hank placed his slim hands on his friends' shoulders, as if to restrain them from speaking further. Then he turned to Gambit and sighed loudly. "We're all frustrated, but my friend here is right. This little device is our last hope of finding this person. Now, let's just simmer down and figure out what our next plan is."

Warren, Gambit, and Bobby exchanged guilty looks. If anyone had a reason to lose his temper, it was Hank. Yet, after what he had been through and was continuing to go through, he was calm and unwaveringly hopeful that the situation was going to be resolved. It was truly a testament to the strength of his character.

Meanwhile, Logan was staring at a rundown tugboat. The rust stains were a faded orange-yellow against the gray paint. It appeared dwarfed compared to the luxury liners and industrial ships that flanked it. The owner/captain, a small man with a limp and wild, hazel eyes, stood in front of his prized vessel. In broken English, he promised a spectacular trip across the expansive river at a reasonable price.

Intrigued, Logan began to heads toward the boat, sniffing. "I feel like a boat ride," he announced.

"What?" Warren demanded, blue eyes widening in disbelief. He followed Logan a few steps and grabbed his arm. "Are you kidding me? We're supposed to be on a mission here and you want to go traipsing up and down the river in that clunker? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Steely green eyes flecked with gold bore a steady gaze that seemed rather frightening and intense. "If you want your hand back in one piece, you might want to take it off of me," Logan snapped coldly. When the other man obeyed, he continued walking and motioned for the others to follow him. "Come on. Let's talk a break."

Reluctantly, the others walked after him as they exchanged puzzled looks amongst themselves. Logan approached the man, informing him that he and his friends were interested in taking him up on his offer. The man, excited, gestured for them to climb onto his boat. He jumped on first as Logan pulled out his wallet to pay for their travel. Meanwhile, Warren and Bobby trailed behind with the blond Adonis scowling. His run-in with the Canadian loner was not helping his mood.

Bobby made a face, the smell of fresh fish and salt water pungent in the air. "Leave it to Logan to find something like this to do sightseeing on," he groused, playing with the zipper to his brown pullover that he wore over an orange T-shirt and jeans. "You think he's finally lost it? This whole thing with Hank pushed him over the edge or something? Maybe he'll start singing show tunes." His gray eyes twinkled.

Warren rolled his eyes. He pulled his brown, tweed overcoat closer to his body, shivering against the cool, brisk winds that slapped his face as the boat sailed onward. "Your DNA must cry itself to sleep at night," he told Bobby.

The boyishly handsome watched a feather drop from the other man's overcoat as he walked to the other side of the boat to mope. He wondered if his friend's mood could have been attributed to the fact that he was hiding his wings—something he had not done for years. While Warren insisted on doing so in order to blend in with the people and not draw attention, Bobby knew it was difficult for him to do it given how hard it was for Warren to simply accept his body for what it was.

Bobby shook his head, resigning himself to the prospect of not knowing. With Warren, one was left to speculate. Waiting for him to open up and talk about what was going on inside was useless. The only person who was willing to do that because of previous successes was gone forever.

He stared down at the rippling water. A cluster of jellyfish gathered close to the boat, their transparent forms making them appear ghostlike in the Bosphorous. It was rather startling to see them now. For some reason, he had associated their presence with summers spent on the beach with his family.

As the boat began to leave the built-up areas of Istanbul, the Bosphorous Bridge was seen across the horizon, a symbol of the city seen on souvenirs and brochures these days. It was the fifth largest suspension bridge in the world, the longest in Europe, and the only one to link two continents. The bridge had been built in time for the fiftieth anniversary of the republic, and represented an emblem of the great progress made by the Turkish people. On the other side of the bridge, denoted the European side, stood the Ortaköy Camii, a mosque with Corinthian columns. Just on the opposite side, known as the Asian side of Turkey, was Beylerbeyi Place, a marble pile of excess that once played host to Napoleon III's wife and several exiled sultans.

In spite of the novel sites that feasted his eyes, Bobby was lost in his thoughts. The normally good-humored persona was replaced with one that was more introspective. Rather than join the rest of the team, he decided to stand alone on the deck. He needed time to think. His head echoed with words that continued to haunt him for several days.

_"Love is not always so happy. There will be troubles ahead. It will be up to you to be strong when things look bad. Even when all hope seems lost." _

At first, he shrugged off the old woman's warning. After all, what did she know about him and Jubilee? She was simply peddling her wares and trying to make small talk with him so that he would buy something. Perhaps she said similar things to other tourists. There was no way she could be directing something at him. She did not know him or Jubilee. He was just another stranger, another tourist visiting her city. Surely, he could not have been that easy to read.

Nevertheless, there was a part of him that instinctively felt that she was. With unnerving accuracy, the old woman made observations that were so private to him. She talked about his relationship with Jubilee as if he had laid it all open for all to see and witness. Her ability to perceive this was what shook him to the core, instilling anxiety. In other words, because she had this knowledge, the old woman possibly saw events that compelled her to provide him with her warning.

_"Love is not always so happy. There will be troubles ahead. It will be up to you to be strong when things look bad. Even when all hope seems lost." _

Bobby stared down at his clasped hands glumly and then at the jellyfish swimming past the boat. It had been so long since he had felt so unsure of himself. The doubts that initially plagued him suddenly resurfaced. They ate away at him, forcing him to ruminate. Was he good for Jubilee? Had he learned from previous mistakes? Was he now the kind of man that could sustain a meaningful relationship?

All these months, he believed the answers to such questions were yes. He could not recall a time when he had been happier with anyone. For once, he was comfortable to be in his own skin, not worrying about keeping one step ahead to impress. What he finally found with Jubilee was something he never encountered with his other relationships. It was the sense of being known and accepted by someone else, who returned his feelings unconditionally.

Since their fight before the holidays last year, there were no major blowouts, no reason for him to question himself. As far as he knew, Jubilee was very happy. She made it clear to him every time they spoke. Implicit in her words and her voice was the sentiment that Bobby made her life better. With a simple squeeze of her hand or a knowing look from her brilliant, sapphire gaze, she conveyed her belief that he was the man she wanted to be with. She allowed him to get closer to her than anyone else around the mansion, sharing thoughts, feelings, and experiences that demonstrated her trust and faith in him. For all of that, he was thrilled.

Still, Bobby wondered. He racked his brain, searching for some piece of evidence that he could improve upon. Whether the old woman was foretelling things to come or not, there was no way he was about to allow his piece of happiness to slip through his fingertips. There was no way he was going to ever let things get to the point of his relationship being in danger. He was determined to do everything in his power not to lose Jubilee.

His musings were shattered when he heard some voices nearby, talking loudly. Curious, Bobby stealthily made his way towards them. He was able to identify two of the voices as belonging to Logan and Warren, while the third was lighter in tone and somewhat accented. Peering around the other side of the deck, he noticed that the other party was the owner/captain of the tugboat.

Warren was standing between Logan and the captain. He looked as if he were trying to prevent some kind of altercation between the two men. "You can't just attack someone like that."

"I could smell you from a mile away," Logan told the other man tersely, ignoring Warren altogether. The wind was rumpling his hair, but did nothing to the two trademark points on either side of his head. "Scum like you have a stink that doesn't quit."

The captain tried to look guileless as he spoke. "I do not know what you are talking about, my friend," he said, placing his palms up in a sign of surrendering. "Perhaps we can talk things out over some tea. Come, I make some for you."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, bub," Logan retorted, stony face barely hiding the contempt that brimmed underneath his unshakable exterior. "This is how things are going down: you're coming with us back to the city and we're going to let your government decide what to do with you."

The captain nodded. His hazel eyes flashed with rage, but his voice was overly placating as he said, "Whatever you say, my friend." He began to edge closer to Warren, whose back was turned to him as he stared at Logan with continued puzzlement.

"Warren, look out!" Bobby cried as the man stretched out a menacing hand to touch his teammate. Quickly, he extended his own hand, summoning a stream of bitterly cold air. Within a matter of seconds, the attacker was trapped in a block of solid, leaving his face and one of his hands free.

"Good job, Drake," Logan said, chewing on his cigar and staring the mutant in the eye with dead calm. "Worthington, go make steer the boat. Make sure we don't crash into anything."

Warren exhaled a shaky breath, realizing that he was saved from being another victim. Still in shock, he nodded and darted to the other end of the deck. An experienced sailor, he spent many weekends taking his yacht out and racing competitively at the country club where he belonged. He only hoped that the mechanisms used to guide the tugboat were not all that different.

"Let me go!" the man screeched, hazel eyes panicked with fear as the others circled him. He waved his hand in a feeble attempt to free his arm from the ice that encased it. Teeth chattering, he looked pleadingly at Hank, who was now glowering near him. "I'm s-sorry. I was having some fun. Can't you understand? Just a bit of fun. I didn't mean any harm. I-I'll change you back. If I do that, will you let me go?"

Hank threw off his headscarf, blue tresses flowing in the wind. "A bit of fun?" he demanded, lithe shoulders trembling with righteous indignation as he confronted his assailant. Days of suffering in a body that was not his own was not amusing to say the least. "Your definition and mine differ greatly. I agree with you that you_will_give me my body back, but you will also atone for what you did to the rest of the people you attacked."

"What?" the mutant shouted, lower lip quivering. He scowled. "I can't do that! That's going to take forever!"

Gambit smirked at him, taking out a deck of cards from his brown, leather duster. "Gambit don t'ink you're in any position to argue, homme," he observed, shuffling the cards loudly.

The mutant's nostrils flared. "And what makes you say that,_homme_?" he mocked, ready to spit in the Cajun thief's face.

"Because," Logan said, clapping Bobby on the shoulder. "One word from you saying that you're not going to do squat for us, and my pal here will put the rest of you on ice." He chewed on his cigar again, mulling over his words. "Permanently."

Bobby nodded, looking rather cheeky. "It's true. I can."

The mutant stared at the two men, realizing with dread that both were quite serious. He narrowed his eyes after some careful consideration. Taking the time to change people back did not promise as much suffering as being encased in ice forever. Exhaling loudly, he said in a resigned tone, "Fine. You win."

"Glad you're playing by the rules now," Logan commented. He turned to Gambit and drawled, "Contact the Turkish government and let him know that we've got their mutant. I'll call Cyclops to brief him on what's going on."

Hank eyed the mutant with veiled contempt before focusing his gaze on Logan. "When you talk to Scott, can you let him know that we couldn't have caught him without Bobby? If not for our friend's quick thinking, who knows what would have happened?"

The gruff loner glanced over at Bobby. The young man was grinning sheepishly at Hank, but was clearly proud of his contribution. While Logan was by no means ready to get chummy with Drake, there was no way he was going to deny him his props. He grunted and gave him a brief nod. "Will do," he said flatly, taking out his communicator.

Usually, Bobby would have been taken aback by this slight warming on Logan's part. He might have made a joke about the other man finally liking him. Or, he would have asked Hank to repeat his praise a little louder for Warren to hear. Instead, all he could think about was Jubilee and how he was coming home to her.

Author's Note: Hank asks for one bread ring with sesame seeds in Turkish


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight All I Want is You N...

Sorry for the lack of updating. School has been nuts. I'd like to say that things will get better, but I'm in the home stretch and was lucky to crank this one out. I've been making revisions to this article that was accepted, and have been totally preoccupied with that.

There is an explicit version of this chapter. Let me know if you'd like to read it.

Thanks to my beta, Jo the Phoenix. You're the best. Also, thanks to everyone who's reviewed and provided feedback. Love hearing from you guys.

Finally, the characters belong to Marvel. This story is just a hobby. Enjoy.

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: All I Want is You (Non-explicit)**

Normally, Sundays were usually quiet at the Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters. However, this particular afternoon was an exception. There was a growing bustle of activity that permeated throughout the mansion. Some students were gathering in study groups to work on assignments handed to them by instructors over the course of the semester, while others were cramming for their college entrance exams. A few of the instructors and field team members were huddled in the rec rooms, watching the baseball playoffs with a few of the students who were not occupied with school-related tasks. There was a limited number of children in this group since the rest were currently involved in the annual talent show, which was now coming up in a matter of weeks.

Directing this year festivities was Rogue, who was taking over Betsy's duties. The Southern Belle was finding herself learning many aspects of the event while attempting to fill the Englishwoman's shoes. Theatre and the pageantry associated with it was certainly not something she was used to. However, she was not about to let the children down either. She willed herself to throw her best effort into the endeavor as she would with any field mission. This often resulted in long, late nights of rehearsals, and days filled with the more mundane aspects of planning, such as commissioning posters and writing invitations to parents.

Fortunately, Rogue was able to enlist some assistance in the form of her good friend, Kitty, and the man she considered the closest thing to family, Kurt. Kitty was helping out with stage direction and consulted with her regarding the order of the acts. She also managed to sweet-talk Cook into doing some catering for the rehearsals, much to the delight of the student performers. Meanwhile, Kurt used his background as a former circus acrobat to inspire and motivate the children during rehearsals. Given the support she managed to get, Rogue decided that orchestrating the talent show was not all that difficult.

That afternoon, she and Kitty were in the garage. The two of them were in the midst of searching Kitty's Scout for drafts of the agenda for the talent show. Earlier that week, they had gone over to the local printing shop to get estimates on programs. Triumphant, Kitty fished them out from underneath the passenger's side seat.

"What on earth were they doin' there?" Rogue asked, genuinely perplexed. She took the notes as Kitty closed and locked the door.

The other woman shrugged her shoulders, brown ponytail bobbing. "Maybe when we went out shopping, the stuff must have gotten lost in the shuffle," she replied, referring to their outing for electronic equipment that consequently turned into a wardrobe-hunting excursion. With a wry smile, she added, "Nice jacket by the way."

Rogue sheepishly peered down at her outfit. She was wearing a high-cropped, funnel-neck jacket in navy and white that revealed a toned midriff, and a pair of black stretch pants with navy and white stripes down the sides. Black leather gloves and matching sneakers completed the Southern Belle's usually sporty and casual look.

"Couldn't resist a sale, ya know," she admitted, her heavily lined green eyes crinkling at the corners as she gave her friend a small smile. "Besides, Ah gotta have somethin' to occupy my time while the Cajun's gone."

Kitty was about to inquire as to when Gambit would be returning when the garage doors opened. The wheels of the motor that retracted the steel-reinforced doors made a loud, grinding sound that compelled her to make a mental note to have one of the maintenance people look into this. Curiosity piqued, she and Rogue stood by her car to see who was arriving.

Jubilee's yellow Volkswagen Beetle pulled into the space next to Logan's mud-caked truck. After the car was parked, the young girl climbed out of the driver's side with a plastic grocery bag in hand. Locking up the car, she sauntered towards the other women and grinned at them in greeting. "What's up, guys?" she inquired, sapphire eyes sparkling.

"Not much," Kitty replied, fiddling with her car keys. Her cat-like brown eyes traveled to the grocery bag. Aware that Scott and Jean were currently away on a mission together, she surmised Jubilee was trying to survive on her own. "Dinner?"

Jubilee followed her gaze. "Kind of," she replied and pulled out a roll of pre-made cookie dough. "My first stab at cooking."

Rogue tucked a lock of chin-length hair behind her ear. "How was the concert, Sweet Pea?" she asked, just remembering that the young girl had been in the city the other night to attend the event.

Jubilee tossed the cookie dough back into the bag. "It was great," she answered, her face rather pensive. "Although I'm not sure if Sam would say the same thing about that or the trip in general. I think he was sick the whole time we were driving home. He had like this really strange look on his face—like he was going to puke or something. Luckily, he didn't, but he seemed miserable just the same."

"That's not good," Kitty commented, shoving her hands into the pockets of her boy-cut jeans. "I'm sure it's nothing."

Jubilee still appeared concerned. "That's what he said, but I'm not so sure. I was thinking about going up to see him and thank him again, but Paige told me he's got that DO NOT DISTURB sign on his door."

"Ya know what it is? He probably didn't sleep all that good out in the city." Rogue turned to Kitty. "Remember when we were in California in that house by the beach? The guy didn't get a wink of sleep 'cause he was adjustin' ta a new place. That's it, Sweet Pea. Nothin' ta worry that pretty little head of yours."

Jubilee's brows continued to furrow anxiously. "I don't know…" she began warily. Her memory of the Southern gentleman from their drive to Westchester was filled with images of him looking rather sick, but at the same time, rather sad. She tried to approach him about what was troubling him, but found her efforts rebuffed with his polite, yet evasive responses. With a weak smile that bordered on a grimace, he informed her that all was well. He stood firm as he asserted that he would not discuss the matter any further, much to her concern and disappointment.

"Rogue's right," Kitty chimed in reassuringly. "He's probably knocked out and is catching up on some sleep. No biggie."

Before Jubilee could express her doubts with this conclusion, Rogue changed the subject. "So, is this foray inta cookin' related ta a certain Iceman comin' home?" she teased. Gambit had relayed a message to her that he and the rest of his team would be arriving within a couple of hours after their successful mission. Evidently, the young girl heard the same news from Bobby.

"Yeah." Jubilee blushed as she glanced over at Kitty. It was still difficult to openly talk about the intricacies of her relationship with someone other than Paige. "I'm taking your advice. You know, about getting to him through his stomach."

Kitty tilted her head. "Good move," she told her, nodding her head in approval. Then she peered over at Rogue and asked, "Don't you love the honeymoon period?"

"What are you talking about?" Jubilee asked, confused and intrigued when the two women exchanged knowing smiles.

Kitty took it upon herself to answer first. "Well, you know what it's like at the start, when they're all excited, and they haven't seen you naked yet," she began sagely, drawing from her own experiences in romance. "It's like he's banging at your door, promising to ravish you forever. So, you brace yourself for man overload, and throw open the doors, and what do you find?"

Then Rogue jumped into the conversation. "An oversized baby who wants his dinner. And before ya can say, 'There's been a terrible mistake,' he's snorin' on your bed and the whole place stinks of feet."

Jubilee watched both Kitty and Rogue erupt into peals of laughter. She forced a smile, but was troubled with what she was hearing. Spontaneity and the rush of passion were what characterized her relationship with Bobby. The intensity of the feelings she experienced with him left her wanting more and more. Yet, from what the other women were saying, this was some sort of discrete period of time and that it would end. Instead of the excitement they had together, it sounded as if they were destined to face some sort of comfortable and boring lull, or worse; grow increasingly aware of each other's faults. At least, that was what she managed to glean from what they were saying. There was only one thing to do to prevent that from happening.

Not allow any sense of complacency.

With a determined glint in her crystalline eyes, Jubilee clutched the plastic grocery bag. "Well, I should get going," she said, beginning to head towards the door that connected the garage to the mansion. "I have lots to do before Bobby gets home."

Rogue's green eyes flicked to her sports watch. "The boys won't be back for another coupla hours," she informed her, already having calculated the team's estimated arrival into Westchester. "Ya can watch our rehearsals this afternoon. The kids are pretty good this year."

"Yeah," Kitty added, nodding. "Jay Guthrie's supposed to do this rendition of I '_Your Song_' /I that blows your mind."

Jubilee shook her head, long, silky hair rippling down her graceful shoulders. "No, thanks," she replied, hand already on the doorknob. "I've got some things to do."

"Care to share with us, hon?" Rogue raised her arched brows expectantly.

The young girl paused outside of the door. Granted, she had not truly considered what her plan involved. All she knew was that she wanted to keep the proverbial fire going with Bobby. Her mouth curled in a mysterious smile as she shrugged her shoulders and sauntered inside.

Bobby leaned back in the pilot's seat as he shifted the Blackbird's gears. According to the navigational path Hank had programmed into the computer, they were scheduled to arrive to Westchester within twenty minutes. The boyishly handsome Iceman cast a gaze to the screen of the map, which relayed their current flight location. He was pleasantly surprised to notice that they were already flying over New York. Having flown the Blackbird from Istanbul, he honestly had no idea how quickly time had passed.

He supposed that his euphoric anticipation was fueled by the prospect of seeing Jubilee again. His mind replayed the phone call he made to her, announcing his return. The excitement that bubbled from her voice was infectious, eliciting a broad grin that stretched his cheeks. Both of them had agreed that it indeed had been too long since being together. They made the usual declarations of missing one another and not being able to sit still until his arrival. However, Jubilee took things another step further just before hanging up.

_"I've got a surprise for you," she had told him cryptically. He could hear the smile in her voice. _

"_What is it?" _

_"Where's the fun in telling you?"_

_"Come on, Jubes…"_

_"No dice, Drake. You'll have to wait until you get back. All I'm going to tell you is that Scott and Jean have been gone for the past week and won't be back for another couple of days. In other words, meet me at the house if you want the surprise."_

While he was daunted that he had not managed to discover what she had up her sleeve, he was thrilled nonetheless. Whatever it was, it simply had to be good. The fact that Scott and Jean were away, leaving an empty house, was another bonus. Unconsciously, a dreamy smile touched Bobby's mouth. His mind immediately flooded with images of the inherent possibilities.

Just then, he heard a low, rumbling growl nearby. Startled, he peered around to locate the source of the sound. His smile vanished when he saw Logan, sitting in the co-pilot seat. The older man was studying him carefully, his green eyes expressionless underneath stony brows. His trademark Cohiba cigar was held between his teeth, but remained unlit thanks to Warren and Hank's objections. It was hard to surmise what the loner was thinking, but it was more than evident that he was not amused.

Confident that Jubilee said nothing to her beloved "Wolvie" about consummating her relationship with Bobby, Bobby was convinced that the man knew. He probably smelled something from both of them. During the whole mission, Bobby made a point to keep his distance. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with a man who possessed adamantium claws and who wasn't afraid of using them. He knew what Logan was capable of during a rage. While the other man had yet to turn his fury on his teammate, there was always a first time for everything. Finding out that Bobby had slept with Jubilee had the potential of pushing Logan over that line.

Bobby decided that it was time to play distraction. "Um, hey, Logan." He tried to tamper the tendency for his voice to crack while in the other man's presence. To his chagrin, he failed. Quickly, he tried to recover by pressing ahead with small talk. "I thought Warren was my co-pilot. The last I checked, you and the others were playing cards."

Logan raised a brow at him. "Decided I wanted to sit up here," he told the younger man in a flat voice. He could detect Drake's anxiety quite easily, as he could his arousal. It was palpable in the air between them. Being the perceptive being that he was, it took no time for Logan to infer the common thread.

Jubilee.

For Logan, the idea of Drake deflowering his little girl was a little much to take. He tried to occupy his mind with other things so that he would not even have to consider it. Unfortunately, willing himself not to think about the issue seemed to bring it to the forefront of his mind. It haunted him at all hours of the day, refusing to exit his consciousness. The details made his stomach twist in ways he never thought possible. He simply could not and would not imagine either in that capacity. It was just too creepy. As irked as he was, there was nothing he could do at this point.

Scaring the Popsicle might make him feel better for a second, but in the end, it would not accomplish all that much. The crux of the matter was the realization that Jubilee was no longer a child anymore. He first came to grips with this notion upon his return to the mansion over a year ago. She had grown up, but in a way, retained much of the youthful energy that surrounded her. There was an innocence to the world that she had in spite of the years that had gone by. It was what allowed him to hold onto his view of her as the girl who was not quite an adult. That way, he could be the one she would depend upon. He could cling to an old man's hope.

But this was not true anymore. There was someone else now.

Logan sighed deeply, taking his cigar out of his mouth. He peered over at the young man next to him warily. Then he opened his mouth in order to ask the question that had been on his mind for quite some time. "You good to her?"

Bobby had been steering the Blackbird towards the landing strip on the mansion's vast grounds. To achieve a more covert base of operations when it came to landing the Blackbird and other aircraft, the Professor had the strip and area built away from the mansion itself, and within a large hill that overlooked the lake on the property. With a push of a button from a remote control aboard all crafts, the hill opened up to reveal a landing strip.

While he was concentrating on guiding the Blackbird towards the hill, Bobby was also taken aback by Logan's inquiry. He listened carefully, trying to detect any hint of hostility in the other man's voice. To his amazement, there was none. Instead, there was what he could only construe as genuine concern. Upon further consideration, Bobby was stunned to observe something else—desperation for reassurance. Logan needed to know that Bobby was the good man Jubilee believed him to be. He had to be told that there was no need to be worried and that his little girl was cared for as she should be.

Finally, Bobby responded. "I am," he said earnestly, steering the Blackbird through the camouflaged doors that led to the mansion's airstrip. As the craft glided inside, he added, "Because I want to be good for her. She deserves that. For some reason, I'm lucky enough to be the one."

Logan mulled over his words carefully. "She's happy," he said, feeling the speed of the craft slow down as the wheels dropped down. "Can't deny you had something to do with that."

Bobby smiled sheepishly as the Blackbird touched down smoothly. "She does the same for me. I wouldn't have it any other way."

For Logan, that seemed sufficient. He sat back quietly. There was no need to overanalyze or interrogate Drake further. It was clear to him that the younger man was being honest. When the Blackbird was fully settled, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up. "I'm going to see how the others are with writing up the briefing report," he informed Bobby, already heading to the back of the craft.

Bobby decided to follow him. Both were greeted with a rather unusual sight. Hank had an airline pillow tucked behind his head. The black-frame glasses he wore for reading were pushed up slightly on one side and his fur was mussed. A thin line of drool oozed out of a corner of his open mouth. Next to him was Warren, whose head rested on Hank's shoulder. The two of them were snuggling together underneath a green, flannel blanket. Meanwhile, a sleeping Gambit was on Hank's other side, an arm draped across the larger man's chest.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Look at the slumber party going on here," he said, irritated.

"Yeah," Bobby replied, still looking at his sleeping teammates. Suddenly, a mischievous grin spread across his boyish face as he became inspired. "Before you get them up, let's get the camera first."

The other man raised a brow at him. Known as the brooding, dark type, Logan was a character foil to the easygoing Bobby. Yet, for some reason, he was intrigued with the prospect of participating in one of Drake's shenanigans. Besides, he had nothing else to do at the moment. "Sounds good to me," he finally said.

Meanwhile, at the Summers' home, Jubilee was standing in the kitchen. She was reading over the instructions listed on the packaging of the cookie dough. Her eyes flicked to the clock on the stove. She had about five minutes until Bobby was scheduled to arrive. In her flustered excitement, she racked her brain for some sort of time saver. It was then that she decided to crank up the oven a little higher than the directions read. In addition, she made up her mind that not cutting the log up into individual cookies would be more efficient.

After popping her cookie dough into the oven, Jubilee was about to go upstairs to her room to make sure everything else was in place for tonight. However, she paused in her steps when she heard a rapping at the door. When she saw who was waiting on the doorstep, her cerulean eyes widened in surprise. She found herself smiling broadly for the first time in several days.

Bobby, still dressed in his uniform, grabbed her from about the waist and pulled her slender form close to his. "Why hello there," he greeted her in a huskily as he feigned a seductive, come-hither look. "Your man's back."

She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's some Gambit impression you've got going on," she commented lightly. She had almost forgotten about the tingles that danced along her skin whenever he was this close. Almost instantly, she could feel her heart race inside her chest from him being here now. It was like nothing she ever felt before. Needless to say, she liked the feeling.

He drew back slightly. "I was going for the Colin Farrell vibe," he informed her, pretending to be insulted. The twinkling in his gray eyes belied the hurt he was acting out. In fact, the euphoria that pulsed through his veins was almost too intense to describe at that moment.

"Oh is that it?" She rolled her eyes and laughed again. Then she gave him a quizzical look, feeling his fingers tangle in her hair. "I wasn't expecting you for another couple of minutes."

His brows furrowed thoughtfully. "Are you complaining?" he asked wryly, his gaze tracing his girlfriend's delicate features. For a moment, he was floored as to how beautiful she was. His memories and dreams about her failed to do any justice. As he held her in the circle of his arms, he was quickly reminded how blessed he truly was.

"No." Jubilee whispered, leaning towards him. With her heart thudding in her ears, she kissed him, her mouth lingering over his tenderly.

Bobby grinned against her lips, relishing the sweetness that exuded from them. "I flew home fast so I could get to you," he murmured as he returned the kiss. For a moment, he believed he had everything he ever wanted at this moment. All the time apart, he finally had her back. It was as if it was safe for him to exist again.

"I'm glad you did." She planted a series of kisses along the corner of his mouth, still giggling. "I don't know how much longer I could have waited."

He tightened his arms around her. A cool, autumn breeze rumpled his sandy hair as they stood in the doorway. "I know how you feel," he said, squeezing her affectionately. "Spending nights without you was hell. I mean, who knew that Logan's snoring could travel through walls?"

"Stop it. He doesn't snore that loudly. He's quieter than Paige." The corners of Jubilee's eyes crinkled as she laughed loudly. She knew full well that her former roommate would be in conniptions if she found out that she was telling other people. It was something the younger Guthrie was desperately trying to hide.

Bobby joined his girlfriend in her peals of laughter. He made a mental note to tease Warren about this piece of news. When the mirth subsided, he nodded and said, "Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't be making fun of Logan, at least not after today. We had a bonding moment."

Suddenly, the sparkling disappeared from those hypnotic, sapphire depths. It was quickly replaced by cautious curiosity. "Why?" Jubilee asked, pulling back slightly to study his boyish face. "What happened?"

He noticed that her gaze had a searching quality to it, almost as if she were looking for any sign of apprehension on his part. Drawing her close again, he chuckled and kissed her forehead. "Relax," he told her reassuringly. "It's not what you're thinking. As you can see, I'm in one piece and perfectly fine."

She peered up at him, her delicate features arranged in a suspicious expression. "OK… But what did this bonding moment entail then?" It was hard for not to be totally convinced. She was well aware of her mentor's protective streak and his short fuse. Having witnessed it on many occasions, she knew his methods of intimidations and the fear of God often instilled as a result. As much as she loved her Wolvie, if he had reneged on his promise not to terrorize Bobby, she wasn't sure what she would do.

"Hey," Bobby drawled, cupping her lovely face in his cool hands. Part of him was touched over this concern, but the other part stressed how important it was to ease her worried mind. "There's nothing wrong. Logan and I just had some fun with the other guys—that's all."

"Logan?" She stared at him in disbelief. "My Wolvie? The same man who said once that he doesn't have time to laugh? You're talking about him, right? Are you sure you don't have him mixed up with some other person?"

Her boyfriend smiled. "Yes, I'm sure," he replied, stroking her hair affectionately. "Honestly, he had fun. I've never seen anyone so happy to take pictures in my entire life."

She sighed and shook her head. The image of a gleeful Wolverine playing a prank was difficult for her to fathom. "I guess you'll have to show me the photographic evidence."

"I guess so." He leaned in to give her another kiss, but stopped himself. His nostrils flared slightly as they picked up a strange smell in the air. "Is something burning?"

"What?"

"I think I smell something burning."

"Shit!"

Jubilee extracted herself from Bobby's arms and raced to the kitchen. To her horror, wisps of grayish smoke led to the oven. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed the oven mitts from the nearby hooks. Then she turned off the oven and yanked open the oven door. The young girl nearly fell backwards, overwhelmed by the smoke and the smell of burning cookie dough. Somehow, she managed to summon the mental fortitude to pull the tray from the oven and shut the door. Her eyes teared up from coughing and disappointment after she surveyed the damage.

Bobby was behind her, leaning against the counter with an amused expression across his boyish face. "Oh honey," he cooed teasingly, watching her fan the smoke away from the charred log of cookie dough. "You baked."

"Shit!" she coughed, not able to find any other eloquent way to express herself at the moment. She covered her face with her small hands and wailed mournfully._Why me? Why me?_

Chuckling, he placed a comforting arm around her. Then he extended an open hand over the smoldering mess. Quickly, the smoke dissipated while the ice streamed from his palm, covering the cookie dough in a thin layer of frost. Satisfied, he remarked, "There. No need to call the fire department."

This only served to compound the utter embarrassment his girlfriend was experiencing. She buried her face against his chest. "I can't believe this," she said, completely mortified. "Who the hell burns cookies?"

"Apparently, you do," he said gently, kissing her soft hair and relishing the sweet fragrance from it. He couldn't suppress his amusement when she wailed again. "Oh come on, Jubes. No harm done. Now, let's order a pizza."

Later on in the living room, over a meal of delivery pizza from Gino's and root beer floats, the couple had the opportunity to reconnect. The two of them caught up, each relaying the events that had transpired in the other's absence. Bobby talked about Hank's gender-bending experience, causing Jubilee to erupt in a fit of giggles, particularly during points of the story that detailed the sexual harassment he endured at the hands of Bobby and Gambit. He then presented her with the scarf he purchased during his trip, which earned him a grateful kiss. Jubilee talked about her classes, her work as a peer counselor, and the Keane concert. When she told him that Sam had gone as his proxy, Bobby looked thoughtful.

"That was nice of him," he commented, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "I'm glad you didn't have to go alone. Remind me to do something nice for the guy, like taking him out for some beers. I still owe him for Valentine's Day."

She nodded, resting her head against Bobby's shoulder. "Definitely." Her thoughts went to the Southern gentleman briefly, but soon they faded from her consciousness. Her mind was quickly occupied with something else. While her attempt at being domestic failed, there was still another part of her plan that had yet to be put into motion.

Rising to her feet, she began to gather the paper plates and plastic cups. "I don't know about you, but I've had enough of food for one night," she declared, walking towards the kitchen. "I'm dumping this stuff and going upstairs. I still smell like burnt cookie dough." She grimaced.

He laughed and collected the cardboard box and used napkins. "Maybe you can market it as a new perfume," he suggested, gray eyes twinkling. Then he inquired, "Are you coming back downstairs?"

"No," she called out from the kitchen. Much to her chagrin, the room still reeked of seared sugar and chocolate in spite of the windows they had opened. "When you're done, just come on upstairs. There's something I want you to take a look at."

"Will do."

After Bobby finished cleaning up, he made his way upstairs. As he headed towards Jubilee, he noticed that this was the first time he had entered her room this way. Normally, he used his ice-slide and climbed through her window for his visits. Taking the more conventional route felt rather strange to him.

The door to her bedroom was already ajar and he sauntered inside. He was about to call out to her, but stopped himself when he saw that her bathroom door was closed. Ever patient, he decided to settle in by removing his boots and socks. He thought about doing so on the Blackbird, but was outvoted by the rest of the team, who argued they didn't feel safe with the idea of a barefoot pilot. Then he slipped off his long, black leather coat and draped it over the chair at her desk.

His gray eyes crinkled at the corners when they caught sight of a framed photograph by her laptop. Taken at Hank's birthday party several months ago, the couple was flashing radiant smiles. An interesting thing to note was that their beaming faces were barely visible underneath the cake and frosting that was smeared across their cheeks, chins, and hair—thanks to a food fight started by one of the students. In spite of this, it was quite clear from the picture how they felt about one another. The feelings were familiar, comforting, and sent chills up and down his spine. They also communicated something else.

He was home.

Still grinning, Bobby ambled over to her bed. He seated himself and felt the mattress give slightly. At this point, he noticed that Jubilee had been in the bathroom for some time. Concerned, he decided to call out to her. "Jubes? Are you alright in there?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Bobby. I'm fine."

"So, what do you want me to look at?"

Just then the bathroom door opened slowly. Her voice was clear and sweet in the night air as she responded to him. "This."

He turned his head in that direction and felt his jaw drop. His stunned gaze roved over the vision that stood at the doorway. For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming. What he was seeing was simply too incredible. He never dreamed it was possible for her to look even more beautiful than she already was. However, here was the evidence of the contrary. She was wearing a black satin slip that clung to every lush curve. The neckline plunged, teasing at the ample bosom that it hid. Her long, black hair with midnight-blue highlights cascaded down her slim shoulders, contrasting against her creamy skin. That exquisite face seemed lovelier than ever, bearing an expression of warmth, love, and acceptance that was reserved just for him.

Bobby made a mental note to thank whatever deity responsible for this.

Finally, he was able to formulate a cogent thought. Licking his lips quickly, he dared to speak. "Is this… Is this part of the surprise?" he asked.

She nodded, taking slow strides towards him. At the foot of the bed, she raised a knee and crawled up, her hands on both sides of his legs. She crawled up and over him in this manner, stopping only when they were face to face. Her sapphire eyes held his gaze for a moment before they fluttered shut, her lips parting to kiss him.

His eyes and lips followed her lead, savoring her taste, her warmth, and her softness. The tip of his tongue breached her lips, and was soon exploring her hot mouth. He could feel his pulse race as the simple kiss mimicked the union to come. His hands started to roam languidly about her body. One ran lightly over her side, down her hips, and cupping the curve of her bottom before sliding up to her waist. To his delight, he noticed she omitted panties from this outfit. He gently pressed her hip down to meet his lap. Jubilee obliged, but not before grinding him teasingly on the way down.

She allowed her arms to drape around his neck as she drew away. Her head tipped to one side, lips almost ready to settle on his again. "I didn't get a chance to say this, so I'll do it now: Welcome home."

Once more, her sweet, soft mouth covered his, working away gently. Her body cuddling in close to his, head angling to one side to deepen the kiss. He relented happily, mouth parting to allow access. His hands rose slowly to run along her slender arms in order to draw her into closer. In response, she tightened her arms around his neck and brought her chest within intimate contact of his.

Her mouth eased from his ever so gently. "I missed you," she whispered.

"I couldn't tell," Bobby joked, giving her a wry, but shaky smile. The gesture belied his words. Mixed with the tingling want for her, was his curiosity as to where this temptress act came from. Not that he minded. That black, clingy slip with the plunging neckline occupied his interest as he held her.

"Really?" Jubilee kissed him again, red mouth pressed against his and warm breath seeping out to mix with his cool breath. "I guess I should try again."

"I would like that," he murmured, tangling his fingers through her silky hair. How he had missed the feel of her. It was almost overwhelming for him to have her here like this. He had to chalk this up as the best homecoming he had ever had.

She smiled; pleased with herself and at how this seduction was proceeding. The uncertainty she had been feeling when she first dreamed this up was fading as confidence took over. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He grinned. "Happy to indulge," he told her huskily. Then he gathered her against him. His mouth was hungry as it settled back over hers.

When she opened her mouth, she could have sworn she heard a hoarse, inarticulate sound issued from deep within his throat. His tongue was exploring, teasing hers with its tip. It then grazed her teeth. While he was gentle, the sensations he generated sizzle, skittering throughout her body, settling deep in her belly and lower between her thighs. In response, she caressed his body with her own, remaining astride him.

Bobby was lost, drowning in the sweet, heady pleasure of her. He ran his hand along her ribcage, relishing the familiarity of her curves and the satiny feel of the material. His hand then made a journey to one of her breasts.

A cry escaped from her lips. Jubilee's eyes fluttered open as he moved his mouth from hers. She watched him breathe heavily, teetering on the edge of sanity as they continued this dance. With a mischievous gleam in his gray eyes, he suddenly sank his teeth onto the exposed column of her neck, sucking and biting.

She writhed under his ministrations, but soon collected herself. Quickly, she drew back. "That's enough," she declared firmly.

He looked at her, confused. "Something wrong, Jubes?"

She shifted in his lap, taking his wrists in her small hands and holding them firmly. "I want to show you," she said softly, sapphire eyes shining up at him. "I want to show you how much I've missed you."

He smiled at her tenderly, liking the prospect of something else in wings. This was quite different. "I can already tell from the initial greeting you gave me," he told her.

"But there's more," Jubilee said, running her fingers through his sandy hair and stroking his ears. "Well, if you want there to be."

In response, Bobby cupped her face and pressed his mouth against hers once again. As they continued their kisses, her hips started rocking against his. He grabbed her slim hips, pressing her to his burgeoning arousal. Her hands soon descended on his shirt, slipping it off of him. The cool air rushed over his skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The nails of one hand dragged down his bare torso. An involuntary shiver shot through his body, forcing his hips to jerk slightly, and startling her in return.

She pulled away and stared at his chest. As she contemplated her next move, a small smirk darted over her lips as her rear ground against him, forcing a grunt. The teasing was too much. He found himself wishing her effect on him wasn't obvious.

As she slowly tormented him with a slow grind, he bit his lip against the guttural response rising in his throat. His lips pressed tightly in an attempt to regain control, but felt as if he were losing the battle with each passing minute. "What's next?" he managed to ask between gritted teeth.

She leaned over him, stretching her lithe torso over him. "I don't know," she replied in a deliciously whispery voice. "I just don't know…"

Bobby had to touch her. He needed to feel and grasp what the dropped neckline only teased at. When he tried to free his hands from her, Jubilee pulled away from him and smiled.

"Not yet," she whispered, eliciting a groan from him. There was such a rush of feelings that pulsed through her entire being at that moment. With a gentle shove, she forced him onto his back.

She could see the tiny droplets that had formed on his neck, across his collarbones, beading on his chest. As she stared, one trickled from his throat, leaving a moist trail down to his shoulder blade. Instinctively, she dipped her head and caught the tiny bead with her tongue. He smelled of leather and clean, masculine sweat.

Jubilee didn't hear the sharp breath he took at her action, but could see the way his chest rose suddenly. She took advantage of his amused surprise to drag her nails lightly over his chest. Tentatively, but with growing confidence, she placed her hands on his firm shoulders. Lightly, with the tips of her fingers, she traced the lines of his defined chest, amazed by the smoothness of his skin.

Soon she found herself at the waistline of his boxers. There was no hesitation on her part as her fingertips slid under the band. Once more, her fingers slid inside his waistband and she tugged the boxers down slowly. He lifted his hips and she noted how ragged his breathing had become.

Bobby clenched his teeth, inhaling sharply. The pleasure was bordering on pain now. He needed a release. Low guttural groans accompanied his irregular pants. She met his gaze, and matched his intense stare. Desperately, he reached for her.

Again, she grabbed his wrists. This sexy angel was now over him, her dark, silky hair falling forward over her shoulder to brush his chest. He inhaled deeply. Then she pulled back coyly.

Bobby groaned. "Jubes, this is torture," he managed through gritted teeth, writhing on the bed. _But the best kind,_ he silently added. He again struggled to free his wrists from her grip. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to tear that clingy, satin chemise from her body and allow his hand to roam her supple curves.

"Then take me," she breathed as she released her grip.

Wearing a relieved and grateful smile, he exhaled deeply. Then he kissed her with more hunger than before. "I dreamed of touching you like this the whole time I was gone," he said to her huskily.

She released a shaky gasp, relishing his touch. "I wanted you, too. I wanted you so bad…"

"You have me now," he told her, meaning every word. His heart swelled inside his chest when he saw how sincere her elation was. The smile that graced her sweet lips and the sparkling in her crystalline eyes seemed to speak volumes.

With her firmly straddling him, and their lips still working in a generous kiss, his other hand curved over a breast. A smile touched his lips when she gasped. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" he murmured against her mouth.

"It's all you," she said softly as she ran her fingers through his sandy hair. Her lips looked more full and lush, deeply colored thanks to his kisses. The marks were already blossoming under the flesh of her neck. "It always has been."

Grinning, he moved his mouth from hers in a journey that started at her jaw, then trailed down her graceful neck and her collarbone. "Remind me to go off on missions more often," Bobby murmured. He raised his face to look up at her. His gray eyes twinkled playfully.

Jubilee, cheeks flushed pink from exertion and her overall happiness to be with him again, shook her head. "There's no way I'm letting you go anywhere for a while," she declared, still kneeling astride him. Her lips curled into a seductive smile as she added, "In fact, I'm going to make it hard for you to even consider it."

He grinned. "I would like that," he told her before pulling off her chemise and kissing her deeply.


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine Just Like Heaven

Back with a new chapter. There'sanother version. If you'd like to read it, let me know.

Thanks again for the reviews. Please keep them coming.

The characters belong to Marvel, but I'm only having fun with them.

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Just Like Heaven (Non-explicit)**

As the weeks passed in Westchester, the flurry of activity seemed to only increase at the mansion. Teams were being called in and out for various missions that spanned the globe. Meanwhile, instructors were doling out mid-term exams and assignments to frazzled students, who were trying to balance their academic commitments with their social ones.

At the top of everyone's social calendar was the annual Halloween costume party. It was a gala that rivaled all other festivities, promising a good time for all. There was the prospect of treats prepared by Cook and her kitchen staff. The activities run by the teaching staff were especially popular, notably the Haunted House Hank and Rogue had set up. For many, dressing up and pretending to be someone or something else was enough to feel that rush of excitement that came with the event. As for the students whose mutations affected their physical appearance, Halloween allowed them to experience the feeling of being normal and not self-conscious about what they looked like.

Away from the continued bustling atmosphere of the mansion and the school, Bobby and Jubilee found themselves in the men's section of Halliwells this late afternoon. Not a clotheshorse by any stretch of the imagination, the boyishly handsome Bobby found himself compelled by outside forces to make some new purchases; outside forces being one Maddy Drake. His mother had called him last week to remind him of the baptism for his new baby cousin and soon-to-be goddaughter, Eleanor. She informed him that he would have to wear something nice for the ceremony. While she did not nag or harangue him about his usual attire, she made it clear that Hawaiian shirts and jeans would not be tolerated.

Like most men, with the exception of the fashion-savvy Warren, Bobby was not one who received a special thrill from perusing the aisles of clothing. However, he resigned himself to his task. In the end, it would worth the trouble. It was not everyday he was going to be a godfather. To top it off, he had a perfectly legitimate excuse to do his Brando impression.

He was fortunate enough to recruit Jubilee, who practically jumped at the idea of shopping. Quickly, she took charge, selecting a blue-striped dress shirt, a charcoal-gray V-neck sweater, and a tie with red and navy stripes. What was left was choosing a pair of nice khakis to complete the outfit. The two of them gathered several candidates from the racks before making their way to the dressing rooms.

"So, how are they?" she inquired after several minutes. The young girl was standing outside of the stall patiently, digging her small hands into the pockets of her camel wool, toggle coat.

The royal blue curtain was pulled back as Bobby prepared to model his chinos for his girlfriend. "Crazy! Cool!" he exclaimed, mocking a dance number one would see in a production of _West Side Story_ . He then hummed a few bars from a Cole Porter record his mother had given him months ago.

While many girlfriends would have been mortified by this impromptu and outlandish demonstration of dancing, Jubilee simply laughed. Even the stares and amused whispers of other people passing by failed to elicit any feelings of embarrassment. Finally, her laughter subsided as she shook her head and commented, "You know that commercial's years old."

He grinned, pausing in front of a full-length mirror nearby. "Yeah, but you find my antics quite funny."

"I find you funny," she told him warmly, sauntering behind him to study his reflection. Her sapphire eyes were thoughtful as she gazed at him. "You never answered my question. How do these fit?"

He pulled at the front of the trousers, lifting them slightly. "Kind of baggy," he noted. "That's for all of them. It's hard to find pants for us short guys."

Her sable brows knitted together quizzically. She stared up at him. He towered over her by a good couple of inches, and she was about five-foot-four. "You're not that short."

Bobby turned to her, a wry expression gracing his boyish face. "The normal height for guys nowadays is like six-feet. I'm five-ten, Jubes. That's considered short." He gave her a rather pathetic, somber look before wandering back into the dressing stall.

For a moment, she nearly bought the act and was ready to offer her sympathy. However, the playful twinkle in his gray eyes tipped her off. Smiling mischievously, she decided to see how far she could push him.

"Come on, baby," she chided gently, listening the rustling of fabric from behind the curtain. "There have been plenty of great, short men in history."

He reached for his jeans. "Oh really?"

"Sure," she replied reassuringly. "Let's see, there's Napoleon, John Quincy Adams…" After a brief pause, she added, "Frodo Baggins..."

Almost immediately, a pair of chinos was thrown over the railing of the dressing stall curtain, hitting on her head. She pulled them off of her head and folded them, giggling. Smoothing out the creases, she was reminded of a subject that had been on her mind. "What are we doing for costumes?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked from behind the curtain.

Jubilee frowned, tucking a lock of silky hair behind a delicate ear. "I mean, what are we going as? The party's in two days and we haven't talked about any ideas." Given their hectic schedules, with him teaching more classes and with her in college, their quality time together was growing more and more rare. While they made an effort to spend whatever free moments they could together, it was difficult to do anything but snuggle together and commiserate about their shared exhaustion.

"Oh that," Bobby said, pulling on his jeans and zipping up. "I don't know, Jubes. I was thinking about skipping that this year."

She tried to hide her disappointment as she asked, "What? Why?"

"There's the time thing, first of all."

"OK… So what else?"

"Well, I'm not feeling all that inspired this year. I don't want to sound jaded or anything, but it's like we've done basically all the good ideas. It's hard to get excited."

"Sounds like the stress of grading ninety mid-terms talking, Drake."

"Maybe. But as someone who usually looks forward to this time of year, I think it's more difficult to do something really surprising without being trite."

"Now you're just talking crazy."

"No, Jubes, I'm not. Seriously, I just don't see myself doing it this year. Don't let me stop you, though."

"No, I don't want to do it if you won't. It would be kind of weird. Really, Bobby."

He finally emerged from the dressing stall, pulling on his navy pea coat over his gray, roll-neck sweater and jeans. Smiling, he pressed his lips against her forehead. "Maybe we can go as the couple that can't keep their hands off of each other," he suggested. "You won't have to deal with the pressure of trying to shock me."

Jubilee smiled sweetly up at him, nodded. Then she narrowed her eyes as she walked alongside him. _We'll just see about that_.

The Robin was a local bar/club that catered to both humans and mutants. The first thing that was striking was the co-mingling of humans and mutants—drinking together, talking together, and even dancing with one another—things unthinkable outside of these walls. Then there was the building itself. Converted from an old bank, The Robin had a grand staircase entrance, marble floors, and high ceilings. In place of teller windows there was an enormous bar along the interior's east wall, staffed with sleek and swank bartenders. An enormous chandelier hung over the dance floor, laden with flickering orange bulbs in lieu of candles. Above the light fixture was a smoke machine, which sent wisps of smoke floating down through the chandelier. This resulted in an eerie and beautiful effect, something one would see in "The Phantom of the Opera".

As usual, the establishment was abuzz with the many patrons that gathered to enjoy the music, atmosphere, and drinks. The speakers thudded with classic, new wave songs from the 1980s, drowning out the laughter and various conversations. Given the existing décor, management found that they did not have to add much for their pre-Halloween extravaganza. Simply adjusting the lighting, adding themed drinks, and having the wait staff dress up seemed more than sufficient.

Lost in the festive, energetic crowd of costumed revelers was a lone figure sitting at the bar. He was subdued, hunched in his seat at the bar. As one of the few who were not wearing a costume, he did not seem all that concerned about being out of place. Instead, the tall, lean man with pale eyes and calloused hands was lost in his own thoughts, tuning out the carefree air that surrounded him. While it was clear that the atmosphere was incongruent with his mood, he seemed resigned to dwell in his private misery.

Sam exhaled deeply. Glumly, he downed another beer, one of many consumed over the course of the night. He had lost count after the fourth one and the bartenders seemed too overwhelmed with other customers to help him keep track. Not that it really mattered. The effects he was desperately seeking from the alcohol failed to make their presence known. His mind was, much to his disappointment, fully cognizant of the troubles that ate away at him these past few days.

He had tried almost everything he could possibly think of to distract himself from what preoccupied him. Spending long hours in the gym and the Danger Room drained his body, but did nothing to assuage the complicated feelings of longing and self-loathing that consumed every minute of his existence. Tried as he might, the Southern gentleman was forced to ruminate about someone he wanted so badly but could never have.

Unfortunately, each time, it killed him a little bit inside.

Since going to the concert with Jubilee, Sam was trying his best to avoid her. He found it difficult to even be near the object of his unrequited affections, especially after that dream. Throughout the car ride to Westchester, he pretended to be asleep so that he didn't have to talk to her or look at her. To do so would only serve to remind him that she was not his and that she would never be.

The feelings intensified when she expressed concern about him, noting his strange behavior. As much as he hated to, he lied. His mouth tasted bitter as he flippantly told her that he was fine and there was no need to ask further. All the while, he tried to convince himself that his words were true. Yet, his heart would not allow him that luxury. It ached in his chest as he tried to deceive her and_himself_of what was really happening. He knew she could never know, and as someone who cared for her deeply, he could not fathom telling her. Not now, not when it was so clear she was happy with someone else.

He once considered throwing himself in the dating scene to clear his mind. There were plenty of women who had shown interest, as he was an attractive man. His freshly scrubbed, wholesome country boy looks and sheepish demeanor were enough to make most women go weak in the knees. However, he could not quite bring himself to completely to pursue any of these women. To him, it would simply be unfair. No matter how pretty, how smart, how charming, how funny they might be, there was only one girl he would be thinking about the entire time.

Lila once told him that wanting something you could not have was something of a character builder. According to her, to desire and not immediately possess something as your own made one appreciate the attractiveness of said object. The build-up to wanting was always so much more exciting than actually experiencing the gratification and relief.

Of course, this was hard to believe from an inter-stellar thief and teleporter.

Sam shook his head, placing his empty Pilsner glass in front of him. He swallowed hard and pressed his lips together in a tight line. _To hell with character, _he decided, his pale eyes suddenly feeling heavy-lidded. _All the character in the world isn't going to help me sleep at night, or make me hate myself less. It certainly won't do any good when I want to hold her, kiss her, and make love to her. Fuck character._

He pulled out his wallet to check on his cash flow for the tab he was racking up. As he opened it, a small piece of white paper fell out. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that it was not paper, but a set of photographs from one of those picture booths. He quickly remembered the circumstances surrounding the pictures. They were milling around in Penn Station before the concert, searching for something to do. Jubilee had decided that having their photos taken seemed like a good idea. In these successions of photos, they were crammed into the tiny space, laughing and making faces at the camera. The smile that touched his lips at the memory was quickly replaced by a grimace that reflected his somber state.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a voice drawled, "You look lonely."

Startled, Sam lifted his gaze from his glass. Next to him, was a petite, curvaceous young woman with long, curly, auburn hair. At the crown of her head were four, thick horns, which bent in different directions. These horns matched the red in her skin and eyes. She smiled at him, revealing a set of white, sharp teeth with jagged edges. He could tell that she was a waitress from the standard uniform she wore—a pink, striped shirt over a denim skirt and black, knee-high boots. The empty tray in her hands also gave her away.

He turned back to his glass, which was now full, thanks to the bartender who had been taking his orders. "Somethin' like that," he muttered, unable to tell whether or not the horns and the skin was a costume or her true appearance. Shrugging his shoulders, he decided it did not matter all that much.

The waitress leaned against the bar and towards him. From the anguished expression on his face, she could tell he was thinking about a girl. Her eyes flicked over to the photographs sitting in front of him. In them, he was with a striking girl with dark hair and a dazzling sapphire gaze. The two of them appeared to be the quintessential image of happiness with their broad, radiant smiles.

Then she peered over at him again, observing the distraught frown that marred his features. She watched take a swig of his beer and then asked in a raspy, gin-soaked voice, "You have a fight with your girlfriend?"

Sam flinched, part of him wishing that were the case. Then he stared into the amber liquid, as if the drink held all the answers to his problems. "She ain't with me," he replied bitterly.

"Oh." The waitress sounded pleased to hear this piece of news. She ventured closer to the tall, brooding man, finding herself increasingly attracted to him. "So she's not with you…"

Every muscle in his body clenched at that moment. "No, Ah wish—" He stopped himself, completely in disbelief that he was about to disclose his deepest desire to a stranger. With a shaky breath, he allowed his shoulders to relax. A calloused hand rubbed over his mouth and stubble-ridden chin anxiously. Words seemed to escape him.

She fiddled with the tray in her hands as she tried to ease the tension. "I didn't mean to bring up something that's obviously bothering you," she atoned.

The Southern gentleman sighed wearily before returning his gaze to the waitress's face. He knew full well what her intentions were. Any other time, he might have considered putting up the front that he was interested. However, he was not in the mood. He was too depressed and was sure he would not be good company for anyone. Not tonight, perhaps not ever.

"Listen," he began, summoning the kindest tone he could muster. "Ah thank ya for bein' so nice ta me, but Ah don't feel much like talkin', ma'am. Ah came here ta have some beers and try not ta think about my troubles. No need for ya ta get dragged down 'cause of me."

The waitress looked taken aback. It took her several moments to compose herself. She bit her lower lip nervously and then managed a small smile. "Okay," she finally said, obviously dismayed by his gentle rejection. "I-I hope you have a good night. Try to take it a little easy, hon."

Sam watched her step away from the bar and quickly disappear into a crowd of thirtysomethings, who were dressed as the Village People. He replayed the conversation inside his head. It did not take him that long to realize he could have handled things a little more gracefully. Inwardly cursing his awkwardness, he made the decision to call it a night. He swallowed the remaining of his beer and asked the bartender for his check. Scanning the bill, he calculated the tip for the night and tossed several bills on the bar. Then he pulled on his brown, suede jacket with a sherpa collar before exiting The Robin.

As he made his way outside, he felt his head begin to spin. The tall, lean young man placed an outstretched hand on the wall of the hallway to steady himself. Fortunately, there was no one around to watch him attempt to collect his inebriated self. He paused, still feeling out of sorts. Then he leaned his frame against the supportive wall, hanging his head down. _So much for the high tolerance, _he mused sarcastically, recalling the tab indicated that he had eight beers for the night.

Breathing heavily, Sam knew that once he got to the front doors and outside, he would be fine. The cool air of the autumn night was guaranteed to clear his head enough for him to take to the skies. Lucky for him, the mansion was only a five-minute flight from where he was now.

He blinked. _Now, about getting to those doors…_

Still hunched over, his eyes suddenly noticed a pair of legs clad in black, leather boots. He racked his brain to remember where he recognized them from, but was unable to come up with anything. Resigned with his temporary lapse in memory, he sighed but did not bother to look up.

"You really don't look good," the owner of the legs remarked. "Can I call a cab for you?"

He shook his head. "Ah didn't drive," he muttered, noticing that the voice was familiar. "Ah'm gonna be fine, really."

"Doesn't look that way to me."

"Well, Ah am. Ah'm a mutant."

"Mutants get drunk, too."

"No… Ah meant… Ah can get home fine."

"I don't think so. Not the way you're looking."

"Well, who the hell are ya ta say that?" he snapped, raising his head to glare at the other person. His jaw nearly dropped when he saw who it was. Standing in front of him was none other than Jubilee. Her cerulean eyes were quizzical as she studied him carefully. Mixed with her surprise from his outburst was genuine concern that emanated from her lovely face.

Instinctively, Sam wanted to bury himself deep into the ground. He could not believe what his drunken stupor forced him to do. Here he was, pathetic and stumbling, and to top it all off, attacking the one person who meant the most to him. This was truly not his night.

"Oh God," he managed finally. He reached out to touch her shoulder, the material of her pink, striped shirt soft under his calloused hands. "Oh, Ah'm so sorry, sweetie. Ah didn't mean ta yell at ya like that…"

She placed a hand over where his hand rested, steadying him. "It's okay," she said reassuringly.

He was puzzled, staring at her. For some reason, her voice sounded foreign to his ears. Throaty and deep, not at all like the girlish quality he was accustomed to hearing. Staggering back, he shook his head. The alcohol mixed with his overwhelming discomfort was making things more difficult to process. He was not sure what was real and what was part of his growing haze.

After a few seconds, he forced himself to straighten to his full height. In an attempt to put forth a sober act, he asked, "What are ya doin' here, sweetie?"

"I…" Her voice trailed off as she watched him lean his head against the wall. "I wanted to see how you're doing."

He laughed, but it sounded like a rough bark from his throat. The concern Jubilee was expressing for him was both endearing and cruel at the same time. It made his chest ache simply mulling over her words. Finally, he sighed and provided his standard lines to deflect attention from himself. "Ah'm fine. Ah was just on mah way home," he informed her, drawing his hand back from her shoulder as if it stung him. "Ya just go back and have a good time. Don't worry about me."

She shook her head, dark hair rippling down her graceful shoulders and slim back. "I want to worry about you," she insisted. Placing her hands on his arms, she continued. "Listen, I don't think you're in any condition to go home by yourself. If you wait a minute, I can come with you. Let me just grab my things, OK?"

Sam's pale eyes were wide as his mind absorbed what she was saying. As much as he wanted to push her away, there was a part of him that did not. Her sweet face and hypnotic eyes were testing his self-restraint, which was slowly fading into the recesses of his consciousness. Considerations he would normally try to temper were now creeping in, such as declaring his feelings for her. Somehow, he managed to keep things reined in.

He swallowed hard, averting her stare. "What about _him_?" he asked, not quite able to even say Bobby's name. Simply thinking about him made his stomach turn with envy.

To his surprise, Jubilee shook her head. "I'm not with anyone," she told him solemnly.

The Southern gentleman looked at her in disbelief. There was so much he wished to say at that moment. However, any semblance of cogent thought escaped his mind. Instead, he was only able to manage, "Really?"

"Really." Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she continued to stare at him with concern. "Stay here. I'll be out in a flash and we can get you home, OK?"

This time, he made no effort to argue. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the new piece of information she had just disclosed. Silently, he nodded and watched her with great longing as she disappeared back into the club. For a minute, he began to believe that he was going mad. His mind, under the alcohol, had somehow orchestrated this illusion of Jubilee talking to him, telling him that there was no one else in the picture. That was the only explanation.

Sam found himself proven wrong when Jubilee returned. She was pulling on a navy, double-breasted coat while clutching a worn, leather purse. Buttoning her coat, she stared up at him, worried. "Now, let's get you home."

The Southern gentleman found himself passively complying. For one thing, he was simply in no shape to argue otherwise at this point. His mental faculties were failing him at the moment. Second, he was overcome with how badly he wanted to be with her. Hearing that she was not with Bobby made his heart sing.

Oblivious to his musings, the young girl gently took his hand and led him outside. The brisk air of the late evening slapped against their cheeks. It was refreshing, though cold, for the eldest Guthrie. His head was quickly pulled from the initial haze he experienced inside the club.

Meanwhile, Jubilee was scanning the front lot for taxis, which were usually waiting in a line outside of The Robin. "Where are all the cabs?" she asked aloud. "How are we going to—"

"Ah've got an idea," he interrupted her, suddenly inspired. Throwing his inhibitions out the window, he wrapped his arms around her small waist. "Just hold on ta me, sweetie. Ah won't let anythin' happen ta ya."

Her sable brows furrowed together quizzically. "What? What are you talking about?" she demanded. "What—"

The question she was about to pose was quickly cut off by a shriek of surprise as they soared through the night skies over Westchester.

Sam wanted to say that he was able to remember the journey back to the mansion. He wished he could truthfully state that he was clear-headed enough to recall landing in front of the door, fishing his keys from his jacket, and opening the door to venture inside. To even be able to declare that he was of sound mind to walk by himself up the stairs would be a feat. However, none of these things happened. And yet, this did not bother him one bit.

Because he was with _her._

In fact, during the entire time, all he could focus on was her—holding her body close to his as they soared through the air, feeling her clutch to his lean form for support, and noticing how she roused emotions of euphoria just by being with him. He tried not to reveal too much of his giddiness as she helped upstairs, her arm wrapped around him. As small and somewhat trivial as this was, it was his piece of happiness for now.

When they reached his door, Sam smiled and rested his forehead against it. The alcohol was beginning to seep into his brain again. Already, it was difficult for him to formulate a rational thought. He felt he should be saying something to, but what, he was not sure. His tongue was like rubber, too awkward to even attempt to utter anything.

Finally, she broke the silence. "Well, let's get you in, hon." She reached out and turned the knob. Gently, the young girl took his hand and led him inside, closing the door quietly behind them.

Sam's room was a reflection of the country boy that continued to dwell inside him. Natural hues and rugged textures of the fabric and furniture revealed a fascination with the environment. The space will filed with muted spice tones of serapes and Navajo rugs interwoven with well-aged wood, hand-tooled leather, and woven rope.

Throwing off his jacket, he ambled over to the far corner of the room, where his bed was. It was a four-poster, Joshua Tree bed, decked with plateau linen throw pillows, khaki bed linens, and a suede throw blanket. While he wanted to sink his weary, intoxicated body into the inviting softness of his bed, he had to make sure that Jubilee was really with him. He had to know, before sleeping off his alcohol-induced haze, that she had been here. Reluctantly, he turned around.

She was studying him carefully with those old-soul blue eyes that haunted his dreams for so long. "Do you want me to go?" she asked hoarsely, biting her lower lip.

He shook his head. His hand trembled as it cupped her soft cheek. He suddenly found his fingers twining through her silky hair. Then, without thinking, he leaned towards her, pressing his mouth against hers. The tip of his tongue snaked out, reaching to taste those rose-red lips. Gently, he ran his tongue over her mouth, tasting her sweetness. With a quiet moan, her lips parted to allow him access inside. Meanwhile, his other hand reached around to press the back of her head gently, allowing the kiss to further deeper. His tongue eased past her lips, brushing softly against the insides of her cheeks, dipping to rub lightly against her teeth, and sliding against her tongue.

Suddenly, he froze. Logical thought processes took over for a moment. This was wrong. Abruptly, he pulled away from. His shoulders shook as he breathed, a task that was getting hard to do given the situation. He could feel his cheeks burn with embarrassment, guilt, and anxiety over what she might be thinking of him.

"Ah'm sorry," he mumbled, blond hair falling into his eyes. "Ah… Ah didn't mean ta freak ya out. Ah—"

Before he could finish his rambling, she kissed him back. Unlike the dream, this was a real kiss. He could feel her, taste her, and hear her as she sighed. It was a gesture that relayed so much. Most importantly, how much she wanted for it to happen. Encouraged, his hands began to roam across her body. Sliding down the small of her back to curve around her bottom, he pressed her hips closer to his. The Southern gentleman groaned when he felt her small hands untuck his shirt before they ran across his back.

Head swimming, he pulled back and removed her hands. "Yer really here?" he managed, still feeling dizzy from it all. Sure, he felt her lips and her hands, but he thought he had done so in the dream he had several weeks ago. Heaven help him if this was another delusion fueled by his wish to be with her. There was only so much he could truly take before losing his mind completely.

In response, Jubilee dropped her purse to the floor, along with her coat. Then she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, slipping it off of her slender frame. Still silent, she then reached behind her and unzipped her skirt. The garment fell in a whisper at her feet. As she stood there, only in her underwear and boots, she looked stunning as she always did. Her long, silky hair rippled down her graceful shoulders and back. Under the dim light, her creamy skin glowed. Those hypnotic sapphire depths now stared at him with curiosity and desire for him.

Yet, there was something else about Jubilee. He could not quite put his finger on it. The situation, as blissful as it was, was off in a way.

Before he could question the events that were transpiring at this moment, she stepped towards him. Her sapphire eyes bore deeply into his face as she cupped his face in her delicate hands. "I'm really here," she whispered, brushing her lips against his cheeks. "I'm here if you want me."

As she planted soft kisses along his cheeks and jaw, Sam came to the realization that this was definitely happening. There was so much he wanted to tell her. The thoughts and feelings he buried deep inside him were threatening to overwhelm him. Declaring his love for her was on the tip of his tongue. However, he found that the drinks he had at the bar clouded his brain, much to his dismay.

He sighed in disappointment, his pale eyes heavy-lidded. "Ah…" he mumbled, desperately trying to get the words out of his damned mouth. The alcohol had made his tongue feel too thick to produce cogent words.

A slender finger was placed between his lips. "You don't have to say anything," she murmured. "Just show me."

He lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers as he drew her slim body closer. Staring deeply at her beautiful, flushed face, he nodded his understanding. Then the former coal miner's calloused hands unhooked her bra, slipping it off of her with care. Feeling increasingly inebriated from the feel of her skin underneath his fingertips, his movements became bolder.

"Ya feel so good," he said thickly, gathering her into his arms. There was no way he was about to wait any longer. His body and his heart did not allow him that kind of luxury. He had to touch her, have more of her, and show her how he felt all this time.

Scooping her lithe body into his loving arms, Sam carried her to the bed. Jubilee rose to her knees, staring up at him with her dazzling eyes. He smiled dreamily as her mouth covered his in a lingering kiss. Her fingers danced across his chest, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off of him. She sighed against his mouth when her hands descended to his jeans. Within a matter of seconds, they, along with his boxers, joined the other articles of clothing on the floor. He drew back, much to their mutual disappointment. Hurriedly, he kicked off his hiking boots and socks. Then, fully undressed, he lowered his long, lean frame on the bed.

"Sweetie," he murmured, unzipping her boots. He discarded one boot, gently easing it off her slim foot. "Ah can't believe yer here…"

She propped herself up on her elbows, blue eyes watching him by the pale moonlight that streamed through the blinds. "I am," she reassured him, tossing her hair over one perfect shoulder as he disposed of the second boot. Her breathing steadily increased as his fingers slid up the inside of her leg. "Come to me…"

Sam willingly followed, ready to do anything she asked of him. He was entranced by her, heady with the sight and feel of her gorgeous curves underneath him. Without realizing it, he found himself on his back and gazing up at her.

Kneeling over him, she framed his face with her soft hands and leaned forward to meet his lips again. He stared at her lovely face, transfixed by how lucky he was to have this angel. As real as all of this felt, his mind could not let go of the feeling that something was amiss. In the back of his mind, there was a nagging voice screaming at him that somehow, this was wrong.

Sensing his trepidation, she drew back slightly. "Are you okay?" she asked in a breathy, but increasingly raspy voice.

His pale eyes gazed at her delicate features. "Ah've been alone for so long," he said quietly, placing his broad hands over her small ones. He rested his forehead against hers and sighed wearily. It was harder and harder for him to express himself with words. He was not sure if it was the alcohol or the intensity of the moment that was draining his rational mind. "Ah was gettin' used ta bein' by myself…"

"You don't have to worry about that," she told him, her voice suddenly husky. Her mouth brushed against his in an affectionate kiss before she added, "There's just us tonight."

Sam smiled, his elation returning and flooding his senses once again. Then he pulled her down on the bed with him. Propping himself up on an elbow, the Southern gentleman ran his hand across her supple skin. Gone were his doubts of this experience not being some illusion. The feel of her, the sound of her moans and sighs, and the exquisite sight of Jubilee naked in his arms pushed those thought out of his consciousness. All he wanted to do was to believe that he finally had what he desired for so long.

Moments later, the two of them were panting for breath as they lay quiescent in each other's arms. The heat they had generated together permeated the air in the room, their sweat mixing together in a musky fragrance. Their limbs were shaking in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

Sam was the first to break the silence. "Are ya…?" he began, staring deeply into her sapphire eyes. His tone and the look etched across his features were searching desperately for some indication that she did not regret what just occurred. Somehow, his mind was collected enough to be aware of this concern.

She pressed her fingers against his mouth tenderly. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled up at him. "I'm fine," she replied huskily, smoothing his straw-colored hair from his forehead. Then she added, "You were…incredible."

Heart racing with indelible joy, he managed a grin. He took her hand away and kissed her. "So were ya," he told her earnestly, yearning for a way to express further what he was feeling at the moment. Again, words and the means to put them together into meaningful sentiment were far from his mind. His alcohol-and-sex-induced fatigue was beginning to get the better of him.

She shifted against him slightly in an attempt to sit up. "I've got to use the restroom," she informed him, watching his pale eyes become heavy-lidded.

The Southern gentleman suppressed a yawn. He pointed to the doorway of his private bath on the other side of the room. "Right there," he told her, hearing the bedsprings creak as she rose. He leaned over and took her hand, pressing his lips against it. "Don't be too long."

"I won't."

Sam smiled and fell back onto his pillow. For the first time in what seemed to be ages, he was going to be able to sleep peacefully tonight. Adding to this wonderful prospect was the fact that the girl he had wanted for so long was now his. Fondly, he watched her traipse towards the bathroom. His eyelids felt heavier and heavier in spite of his attempts to force them open. Just before they closed and slumber overtook his weary mind, he could have sworn that as the moonlight illuminated her form, her hair looked red and curly.

Meanwhile, Kitty ascended the stairs, drinking a bottle of water she had grabbed from the kitchen. She was ready for a night in with the latest Harry Potter novel, wearing a long-sleeved, green shirt and navy, flannel pajama pants with sheep embroidered on them. Her wavy, brown hair was arranged in a loose ponytail with tendrils framing her face.

The recent college graduate was nearing her room when she heard a series of strange noises from behind one of the doors. Curious, she paused in her steps. To investigate would not constitute nosiness, she decided. _After all, I live across the hall. If something's up, I should be concerned, right? That, and it might interfere with my sleep._

As she attempted to discern which room the sounds were coming from, her ears picked up on a door opening at the other end of the hallway. She turned her head to see who was approaching. Heaven forbid the person should be Emma Frost. The former Hellfire Queen was currently occupying the top slot of her list of least favorite people around the mansion.

Much to her relief, the blond telepath was not making her way down the hallway. As the person came closer, Kitty placed a finger to her lips. "Shh…" she whispered, still trying to figure out the source of the noises.

"What's going on?" Jubilee asked in an equally hushed voice, sapphire eyes round as saucers. She pulled nervously at the strap of her green tank top with blue trim, which was paired with blue-and-white striped pajama pants. Carrying a burnt-out light bulb in her hand from Bobby's room, she was in search of new ones from the utility closet downstairs. She was distracted from her task when she saw Kitty in the midst of what she construed as spying.

"Listen." Kitty tilted her head towards the direction of the sounds, which were muffled but increasingly louder.

Jubilee bit her lower lip, smiling impishly as if they had uncovered some naughty piece of information. While the noises could easily be heard at this point, they were still not defined enough to identify exactly what was going on. "What is that, dude? Better yet, where's it coming from?"

Kitty shrugged, but was intensely focused on discovering the answer. She frowned thoughtfully, the sounds becoming clearer with each passing second. Taking great care not to make her presence known, she crept quietly to follow the trail of noises. She suddenly found herself in front of the door from which they were emanating.

"Well?" Jubilee raised her brows expectantly. Her curiosity was certainly piqued. Given that none of the doors had any identifying markers to indicate their occupants, it was difficult to know for sure who was responsible for the guttural noises.

Kitty put the cap back on her bottled water. She leaned her head towards the door again, confident that she correctly deducted the individual. The young woman nearly jumped when she heard a deep groan. Her heart-shaped mouth formed a sly grin. "Looks like our friend from Kentucky got lucky."

Inside the Sam Guthrie's private bath, water splashed in the sink. After several seconds, the faucet was turned off. Grabbing a towel from the nearby rack, the occupant dried her face and hands. Slowly, she pulled it away and stared at her reflection. Gone was the image she temporarily taken on earlier that night, replaced by her true form—long, curly, auburn hair, four, thick horns, which matched the red in her skin and eyes.


	40. Chapter 40

I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, but things have been nuts with being on vacation and starting a new job.

Thanks again for your patience and feedback. I love hearing from you.

There's no explicit chapter here... Sorry about that. I'll see what I can work out for the next chapter. Enjoy!

**Chapter Forty: Gentleman**

There was always a strangeness associated with spending the night with someone the following morning. This was especially true when alcohol was involved. No matter whom the other person was or how incredible the events that transpired the night before were, the lingering awkwardness between the two individuals remained. Making small talk was deemed as daunting and painful in spite of the intimacy shared previously. It was as if the closeness achieved that night dissipated into the shadows.

This was no different for Sam Guthrie as he awoke the next day. The trepidation he was experiencing threatened to drown out memories of what happened the night before. He was not one who often engaged in one-night stands. Hell, he would have to say that last night was his first time.

Unfortunately, compounding the situation was the thudding headache that pulsated through his entire head. It was nothing like any he felt before. The pain was dull and throbbing. For a moment, he thought there was some sort of mutating tumor inside his head that was on the brink of exploding. Inwardly, he cursed the Molson brewery and the alcoholic product they peddled to willing consumers such as himself.

However, he realized something as he lay on his side, facing the window on that overlooked the front lawn of the mansion. His headache was minor in comparison to the fluttering emanating from his stomach. At first, he attributed the sensation from the plethora of beers he imbibed at The Robin. He had lost count after the first five and barely had anything to eat with the exception of a handful of stale pretzels. Yet, as much as the former coal miner wanted to believe that the alcohol had affected every fiber of his being that much, he was aware that was not completely true. There was something—rather, someone else that was causing his belly to perform a series of flip-flops.

Jubilee.

Sam blinked, vacillating between disbelief and utter panic. As much as he wanted to roll over and wrap his loving arms around her, he did not. There was a part of him that clamped down on this impulse. Almost immediately, his insecurities began to assail him. Who was to say that last night was not some fluke? Perhaps Jubilee had a fight with Bobby, and she decided to hurt her boyfriend by sleeping with another man. Her murmurs of wanting Sam and her reassurances and promises that he was no longer alone—could they have been lies?

By facing her this morning, he would also confront the possibility that what transpired between him and Jubilee meant nothing to her. As someone who thought of himself as brave in the face of all kinds of dangers, Sam could not quite bring himself to deal with the likelihood of his worst fears being true. It was almost as painful as not being with her at all.

Heart thudding in his chest with anxiety from these ruminations, he attempted to replay the night's events in his head. Instead, he was only able to summon brief flashes, which assailed his consciousness like a searing knife to his brain. Feelings of love and warmth enveloped every fiber of his being as their limbs intertwined. There was the woman he was desperately in love with underneath him, smiling and moaning in that raspy voice. For a split second, he remembered how she smelled like whiskey and cigarettes.

It was then that he stopped breathing.

Jubilee's voice was not raspy.

Most notably, Jubilee did not smoke or drink.

Sam inhaled sharply, his lean frame shuddering. _What's going on?_ he asked himself._ It was real. Jubilee chose me. I spent the night with her. We made love last night. I know we did. I should be jumping out of my skin. After all that time longing for her, I ought to be happy._

His forehead wrinkled as his features arranged themselves into an anxious expression. _But why do I get this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that something's wrong?_

The Southern gentleman's internal musings were interrupted when he heard the bedsprings of his mattress creak softly. At first, he surmised that Jubilee was moving around in her sleep. However, this proved not to be the case when he felt her body edge closer to his. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_I have to face her,_ Sam told himself, pressing his lips together in a determined line. _Avoiding her isn't going to make things easier. I have to know what she's thinking after last night. Neither one of us is going to back to living normally unless we figure things out._

With that, he slowly turned over on his other side. A shaky exhale escaped from his lips. The sound was quickly trapped in his throat once his gaze fell upon Jubilee.

What met his eyes was rather unexpected indeed.

Instead of hypnotic, sapphire depths, crimson eyes peered back at him. Long, silky black hair with midnight-blue highlights was replaced with thick, curly auburn hair that frizzed in the morning light. The creamy skin that Sam remembered caressing the night before was now red. Sprouting from the crown of her head were four horns, which were thick and twisted.

_What the hell?_

A lump quickly formed in the back of his throat, making it hard for him to breathe. Clearly, this was not the woman he slept with. Where was Jubilee? What happened to lovely vision that long haunted his dreams? How could he possibly mistake this individual for his Jubilee?

While these questions pounded his consciousness mercilessly, there were was another important matter to attend to. His mind raced in order to figure who this person was. Mentally, he scrambled his memory, searching for information that would identify this woman. His pale-blue eyes widened once his initial shock and haze wore off, and he realized who it was.

The waitress from The Robin.

Oh God.

As much as he wanted to jump away from her, Sam managed to have the presence of mind to put on a calm façade. He willed himself not to hyperventilate. Swallowing hard, he drawled in a low voice, "Hey."

Pulling the rumpled sheets over her breasts, the waitress bit her lower lip as she sat up. Her expression, awkwardness mixed with guilt, clouded her features. Apparently, she was experiencing the same apprehension about the morning after. This was further evident in her scooting several inches from him prior to responding.

"Hi," she rasped, briefly averting her gaze from Sam's face. After a few seconds, she peered up at him. From the way he was looking at her, it was all too clear that he was not thrilled about seeing her. Despite his efforts to appear calm and collected, she could discern his shock. The panic in his pale-blue eyes and the wrinkles of concern that etched his forehead spoke volumes. There was only one conclusion she could draw from his presentation.

He did not want her.

The realization was bitter and somewhat painful, exacerbating the humiliation that threatened to overwhelm her at that moment. Part of her wanted to hate him, to make him feel the hurt that stung every fiber of her being. And yet, she could not quite bring herself to do that. In the end, she had to own up to her own culpability in the situation.

Taking a deep breath to keep from choking, she said, "I guess we need to talk."

Sam's cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment as he sat up. Grimacing, he nodded in agreement. The aching in the pit of his stomach made things harder for him to even fathom a conversation at this point. However, he knew that they had to discuss what happened.

The waitress watched him as he leaned against the headboard, rubbing his forehead wearily. "Hungover?" she inquired.

"A little," he admitted sheepishly. He raked a calloused hand through his straw-colored hair and turned to her. "So what about ya? Ah mean, how are ya doin'?"

She shifted slightly, wincing. Her nipples were tender from his ministrations last night, and she was sure they were bruised. Sweat trickled down between her breasts and thighs. There was a residual tenderness and stickiness between her legs.

"A little sore," she finally replied. Immediately, she regretted her words when she noticed his pale-blue eyes widen. Then she mumbled, "Sorry."

Sam tried to compose himself. He was not used to explicitly talking about sex with anyone. It was part of his modest background, where such things were often glossed over. There was a part of him that liked to concentrate on the romantic aspects of lovemaking. "It's OK," he told her, finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes on her. For the life of him, he could not recall making love to this woman. He wanted to remember; for fear that he was losing his mind. Unfortunately, his memories of their time together involved Jubilee moaning underneath him. Perhaps he was truly going insane.

The waitress's husky voice broke into his thoughts as she began to speak. "I-I know you were expecting someone else here," she managed, her voice cracking. As he opened to protest, she shook her head. "You don't have to deny it to spare my feelings or anything like that. I know you wanted it to be her."

His jaw dropped in surprise. Was it that obvious? "How did ya know?" he asked. Granted, it was unmistakable that this woman was a mutant based on her appearance, but whether or not she had any abilities to speak of was left unknown.

"I could tell," she answered slowly, plucking at the sheets. She lifted her chin, her maroon eyes staring deeply into his face. "You see, I'm an empath. I can read your emotions, which I have to say, are quite palpable. At the bar, it was really clear that you were thinking about her, about being with her. It tore you up inside because you knew that you couldn't. Even now, I can feel your wanting for her."

Sam inhaled sharply, not quite believing what he was hearing. It was not the woman's empathic qualities that surprised him. Rather, his astonishment stemmed from the fact that she could read past the defenses he had used for the past year. He was under the belief that he was fooling everyone; that his secret was safe. Now, it was undeniable that he had failed.

Before he could curse his carelessness, the waitress continued to talk. The tone she used was somber, her voice low with her own ambivalence. "Last night, I just remembered seeing you and sensing what you felt, and I was just so sad. I mean, you seemed like such a nice guy. You didn't deserve to go through any of that.

"So, I tried to reach out to you, but you were so far gone. I guess you put away a lot. When I saw you heading out, I wanted to make sure you weren't going to do something stupid like drive yourself home."

The Southern gentleman gave her a quizzical look. He distinctively remembered Jubilee being the one he met in the hallway of the bar. It was her sweet face that entranced him, compelled him not to do anything rash. As inebriated as he might have been, he was quite certain that he had talked to Jubilee. He was willing to stake his life upon it.

"No, ya didn't," he finally said, shaking his head. "Ah know Ah was drunk, but Ah know it wasn't ya. She… She came ta me and…" For some reason, it was hard for him to complete his sentence at that moment.

"She wasn't there." The woman bit her lower lip with her sharp teeth. Her long fingers nervously twirled her frizzy curls. She then began to pull her hair in front of her face, as if it were a shroud to hide her face. "I know."

Sam continued to shake his head. "No… Ah saw her. Ah might not know what else happened or how ya got here, but Ah was with her."

"But it wasn't her." The waitress insisted, chin trembling. She cringed as she mulled over her part in dashing his hopes, sending him into further despondency. A large part of her wanted to avoid where this discussion was going altogether, but she knew that was not possible now.

Meanwhile, the former coal miner felt an overwhelming sense of alarm spread throughout his body. His heart beat wildly inside his chest and his limbs began to shake. The night of bliss was simply an illusion? No, it couldn't. Surely, he was not that far gone with his feelings for Jubilee to have his mind play such cruel tricks on him. "Ah was with her," he cried, his tone bordering on desperation. "Ah held her. Ah made love ta her."

"And I'm telling you that wasn't her."

"What did ya do to her?"

"She was never here."

"How? How can that be?"

"Because…"

"Because? Because what?"

"Listen, before I tell you, I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. I didn't want you to freak out like this. I honestly thought you wanted to be with me. I mean your emotions… It's complicated."

"Explain it ta me."

"You were lonely. You needed to be with someone. You needed her. I thought if I just…"

"Just what? What did ya do?" Sam felt his shoulders hunch over, his apprehension rising with each passing second. His mind was screaming the possible answer, but he needed to have her confirm things. "What are ya talkin' about?"

The woman's red eyes grew glassy with tears. "Please… Please don't be mad. I only wanted to be with you. I didn't want you to think you were always going to be alone."

He drew away from her, gathering the rumpled sheets around his waist. "Stop sayin' that," he said flatly. "Stop sayin' that and tell me what yer talkin' about. Now." To his own ears, he sounded unusually harsh and cold given the gentle manner he normally addressed others with. However, at this moment, rational thought did not apply as his emotions got the better of him.

She could sense his anger, which emanated from him. Though she was sure that he was not the type to violently lash out, his response to what she was about disclose made her anxious nonetheless. Everything she had told up to now was all true: there was no intention on her part to inflict any kind of pain on him. All she wanted to do was to assuage it, to take it away somehow by giving him what he desired. Reflecting upon this decision, she cursed her naiveté when she saw that her objective was not achieved. In fact, her actions seemed to have the complete and total opposite effect. Here was this sweet-faced guy, on the verge of a nervous breakdown because of her.

Surely, there was a place reserved in hell for her.

Sam watched a tear roll down her red cheek. For a moment, he froze, reeling from what was happening. As much as he wanted to pursue the truth, he knew there was a better way of obtaining the information he needed. The last thing in the world he dreamed of doing was reducing this woman to tears. It was obvious to him that whatever she had done, she was cognizant that it was wrong and was remorseful. There was no need for him to exacerbate things.

Mentally, he pulled himself together in order to attempt another approach. "Tell me what ya did," he pleaded, taking the edge from his voice. He then reached out to place his hand on her wrist and added guilelessly, "Please. Ah hafta know."

The waitress studied his earnest, farm boy face. The softening in his voice did quite a bit to soothe her nerves. His warm and comforting hand also helped. With the back of her other hand, she brushed away her tears. Then she took a deep breath, her shoulders shaking. "When I said I can read other people's feelings," she began slowly, "that was true, but it's not the only thing I can do."

Before he could inquire as to what other abilities she possessed, the waitress closed her eyes. Suddenly, her thick, auburn curls that frizzed in the morning light that streamed through the blinds became smooth and straight, darkening in shade until her tresses were black with hints of midnight blue. Her red skin gradually lightened in hue, reaching a creamy color. The horns that sprouted from the crown of her head disappeared. Delicate, Asian features soon replaced demon-like ones. When her eyelids fluttered open, gone were the maroon eyes. In their place were familiar blue depths that rivaled the finest sapphires. Her soft pink lips parted to reveal perfectly, straight white teeth, devoid of sharp edges.

Jubilee.

Sam choked out a sound that was inaudible. In spite of the fact that he had just witnessed the transformation, he still doubted his eyes. Instinctively, his calloused hand went from her wrist to her cheek, cupping it tenderly. The rational part of his mind was fully aware of what had just transpired. Yet, his heart would not allow him to even consider it.

"Ah really thought she was here," he whispered, his chest radiating a sharp ache that made him shake. His fingers stroked the soft skin underneath. The act quickly evoked memories of last night when he thought he was touching Jubilee, demonstrating the feelings he kept inside for so long. The desperate belief that he consummated things with the woman he loved was shattered. The proof was right in front of him.

_Because you're a damn fool, Sam Guthrie,_ he told himself. _You're a fool for even giving a thought that she would even want you. Of course, nothing even happened with her. Now, look at what you've done. You've allowed yourself to be had because you're so pathetic and heartsick. Sleeping with a woman who basically deceived you just for a messy one-night stand—that's real nice, Sam. Looks your infatuation blinded you and made you stupider… _

The Southern gentleman pressed his lips together to prevent any further sounds of anguish from escaping. However, he made no effort to mask his expression of despair and disappointment from being conveyed. He felt drained at this point. To put in a modicum of effort would have been too much.

Then he awkwardly withdrew his hand from her cheek. There was so much he wanted to say to her. Yet, words seemed to escape him. It was a great deal of information to process. He was afraid his head would never stop spinning from it all.

The empathic shape shifter cleared her throat. "I thought looking like this would make you happy," she said quietly, unnerved by his lapse into silence. "And it did. For a little bit."

"Ah thought ya were someone else," Sam replied bitterly. He frowned, not looking at her for fear of completing losing the thin fragments of his composure. "Ah love her."

The shape shifter's now blue eyes were sympathetic. "I know."

"Ya know? If ya know, then why did ya do this?" he demanded indignantly, peering at her and gesturing towards her appearance. "How could ya use my feelins against me? Ya manipulated me, made me think Ah was with the woman Ah loved. If ya wanted ta help me, ya shoulda left me alone. Ah woulda been bettah off."

When he saw the shape shifter's chin tremble, he relented and took the edge from his tone. He sighed wearily and raked a hand through his hair. "Ah'm sorry. Ah didn't mean ta yell…"

She sniffled, watching him turn to his bedside table to grab some tissues. Gratefully, she took them when he offered them to her. Dabbing her eyes, she whispered, "Thank you… But you're right to be mad. I made a dumb mistake. I thought I could help you. Looks like I've majorly screwed things up."

Sam rubbed his hand over the lower half of his stubble-ridden face. While he could not help but agree with her assessment, he did not feel he had a right to tell her so. After all, she was not solely responsible. There was his part in the situation to consider. He was no innocent in the matter. " _We_ screwed up," he corrected.

She blew her nose. "You? You didn't do anything wrong. It was all me. I made myself look like this. I slept with you even though it was plain as day that you were trashed. Given all of that, how could you think you did anything?"

"Ah coulda stopped it," he pointed out glumly. "Ah might have lots ta drink, but Ah knew where things were goin'. All Ah thought about was her."

"I honestly thought you knew it was me. I'm sorry."

"Ah'm sorry, too. Ah had no idea. If Ah did, well…"

"You wouldn't have slept with me."

"Ah—"

"Don't say that you would. I know better. You believed it was her and not me. My existence never really came into your consciousness until you rolled over this morning. I'm okay with that. I should have been bracing myself for that instead of thinking otherwise."

Then she ruefully stole a glance at him before speaking again. "I mean, I've seen you around the bar and you always seemed like a nice enough guy, not like the usual losers I hook up with. It's just that I thought I had a chance, you know."

Listening to her, it was difficult for him to be as upset as he was earlier. In a strange way, he was able to relate to her. Needing to be someone who seemed unattainable, believing for one brief moment that paradise was achieved. It was almost funny how closely their situations mirrored one another.

His pale eyes roved over her face. Her resemblance to Jubilee sent a shiver throughout his body. "Ah'm sorry," he repeated, not sure what else he could possibly say.

"It's fine, really." She put on bright smile, though her sapphire eyes were sad now that hope for her was gone. "You can't help who you love, right?"

Sam nodded dolefully in agreement. The poignancy of her statement made his shoulders sink. "Ah guess not," he mused in a low voice, mulling over the many nights he wished for his affections for Jubilee would fade into a distant memory, his internal chiding for feeling the way he did about her. He had come to learn all of his efforts were pointless. There was no way to change and he knew it.

The shape shifter, still appearing as Jubilee, scrutinized his somber expression with a thoughtful, solemn stare. "You really love her, don't you?"

"Yeah," he replied. Then he shrugged haplessly. "Don't really mattah, though."

She frowned at him quizzically. "Why not?" she inquired.

"'Cause she's with someone else," Sam explained dully. I Someone who would never do what I did. /I

"Oh." The waitress twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "So she doesn't know?"

He tore his stare from her. It was hard to look at the shape shifter at that moment since she reminded him so much of his Jubilee. "No. Ah guess she's bettah off that way. Ah'm no good for her."

The waitress tilted her head to the side sympathetically. "That's not true," she said softly.

Sam laughed bitterly, his pale eyes expressionless and almost dead. "She's happy with _him_ . Ah've seen them togethah. Ah ain't gonna get in the way of that. Ah care about her too much." Then he shook his blond head in disbelief, finding his words trite and almost cliché. Unfortunately, they were perfectly illustrated how he was feeling since his infatuation began. "Pretty damn stupid, huh?"

The Jubilee look-alike shook her head, black locks rippling down her graceful shoulders and back. "No," she said in a low, raspy voice as she peered into Sam's anguished face. "No, I think it's great. She doesn't know how good she has it."

Meanwhile, at the end of the hall, the door to Bobby's bedroom swung open. The boyishly handsome man with sandy hair wandered out, wearing a blue-striped, linen shirt with a pair of broken-in chinos and loafers. His gray eyes were bright behind his purple-tinted sunglasses. While he rarely wore his shades inside, he decided to wear them after Jubilee's comment this morning. As they were preparing to face a new day, she had slyly remarked that when he had his sunglasses on, he looked "dangerous". A fond smile touched Bobby's lips as he closed his door behind him.

Normally, his girlfriend would be at his side while exiting his bedroom. This day, however, found him on his own. Jubilee left early to go to campus in order to meet with a study group. Apparently, Halloween did not provide a refuge from midterms, particularly ones in art history and social psychology. Given that she had not been studying all that much for either one, she was anticipating long sessions.

In addition to being without Jubilee for the mansion's party preparations and quite possibly, the festivities, Bobby found himself saddled with the responsibility of showing a new student around. Originally, Jubilee was supposed to act as a tour guide, but soon asked him to take over for her. Most of the details she provided were vague since she was almost out the door when she pleaded for his help.

What he managed to gleam from her before she left was that the student was a young man from Southern California, who came to the school after his parents died in a car accident. His name was Benjamin Esition O'Maulley, but preferred to be called Ben for short. According to Jubilee, Ben was rather self-conscious about his abilities and was not keen on discussing them. It would be up to Bobby to show him around and be a friendly face for the new student to know.

Bobby checked his Swiss army watch. From the bustling and harried voices downstairs, he could tell that the staff and some of the residents were already setting up for the Halloween party. As he made his way down the hall and towards the stairs, he wondered if he would be able to catch Cook. There was nothing quite like delving into a plate of freshly made pumpkin cookies before anyone else. The prospect made his steps quicken.

As he neared the staircase, he saw Kurt and Tabitha standing outside of the corridor that led to the students' wing. Kurt's demon-like features were arranged in a grim expression as he shook his head. Meanwhile, Tabitha was holding a box of balloons and streamers. The blonde wild child was whispering something into the German's ear while raising her brows suggestively.

Curious, Bobby sauntered towards them. "What's going on, guys?" he inquired, gray twinkling with interest.

"I vas recruiting volunteers to put up decorations for the party and this is vat I found in Julian Keller's room." Kurt held up a plastic bag containing a dried, green organic material.

"Holy Cheech and Chong, Batman!" Tabitha exclaimed, pushing up the sleeves to her blue, long-sleeved thermal shirt. "Is that what I think it is?"

The German opened the bag, stuck his nose inside, and sniffed. "Ja," he said. "It's parsley. Apparently, the seasoning in Cook's meals isn't good enough for Herr Keller." Then he peered over at her and asked, "That is vat you vere thinking, vasn't it?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, exactly what I was thinking. Parsley." She grinned and swallowed hard, blue-green eyes twinkling.

Bobby snorted. He was not sure what amused him more—Kurt's oblivion or the lack of surprise that Tabitha was familiar with substances. In the end, it was a toss-up.

"So, should ve be bracing ourselves for any pranks?" Kurt asked, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards mischievously. Like the rest of the mansion, he was fully aware of Bobby's penchant for playing practical jokes. He suppressed a chortle of laughter when he thought about last year's stunt, where Bobby added Tabasco sauce to all of the punch bowls laid out. Even funnier was Logan's reaction upon downing a cup.

Bobby feigned a look of complete innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, exaggerating the shock in his voice. "Honestly, you must have me confused with another person." His words were belied by the crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna marry Prince William," Tabitha retorted sarcastically, magenta-painted lips curling into a knowing smirk. She shifted the box in her arms. "Listen, I'm not one to rain on your parade, Drake, but I wouldn't mess with Roberto tonight."

He looked at the blonde wild child quizzically, unaccustomed to this sense of caution radiating from her. "And why not?"

"Let's say he's not thrilled about his costume." With that, Tabitha winked and jogged down the hall and descended the stairs.

Bobby frowned thoughtfully at a chuckling Kurt, who was obviously knowledgeable as to what she was talking about. "Care to elaborate, Herr Wagner?"

The other man's golden eyes were mirthful as he composed himself to speak. "Ah, some of the New Mutants decided to go vit a 'Land of the Lost' theme," he explained. "Seems like Sunspot drew the short straw and is going as Chaka."

Bobby immediately burst into peals of laughter at the mental image of the suave, debonair Roberto DaCosta dressing as a primitive cave dweller. It almost made his sides hurt when he doubled over. "You do realize that we'll have to capture this on film," he said, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Ja, and put the pictures on the veb." Kurt added, grinning. Then he nodded towards the stairs. "I should go and help out vit things since there is quite a bit to do. Vill you be coming to the party?"

Bobby nodded, watching the German start walking away. "Should be," he told his friend. "I've got some things to take care of first."

"Understood, mein freund." Kurt was already bounding lightly down the stairs.

Bobby was about to follow him when he heard the creaking of a nearby door. Pausing, he turned his head to identify the location of the door as well as the occupant. His eyes widened with surprise when he noticed who it was. This was certainly not the sight he expected to see.


	41. Chapter 41

Back with an update. I hope to update on a more regular basis, but can't guarantee since things are kind of nuts with school.

There's an explicit version. If you want to read it, let me know.

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her help on this one.

The characters are Marvel's. I'm just playing with them.

On to the fic. Let me know what you think!

**Chapter Forty-One: Surprise**

With the door opened enough to lean out slightly was Sam Guthrie, bare-chested and clad in a pair of boxers. The tall, lean former coal miner's face was etched with lines of worry. His pale blue eyes darted from side to side, as if to survey whether or not there was anyone else in the hallway. When he saw Bobby, he swallowed rapidly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down furiously. It was almost as if he were frightened should the other man approach him. In response, he was about to shut the door.

Unfortunately for him, Bobby was not going to allow him a quick retreat. Much to his chagrin, his romantic rival wanted to engage him. "Hey, Sam," Bobby greeted, flashing an easygoing smile as he strolled towards him.

The Southern gentleman groaned inwardly. Of all the people he had to face at this moment, why did it have to be Bobby Drake? Immediately, he was convinced that someone in heaven was playing some kind of cruel joke at his expense. His pounding headache was now accompanied by a fluttering sensation in his stomach as he faced Bobby. He could feel his palms sweat profusely, adding to the feelings of awkwardness and fear. Silently, he prayed that the sandy-haired man would not discover what had transpired in his room, his deep-seeded jealousy and envy, and most importantly, his desire to make Jubilee his own.

Struggling to collect himself and portray a façade that implicated nothing was amiss, the eldest Guthrie put on a smile that threatened to stretch out his cheeks completely. "Oh, good mornin', Bobby," he replied, forcing his voice to project a calm, evenness. "What can Ah do for ya?"

"I was wondering if I could repay you for Valentine's Day and taking Jubes to that concert?" Bobby noticed that the other man's straw-colored hair was rumpled and that his eyelids seemed rather droopy. "Maybe I could buy you breakfast at the diner?"

Sam pressed his lips together, stifling another noise that would have ultimately expressed his sense of frustration. Apparently, trying to smuggle Misty, the waitress from The Robin, out of the mansion would prove more difficult than he initially anticipated. "Really, Bobby. Ah…Ah don't think Ah can."

Bobby watched him shift his weight from foot to foot. Rather than attributing Sam's behavior to any anxiety, he inferred that it was merely fatigue that played a role. Given how disheveled the Kentucky native appeared and the information Bobby learned last night from Jubilee about the noises coming from Sam's room, it all made sense.

That dog.

A sly smile crept across Bobby's boyish face. He never imagined the shy Southern gentleman was remotely capable of doing the things Jubilee hinted at when she returned to his room last night. Yet, he here was, looking as if he had a night of rough and tumble activities. "So, I take it you're still entertaining company?" he inquired impishly.

Sam felt the color drain from his face. I How the hell/I he wondered, his pulse racing wildly. Desperately, he searched Bobby's expression for a clue that would reveal whether or not he knew about the empathic shape shifter. He needed to brace himself for a tirade or possibly, a physical attack. From what he was able to discern from the other man, Bobby did not seem to be aware of any impropriety.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, Sam then shook his head vigorously. "No," he lied. "Ain't anyone here."

_That's not what I was told,_ Bobby mused. He kept his remarks and suspicions that Sam was not entirely honest to himself. Not that he was a living, breathing lie detector like Logan, but Bobby had the distinct feeling that he was being deceived. For what reason, he could not be entirely sure. Perhaps Sam was not keen on sharing the intimate details of his life with him. Or, it could be that Sam wanted to protect and maintain his reputation of being that innocent country boy. It was a mystery.

"Um, OK." Bobby finally said, gray eyes guileless. "Then I guess nothing's stopping you from allowing me to pay you back for being such a stand-up guy."

At that moment, Sam felt like the biggest bastard in the world. _If you only knew,_ he thought, _If you knew what I was really like. If you knew how much I wanted your girlfriend. If you knew what kind of bastard I was for wishing to God that something would break you guys up. Then would you still think I'm such a great person?_

Cheeks beginning to burn with embarrassment and shame, he turned away. "Aw, ya don't have ta do anythin'," he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. "It was mah pleasure." Quickly, he regretted his words and wondered if Bobby would be able to read anything into them.

Fortunately, Bobby remained oblivious to his uneasiness. "No, I want to," he insisted. "It's only fair. Just get some clothes and we can head out. Again, it's my treat."

Sam mentally cursed Bobby's persistence in the matter. "Ah'm not feelin' like goin' inta town right now."

"Oh. We wouldn't have to go out."

"Even so, Ah don't think Ah'm up ta anythin'."

"How about just grabbing something from the kitchen? I'm sure Cook wouldn't mind."

"Ah ain't feelin' up ta anythin' like that."

"Well, what about a cup of coffee?"

"Ah said no!" Sam replied brusquely, placing a calloused hand over the lower half of his stubble-ridden face. When he realized that his response struck the other man as odd, he quickly backtracked and attempted to take the edge off. Sighing, he apologized. "Ah'm sorry, man. Ah just had a rough mornin', is all."

Bobby nodded, still perplexed by Sam's outburst. The small nagging part of him that warned something was out of the ordinary with the other man became more and more prominent in his consciousness. As he peered into the elder Guthrie's bleary-eyed features, he wondered if he should be at all concerned about his peculiar demeanor. After all, this was not the person he had come to know and at one time, lived with.

In the end, Bobby decided to push his doubts aside and gave Sam a reprieve by allowing the moment to pass without incident. "OK," he said finally. "Maybe a rain check then."

"Sounds good ta me." Sam winced, his insides clenching furiously with extreme tension. The lies he was spewing seemed to be taking their toll on him. It was then that he determined that a quick exit from this encounter had to be made. "Listen, Ah'm gonna go back ta bed. Ah'll see ya around." With that, he promptly closed the door, not waiting for a response from Bobby.

Then he leaned against the door and slid down to the floor, holding his heavy head in his hands.

Puzzled, Bobby stared at the mahogany door for what seemed to be an eternity. Surely, a simple hangover could not be totally accountable for Sam Guthrie's bizarre demeanor. There was a skittishness that emanated from the other man during their entire conversation. Last time Bobby checked, alcohol was a depressant, whose effects tended to make one appear sluggish not keyed up like Sam.

Briefly, he contemplated knocking on the door and conducting a proper investigation. Before he rapped his ready fist, he paused. Replaying the events that transpired earlier in his mind, it was evident that what was behind Sam's evasiveness was none of Bobby's business. The implicit messages that were being conveyed through the other man's presentation were proof enough. As someone who liked the Southern gentleman and considered him a friend, Bobby made up his mind to respect his privacy. Stepping away from the door, he then chalked up what happened to an off day for Sam and left it at that.

_It's not like he's trying to hide something from me,_he told himself with a wry smile across his lips._I mean, whatever's bothering him has nothing to do with me. Hell, he'd probably be more freaked out if I tried to pry at all. He's better off dealing with his issues alone. _

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his chinos, Bobby headed towards the stairs. He ambled down with a casual ease. As he neared the bottom, he could smell the spiciness of the cider that Cook bought specifically for the party. Various voices echoed throughout the halls, reflecting the busyness that was associated with the preparations. Yet, the excitement and fun was not completely lost. This was apparent from the boisterous laughter heard from almost all of the rec rooms.

When he reached the main floor, Bobby was on his way to the kitchen. There, he hoped that Cook would accept his offer of assistance with taste-testing the finger food to be served. He could picture the portly Englishwoman's mock stern face as she admonished him about even asking in the first place. Then she would relent, as she always did, with a sly and knowing wink that made the lines from her eyes fade.

However, he found himself stopping in his tracks when he saw someone standing in the foyer. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a young boy with short, blond hair and a matching goatee. His features were delicate, not at all rugged like most men, and did not look over nineteen. He was small and slender, wearing an oversized, gray T-shirt that read 'P is for Playa' with a long-sleeved, button-down shirt and baggy jeans to exaggerate his slight frame. His eyes were hidden by a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses. On each finger of both hands were silver rings of differing styles. As he stood in the large, high-ceilinged front hall, he appeared somewhat disoriented.

"Can I help you?" Bobby asked. As an instructor, he pretty knew every student enrolled at the school. However, this young man was not familiar to him.

The young man nodded, peering up at him. "I'm new here," he said, his voice a deep, low alto. "Name's Benjamin Esition O'Maulley, but people call me Ben."

Bobby's face instantly lit up, remembering that this was the student he was supposed to show around. "Hey, there, Ben." He extended a hand. "I'm Mr. Drake, one of the teachers here. I'll be taking you around the school today instead of Ms. Lee."

Ben shook his hand firmly and then slipped his hand away. He mumbled, "Oh. OK."

Bobby looked around, searching for the boy's luggage. When he noticed he had nothing but a backpack, he frowned quizzically. "Where are the rest of your things?"

"I don't have anything else," Ben replied dully. "All I've got is what's on my back. I didn't feel like taking much from home. It's too much hassle."

Bobby's brows furrowed together. "You do realize that you'll be here all year round and that the only outfits that the school will supply you with are gym clothes and a training room uniform," he cautioned, eyeing the overstuffed backpack.

Ben shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll get along," he asserted firmly. "It's what I gotta do now that I'm on my own."

Bobby felt a pang of sympathy just then, remembering that the boy was an orphan. "I'm sorry."

The young boy shrugged again, as if accustomed to eliciting such a response. "Not your fault," he told Bobby flatly. "It's been a while now. Can't keep crying forever, you know."

"I-I guess not," Bobby agreed, his tone rather uncomfortable. Apparently, Ben was through with being the recipient of sympathetic gestures. In fact, he was making it difficult for Bobby to make any sort of connection at all. He was shielding himself in a way, placing a great deal of psychological distance between the two of them. Maybe this was his way of dealing with the world as a result of his life circumstances. While Bobby understood the basis of such an approach, he was aware of his role as an instructor, which was to help students integrate successfully into the fold.

As if reading his mind, Ben cleared his throat and said, "I just rather not talk about it, OK? I showed up here and that's enough right now. I'm all talked out for the moment."

_Yikes._Determined to overcome Ben's barriers of resistance, Bobby put on a friendly grin that was genuine and reached his gray eyes. "Well," he began, taking on a tone that reminded him of his mother. It took all his self-control not to cringe. "Since you don't have much, why don't we start with the tour and then I can check with Ms. Moonstar about where you're rooming?"

"OK." Ben shuffled in his brown leather clogs, making it more and more clear that he was not excited regarding the prospect.

Bobby inhaled sharply, wishing he had Jean's empathic ways with the students, especially in this situation. The statuesque redhead always knew exactly what to say. It did not hurt that she could probe other people's minds. Given that he was not about to suddenly become telepathic, he decided to move on to the best of his abilities.

"Let's start here with one of the recreation rooms," he said, gaining an authoritative quality to his tone. He motioned for the small boy to follow him. "As you can see, we're setting up for our annual Halloween party. The big, blue guy in the corner, stuffing his face with peanut butter cups is Dr. McCoy…"

Bobby spent the rest of the day taking Ben on an extensive tour of the mansion, including the recent additions of the atrium and the observation tower Forge helped to designed. He made sure to detail the policies of using some of the facilities, according to Professor Xavier and Scott. Because it was an unusually mild fall day, he led the new student around the Olympic sized swimming pool, stables, boathouse, greenhouse, and the hedge maze that was flourishing under Ororo's care. During this part of the tour, he talked about nearby Salem Center, where many of the students often liked to shop or eat out at.

He noticed that Ben was listening attentively, but still appeared rather noncommittal in his interest. His eyes were unreadable behind his blue-tinted sunglasses. Meanwhile, the rest of his face seemed hidden behind his moustache and beard, making it difficult to ascertain what he was feeling. For the most, he had very little say with the exception of a few questions about classes. All the while, Bobby could not help but think there was something eerily familiar about this boy he just met a few hours ago.

In an effort to reach out to this lonely boy, Bobby began steer the conversation away from school. "So, what do you like to do for fun?" he asked as they trekked towards the mansion from the greenhouse.

"I don't know," Ben answered, kicking some fallen leaves aside.

Bobby raised a skeptical brow at him. "Oh come on," he chided gently. "You're trying to tell me that you don't like doing anything for fun? What kind of teenager are you?"

A wry smile tugged at the young man's mouth, which was almost hidden by his moustache. "No."

"Come on," Bobby cajoled, aware that the boy was joking now. "There must be something."

To his surprise, Ben continued to smile even when they reached the patio and the French doors that led inside the mansion. "I like hanging out at the mall," he supplied, his voice low.

Bobby opened the door for him, motioning for the young boy to enter first. "That's a start. Anything else?"

"I like music." Ben waited for him. He watched Bobby close the door quietly. "Listening, not playing."

Bobby slipped off his shades and tucking them into his shirt pocket. "What kind of music do you like?" he inquired, observing that in spite of the fact that they were now inside, Ben did not remove his sunglasses.

"Bands you've probably never heard of." Ben scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He stepped back when a little girl with pink skin darted past, carrying orange and black streamers.

Bobby studied the young boy's delicate features, realizing that he was being teased. Relieved for the levity between them, he played along. "I'm not that much older than you. I'll have you know that I'm hip. Try me."

Ben looked at him warily. "OK," he said, accepting the challenge. "I like Coldplay, Travis, Keane, The Strokes, Snow Patrol…"

"I know all those bands!" Bobby looked incredulous, as if he expected for the young boy to ramble off more obscure groups. "I have all their CDs." Granted, most of them were contributions from Jubilee's collection, but still that counted, right?

Ben's mouth dropped open slightly. "Even the new Travis?" he asked in disbelief.

"Sure," Bobby replied, running a hand through his sandy hair. Jubilee had bought him the recent release while out shopping with Paige and Rogue last week. "Don't you?"

The young boy shook his head glumly.

Suddenly, Bobby was struck with an idea. "I can burn a copy for you," he suggested. "We pass the instructors' floor on the way to the boys' dorm, so we'll stop by my place first."

"OK." For the first time, Ben actually sounded happy to be at the school.

Moments later, they made their way to his room. Bobby quickly found the CD in question underneath the invitation Grace sent him for Ellie's baptism the following week. He flicked on his laptop, attaching the CD burner to one of the ports. Grabbing a blank, rewritable CD, he told Ben to have seat on one of the bean chairs and assured him that the process would not take very long.

Stillness fell over the room. Bobby sat at his desk, racking his brain for something else to talk about with Ben. Much to his astonishment, it was Ben who broke the silence.

"Do you ever feel different?" He rose from his spot in the bean bag chair to start pacing back and forth.

Bobby's brows rose as he sat at his desk. "What do you mean different?" he asked, surprised when the young boy was standing next to him.

"I don't know…Different." Ben shrugged, staring down at his clogs. Then he added, "Like you don't belong or something."

"I guess all of us have felt that at some point of our lives. I mean, that's what brought many of us here. For many people, this is home."

"No, I'm not talking about being… I'm not talking about_that._ "

"OK… Then what are you talking about?"

"Not being what you're supposed to be."

Bobby frowned, perplexed._That's rather cryptic,_he observed. "I'm sorry, but I don't really understand."

"It's like because of what you are, people—society expects something of you," Ben explained, fidgeting under Bobby's curious stare. "As a guy, you're supposed to be big and strong. You know, manly. Look at me. I'm nothing like that."

Bobby leaned back in his swivel chair, scooting it away from his desk slightly. "You shouldn't let other people dictate what you should or shouldn't be," he advised sagely. "The only thing that matters is how comfortable you are in your own skin. Society's expectations are, for the most part, unreasonable. Live how you want to live."

"Really?" Ben lifted his face up to peer at Bobby. He looked cautious and hopeful at the same time.

Bobby nodded.

Suddenly, the small, young boy flung himself on top of Bobby. He straddled Bobby's legs and cupped the man's head in his small hands. Then he leaned in, planting his mouth over Bobby's.

_What the hell is going on?_Bobby tried to squirm frantically, attempting to extricate himself from the embrace. To his amazement, Ben was quite strong. As his hands struggled to push the young boy off of him, he started to notice that there was something amiss. Ben was not what he appeared to be. In fact, the sense of familiarity Bobby picked up on during the tour was now growing stronger. There was a taste and feel about this kiss that he was intimately acquainted already. Instinctively, he allowed one of his hands to drift up to Ben's face, touching his blond goatee, and then curling his fingers around the hairs.

_RRRRRRRIP!_

"Ow!" Jubilee screamed, rubbing her cheeks and chin tenderly. Her sapphire eyes began to tear slightly behind the blue-tinted sunglasses. She glanced over at Bobby, who was holding up the false beard and moustache triumphantly. "That really hurt!"

Bobby smiled tenderly at her. "Sorry, Jubes," he apologized, throwing the false goatee on the floor next to him.

"How did you know?" she asked, slipping off the sunglasses and sniffling.

He smiled proudly. "I figured the name was an anagram. Benjamin Esition O'Maulley is actually, 'My name is Jubilation Lee'."

"Actually," Jubilee said reluctantly, "they're the names of the make-up guys in the theatre department."

After pulling off the blond wig and tossing it on the floor, he noted, "Oh, but your kiss kind of gave you away, too."

The redness in her cheeks and chin were fading. "I knew there were brains behind that pretty face," she remarked, peeling the remnants of the spearmint adhesive from her chin.

"So, where did all of this come from?" he inquired, amusement sparkling from his gray eyes as she climbed off of him. "Pretty elaborate, I must say."

She pouted, looking quite adorable at that moment. "It worked. I had you fooled." When he laughed, she stuck her tongue out at him and said, "If you had to know, I had some help from the theatre department at school. I wanted a costume that would surprise the all-knowing Bobby Drake."

He stood up and pulled her close to him. As hard as it was to admit, she did get the best of him. For a moment, he believed he had to provide both a talk about accepting one's sexual orientation and why making a pass at an instructor was inappropriate. Relieved that he did not have to do either, he decided to celebrate. "I have to agree with you," he murmured huskily. "But enough with the tricks, I'm ready for my treat."

She felt his hands, those loving and caring hands, remove her long-sleeved shirt and then her T-shirt. "What about my costume?" she demanded in mock protest. In truth, she did not want to fight off his advances.

Bobby pulled the ace bandages off, exposing her lush breasts. "I like this costume better," he told her, his voice low.

Jubilee moaned softly. Her hands were shaking as she continued to take down her hair, tossing the bobby pins on the floor by blond wig. She could feel her skin begin to prickle as if tiny, erotic fingers were massaging her entire body. As his hands raced to unzip her jeans, she was acutely aware of the tiny air currents across her form. She wanted to free her hands to pull him closer to her.

Closing her eyes, she found herself caught in the memory of Bobby's lips on her, wanting so much more. Seconds passed, but felt more like eons before she removed the last pin. Her thick, black hair with midnight-blue highlights tumbled down her back, ensnaring the boyishly handsome man. She opened her eyes when she felt her pants slide down her slender legs, overwhelmed by the arousal in her body. He was smiling in that way reserved just for her.

She stared at his lips, wishing they were on her again. "I could have saved some money and time if this was I _the_ /I costume you liked best," she quipped while she kicked off her shoes and socks, not at all self-conscious in her nudity. In fact, she relished it when she was with him.

"Maybe this is the kid in me talking," he said huskily, gray eyes twinkling when she began to help him out of his shirt, "but I happen to like unwrapping my treats."

"That's something we have in common, Drake," she whispered, tossing his shirt over her shoulder and admiring his broad chest. She was about to work on his pants.

"But you know what?" he pressed on, smiling when she shuddered against him. "I was never one to wait to enjoy my treats, either." With that, gathered her into his arms and carried his Jubilee to his king-sized bed.

He pressed his mouth over hers. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She smiled up at him, sapphire eyes twinkling. Her mouth opened to make a cheeky remark about this being the best Halloween treat ever when a chorus of cheers erupted from downstairs. "I guess they've started the party. Maybe we should head down there."

Bobby began to nip at her throat. "This is the only party I want to be at right now."


	42. Chapter 42

Sorry for the delay. Summer obligations are getting the best of me. Thanks again for being so patient. Here's the latest installment. There is an explicit version. If you'd like to read it, please let me know. Special thanks go out once again to Jo the Phoenix.

Thanks to all of you who have been leaving feedback. It's great to know people are still enjoying the fic. Please keep the reviews coming.

finally, the characters belong to Marvel, but the story is all mine.

**Chapter Forty-Two: All These Things That I've Done (Non-explicit)**

White sunlight from the morning sun streamed in through the partially-closed blinds that hung in Bobby Drake's room. The darkness that enveloped the room before was now dissipating, thanks to the brightness from the entrance of a new day. As the light crept through the room, it illuminated the furniture, the piles of student assignments that had yet to be graded, new CDs and DVDs that had been thrown on one of the bean bag chairs, and clothing that seemed to be strewn all over the hardwood floor.

Next, the early morning light danced along the king-sized bed across from one of the windows. The warmth that radiated caressed the cheeks of one of its occupants, causing her to stir slightly. Her eyelashes fluttered as the brightness traced across her delicate features. The light then fell across her hair, bringing out the midnight-blue in her tresses. Slowly, the young woman roused herself from repose, yawning and stretching her arms over her head.

_How is it morning already?_ Jubilee wondered, draping an arm over her head. _Seriously, someone must have invented a time machine and erased a few hours…_

She turned on her side, opening her eyes to see Bobby still sleeping peacefully. The corners of her mouth lifted to form an affectionate smile. It was hard for her to believe that he could manage to appear so adorable and endearing even while in slumber. He looked like an angel, his boyish face innocent in its expression. It seemed to belie the terribly naughty things he led her into doing the night before.

Her sapphire eyes twinkled mischievously as she replayed the evening's events in her mind, which led to their clothing being left on the floor. Contrary to what Lorna said, being with Bobby was not like babysitting. Nowhere near that. Though Jubilee herself was still new to the physical elements of a relationship, she was confident that Bobby knew what he was doing.

Perhaps the best thing about this intimacy between Bobby and her was that there was still this sense of specialness every time. He never acted as if sleeping with her was now an expected part of being together. Instead, he relished each time, declaring how much he loved her, how much he wanted her always. In the circle of his arms, she was made to feel important and cared for, which was his intent.

Jubilee, for her part, instilled a confidence that pierced through his deep-seated insecurities. She assured him through her words, her kisses, and her embrace. Each encounter was marked with her declaration that she shared his feelings and that she wanted nothing more than to be with him. Together, they were complete.

Her musings were shattered when the alarm clock buzzed shrilly next to her. Jumping, she leaned over towards the nightstand to switch it off. She cursed softly, admonishing herself for sleeping next to the clock. Still frowning, she saw that it was nine in the morning. Bobby had set it the night before so that they could get up in time for his goddaughter's baptism at eleven. Apparently, Joel had threatened him over the phone with bodily harm should Bobby arrive late.

Curious, Jubilee rolled over to face Bobby again. Much to her surprise, her boyfriend was soundly sleeping. It was as if he had never heard the alarm in the first place. There he was, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. The sheets were rumpled around him, leaving his broad chest and his stomach exposed to the cool air.

_Only Bobby could sleep through an alarm,_ she said inwardly, her expression reflecting her amusement. Hank had joked that Bobby slept through an earthquake when he, Bobby, and Warren were in Los Angeles with the Champions. Apparently, it had taken a pair of Logan's used socks on a stick to awaken Bobby.

Knowing that a simple nudge was not going to accomplish anything, Jubilee decided to wake Bobby in a more affectionate way. She ran her tongue around his ear and gently bit the lobe. "Bobby…"

Much to her astonishment, he rolled over, still asleep.

Smiling, she cuddled closer, sliding her slender body across his. "Bobby," she whispered, tapping his shoulder gently. "Bobby, it's time to get up."

She sat up, the sheets falling away from her. Then she leaned over him, kissing him lightly on the lips. Her mouth curled in a smile as she felt him respond, his hands rising to cup her head. Then she drew back to peer at him. His eyes were still closed, but it was clearly evident that he was merely toying with her by pretending to be deep in slumber. The smirk he was desperately trying to hide at this point was a dead giveaway.

Narrowing her crystalline eyes, Jubilee became inspired. With a devilish grin, her hand wandered down, pulling the bed sheets away from the lower half of his body.

Bobby's eyelids flew open. "Jubes…" he managed, his breath quickening.

"Good morning," she said softly.

He kissed her tenderly, brushing back tendrils of hair from her lovely face. "It certainly is."

Sam Guthrie bounded down the spiral staircase, his brown hiking boots making thudding sounds as he reached the main floor of the mansion. The tall, lean young man from Kentucky cast a weary-eyed gaze over his shoulder to make sure the surrounding rooms and hallways were clear. To his surprise, the normal flurry of activity from the rec rooms was absent, replaced with a strange stillness. Students and instructors who would usually occupy these areas were nowhere to be found this late morning. Sighing, he concluded they were probably off somewhere, free of the troubles that heavily weighed upon his mind.

Several days had passed since his morning-after encounter with the waitress from The Robin. The guilt that consumed his soul began to be diluted with the anxiety that surrounded the possibility of being found out. Following his run-in with Bobby, he managed to pull himself together enough to assist the woman in sneaking out of the mansion undetected. Luckily for him, Bobby was introducing a new student to some of the residents in one of the rec rooms that was being decorated for the party. As a result, Sam and the waitress, whose name he later learned was Misty, slipped away from the premises without much notice.

He took her back to the club, speeding against the crisp, autumnal sky and holding her close only for safety. During the trip, he tried not to look at her. At his request, she reverted back to her true appearance, but it was still difficult for him to even peer down at her. He still felt deceived, used—like some dumb pawn in a twisted game. Granted, her motives were not malicious, and she apologized several times, but Sam continued to experience a persistent sense of being had.

As they soared in the air over Westchester, words were nonexistent, leaving both of them to lapse into an awkward silence. It was as if they had run out of things to say since their discussion in his bed. There was nothing left but to leave each other and attempt to forget the whole sordid affair. Whatever interest the waitress might have had in him disappeared upon the realization that he could not reciprocate the attraction. He made it clear that he was not interested and never could be. The pretenses that would have been made about wanting to see her again were never put forth. Both of them knew better.

Because there was someone else in the picture.

When he and the waitress reached the parking lot, Sam vaguely remembered her making a half-hearted gesture to say good-bye to him. He knew that she was just as uncomfortable as he was, and wanted to leave him. Her words, telling him that he was a good guy, that he deserved the girl he really wanted, that she was not going to tell anyone about their encounter, did nothing to make the ache in his chest go away. The Southern gentleman merely nodded politely and waited for her to climb into her car before taking to the skies once again.

The fact that the indiscretion was only known to himself and the waitress did not assuage Sam's guilt. He felt as if he failed himself. Giving in to his desire and desperate belief that it was Jubilee he made love to, filled him with self-loathing and disgust. He had built these ideal standards, which he hoped to make himself good enough for her, but only saw them crumble when he slept with the shape shifter. How could Jubilee possibly want anything to do with him now, given what he had done? Granted, she would not be aware of the situation, but Sam was sure something he might do or say would allow her to discern what happened.

At first, he tried to avoid her. He spent long hours in the clinic, immersing himself in rehab for his leg injury. It allowed him to focus on something other than his misery and loneliness. Both Logan and Hank McCoy were impressed with his commitment to getting better. At one point, Logan, known for driving people quite hard in training, even commended Sam's effort and suggested to him that he "take it easy". In the eyes of the gruff loner, the young man seemed to be punishing his body instead of guiding it to recovery.

However, once his leg completely healed, there was no reason for him to be in treatment. So, he decided to move on to another activity to occupy his time and take him away from his troubles. The logical step, to him, was to approach Ororo about joining her team again. To his dismay, the graceful weather witch informed him that the roster was currently full, but that she would certainly keep him in mind once opening came up.

At her suggestion, he then made an inquiry to Scott about the other active teams. Unfortunately, he received similar news from Scott, learning that Alex's team was full and that the one led by Scott was also complete. He was further disappointed to learn that Nathan, who had been in touch recently with his father, would be involved in some covert operations and therefore, would not be readily available for contact. Leaving Scott's office then, Sam gloomily watched his viable options fade away. It was as if there was some strange conspiracy, forcing him to stay and dwell in his desolation.

For Sam, the following weeks were rather difficult to deal with. Faced with the prospect of having to stay at the mansion and running into Jubilee on a continuing basis, he shut himself away in his bedroom. It was just easier to be alone, to mull over the consequences. Invitations from Roberto to go out for drinks at their favorite place in town were turned down, as were repeated solicitations from Dani, Amara and Rahne to accompany them to dinner in the cafeteria. When his younger siblings, Jay and Melody, tried to elicit information as to what was troubling him, he simply waved off their attention, telling them they should focus on their studies instead of him.

Yet, even isolation proved to be futile. It only left him to ruminate about his predicament, questioning his judgment, and criticizing who he was. His thoughts also continued to revolve around Jubilee, and how happy she seemed to be with Bobby. Obviously, she did deserve that joy, that sparkle of delight in those hypnotic eyes. Never mind that it killed him to know that she was with someone else and not him. Never mind that she would never be aware of how Sam truly felt about her. In the end, it was her happiness that really mattered. Everything else seemed rather immaterial.

Besides, there was no chance Jubilee would ever have anything to do with him.

Not ever.

Not after what he had done.

Being under the same roof as the object of his unrequited love was slowly eating away at his sanity. As much as he struggled to retain the appearance of normality, he was uncertain as to how much longer he could keep up the façade. Sleep was a friend that eluded him on a frequent basis, leaving him haggard. His antisocial tendencies were beginning to attract attention from friends and family, who were now making regular stops to his room to check in with him.

No longer able to live this lie, Sam finally made a decision. As he zipped up his down-filled parka that he wore over his maroon, half-zip sweater, blue-striped shirt, and jeans, he was confident that he was doing the right thing. For the first time in what seemed to be an eternity, he felt he could find some reprieve. Slinging his army-style, nylon duffle bag over his shoulder, the Southern gentleman made his way to the front door.

"Where are you going?" a voice inquired just as his hand gripped the knob.

Startled, he turned around. His pale eyes widened when he saw Paige behind him, perched on the last step. She looked as if she had just rolled out of bed, wearing a blue-and-green plaid, flannel robe over a pair of matching boxers and a periwinkle T-shirt. Her straw-colored hair was arranged in a messy ponytail with tendrils framing her unmade face. As she stood there, Sam was quickly reminded of the tomboy he used to tease so long ago. It was hard for him to even fathom that his little sister was now an adult, involved with Xavier's cause, and dating a man who was older than him.

Quickly, he collected himself. "Goin' back home."

The younger Guthrie frowned thoughtfully, her fingers tapping against the banister. "Why?" she asked.

He racked his brain to come up with something plausible. "House needs some work," he replied, his stomach turning as he lied. "Momma says the cellar's leakin' and the yard looks like hell. She ain't got the money to hire someone to help, so Ah'm gonna see what Ah can do."

"Oh." Paige nodded slowly. The Guthries' rambling, 1930s-inspired cottage was constantly in need of repairs. While it was often characterized as too small, too drafty, and too run-down, the house in the backwoods of Kentucky was still home to them.

Sam pressed his lips together, trying to assess whether or not his sister was buying into his excuse. Taking her neutral response as an affirmation, he cleared his throat. "Well, Ah should get goin'. Ah'll call ya when Ah get there."

When he faced the door and began to turn the knob, she stopped him. "Wait," she said.

Suppressing a frustrated sigh, he turned his head to peer over at her. "Yeah?"

"How long are you going to be there?"

"Ah don't know."

"Do you have an idea when you'll be back?"

"No… Ah guess when Ah finish helpin' out."

"Oh."

"Is that it?"

"I think so."

"Great, 'cause Ah really gotta go." Sam winced slightly, detecting the eagerness in his voice as he uttered that statement. He attempted to recover by nonchalantly placing a hand on Paige's shoulder. In the most protective, older brother voice he could muster, he told her, "Look afta Jay and Melody, OK?"

Paige gave him a small smile, fully aware that their younger siblings were a source of concern for Sam since their arrival at the school last year. "I will," she promised.

"Good." He forced a grin of his own, but felt that the expression did not quite reach his grim eyes. Then he drew his hand back and turned to the door once again. "Ah'll see ya, Paige."

"Have a safe trip, Sam," she said, watching him open the door. "Say hi to Momma for me."

"Ah will." He could already feel the brisk, late autumn wind against his stubble-ridden cheeks.

Suddenly, the younger Guthrie piped up once more. "You know what's funny, Sam?"

Shoulders slumping as his attempts to leave were thwarted again; he tried to hide his annoyance upon responding. "What?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Paige crossed her arms over her chest. "I just talked to Momma last night, and she said that for once, everything around the house was fine."

Sam froze, the color slowly draining from his face.

The blond metamorph tilted her head to the side as she studied her brother's retreating back. "So, you wanna tell me why you're really leaving?"

_Busted._ He closed the door. Then he slowly turned around, his face somber. "Ah can't," he muttered. "Ah just need ta get outta here."

The first thing she noticed was his pale eyes and how they were filled with pain. It was the kind of pain that seemed to affect every aspect of his existence, not allowing him to find comfort and solace in anything. She could see how it gnawed away at him, draining him physically and emotionally. The person standing in front of her was not the older brother she knew and love. This individual seemed consumed with self-loathing and guilt, despondent over the circumstances in his life. He would have rather fled than to deal with the situation that was troubling him.

At that point, she knew she did not have to ask any more questions. The pieces were falling into place. It was quite clear what the source of this distress was, or rather who.

Ever since the Lonely Hearts' Club outing on Valentine's Day, Paige had her suspicions. She observed how Sam's face lit up when he danced with Jubilee—almost as if holding her in his arms was the best thing in the world. It had been quite some time since Paige had seen her brother so happy and so carefree. Serving as an active member of one of the teams had taken its toll on him. He had become more jaded and weary of the world. But all of this disappeared when he was with Jubilee. Suddenly, the wide-eyed farm boy once lost emerged from the shadows.

Initially, Paige found herself with some reservations about she witnessed. After all, this was her brother, someone who always looked upon her roommate and best friend as another sibling to coddle. He often made this clear whenever he teased them.

Then there were the differences in personalities. Sam was, for the most part, reserved and shy. He was not completely comfortable unless he was around close friends and colleagues. While Jubilee had matured into adulthood, she was still gregarious, retaining that juvenile sense of humor that was fueled by pranks and strange comments. What possibly could he imagine they would have in common? Surely, the light in his eyes could be attributed to something else. Perhaps he was still lonely after his break-up with Lila, and being with someone he knew distracted him from this.

However, her hunch was confirmed when Jubilee invited Sam to see some concert in the city. The euphoria that he exuded when he was with her on Valentine's Day returned. Though he did not say much about the trip as he prepared to leave, it was clear that he was excited. While it would have been easy to claim that he was eager to see the band or spend a night in Manhattan, the pattern was established. There was one common factor involved.

The problem was, she was not available.

The younger Guthrie took a few steps towards her older brother and tried to place a hand on his arm. "Sam," she began, her voice sympathetic.

He jerked away involuntarily. "Don't."

Paige felt her chest grow heavy. Watching her brother in such agony and not being able to do anything about made her feel helpless. It was a feeling she hated and was not used to at all. She desperately searched for some way to make things better, to let him know things were not truly hopeless. Unfortunately, she was at a loss.

Sam shook his head and grimaced. "So, ya know," he said flatly. Then he smiled bitterly before continuing. "Ya don't haveta tell me how nothin's gonna happen. Ya don't haveta tell me how wrong Ah am for feelin' the way Ah do. Ah know. Ah tell myself all the time, so whatevah ya were gonna say, don't."

"I wasn't going to say any of those things," Paige informed him gently. She sighed and lowered her voice. "I can tell this is hard for you, but I don't know if running away is going to help."

"Ah ain't runnin' away," he snapped hotly. When he saw her shrink back, he exhaled loudly and ran his hands through his straw-colored hair. "Ah just need a break from all of this."

"And then what?" she asked, tucking an errand lock of hair behind her ear.

He gave her a quizzical look. "What do ya mean?"

"What then? Are you hoping that spending time away from the mansion will make you feel differently? Is that what you're hoping will happen?" Her pale eyes widened incredulously.

The Southern gentleman shrugged. "Maybe… Ah don't know. All Ah know is that Ah can't stay here. Ah can't live like this." He scowled. "Ah can't be under the same roof with her, hatin' him for havin' what Ah want and hatin' myself for wantin' her. Ah tried not ta think about it. Nothin' worked."

"So leaving indefinitely is the option now?" Paige challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sam clenched his jaw. "Look, Ah checked. The teams are full. Ah ain't gonna be missed."

"I'm not talking about that and you know it." She bit her lower lip before speaking. "I know it's hard to see her with someone else, but I'm not convinced you going away will help. I mean, you two have gotten to be friends since that trip, haven't you?"

_That trip was a mistake,_ he mused to himself. The only thing that resulted from their time together in the city was more misery for him. "Ah don't know what ya mean."

His sister's brows furrowed together contemplatively. "It's not like she doesn't notice your existence. What if she asks about you? She's done it since you've started your gloom-and-doom routine. Did you know she comes to your door at least once a day to check on you?"

He was surprised. Indeed, he did not know that. "No."

Paige watched him relax in his stance slightly. "Well, she does. Unlike the rest of us, she doesn't ignore that stupid 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign on your door. If you didn't have it hanging up, I'm sure she'd come in."

At first, Sam could feel his resolve to leave begin to fade upon hearing this revelation. She was not totally oblivious; she did care about him. However, he knew that nothing had truly changed. Jubilee did not reciprocate his feelings and he was still alone.

He tightened his grip to the duffel bag strap, his knuckles turning white as he did so. "Doesn't mattah now," he said glumly. "Ah still gotta go."

She felt her eyes well up with tears, despising herself for not alleviating things for her brother. "Sam…"

"Ah haveta go. For her; for me."

"There has to be another way."

"What? Ya think Ah should go up ta her and tell her everythin'? Ah can't risk that, Paige. Ah can't do that ta her. Ah mean, look at how happy she is. Ah ain't gonna ruin that. Not for anythin'."

"But leaving? Again, what if you still feel the same when you come back? Then you would have left for nothing."

"Well, what do ya think Ah should do?"

Paige lapsed into silence. Honestly, she did not have the answer he was looking for. The only thing she was certain of was that running away was not going to accomplish anything. Finally, she spoke up. "You know friendship's more lasting than love and more legal than stalking."

Sam's mouth dropped open. It was not what he was expecting to hear. "What the hell does that mean?" he demanded.

Astonished with her bluntness, she attempted to recover. "I suppose," she said, choosing her words carefully this time, "absence makes the heart grow fonder. Think about it, Sam."

Meanwhile, the baptism of Eleanor Philippa Drake, otherwise known as Ellie, took place without a hitch. Much to everyone's amazement, her godfather, Bobby, arrived at the church early, prepared to fulfill his duties, and did not pull any kind of stunt that would surely irritate the nervous Joel. A teary-eyed Maddy beamed, squeezing the hand of her steely-eyed husband. On the other side of her was Jubilee, who could have sworn the laconic, surly elder Drake sniffled several times during th baptism.

Following the ceremony, family and friends gathered at a Victorian inn with gingerbread exteriors and antique furnishings, floral fabrics and Persian carpets. The banquet hall reserved for the party was brimming with antique lace and vases filled with romantic blooms. Fine china and teacups graced each place setting. Each table was adorned in layers, including floor-length tablecloths covered with Battenburg lace overlays, topped with fringed coasters and silk doilies. Candles accompanied small lamps draped with fringed ivory silk scarves for soft lighting. In the entrance to the room was a big, open treasure chest for guests to place presents in. For the music and entertainment, Grace hired strolling violins during the cocktail hour. Selections included pieces from Beethoven, Chopin, and Tchaikovsky. The lavish affair did not end at the décor. The proud parents had the inn provide white wines and bubbling champagnes during cocktails, along with chocolate-covered strawberries, petit fours, shortbread cookies, individual lemon tarts, and chocolate tortes.

Already twenty minutes into the party, guests were beginning to feel the levity facilitated by the ambiance, not the mention the alcohol. Many had gathered by the bar, including the proud parents, Mary, Bobby, and Jubilee. Partaking in the conversation were old family friends of the Drake family, Frank and Violet Cherski. Married for over 35 years, the couple often traded sardonic barbs that were the source of constant amusement to those around them. Yet, it was clear in other ways that they still cared for one another.

"So, Uncle Frank, can you tell us again how you Aunt Violet met?" Mary Drake asked, her lopsided grin reaching her gray eyes as she sipped her glass of Chardonnay.

Uncle Frank peered over at his wife, who looked at him expectantly. Then, with a dry quirk to his mouth, he quipped, "I don't like telling stories that don't have happy endings."

Aunt Violet narrowed her dark eyes at him, slapping his arm. "Don't listen to him, dear," she told Mary and the other glibly. "It was like 'Beauty and the Beast', except at the end, I was still stuck with the Beast."

"Funny," Uncle Frank said, downing his wine. "I thought that was why you stuck around all these years."

Aunt Violet rolled her eyes, ignoring the chortles of laughter around her. Instead, she turned to Bobby and remarked, "Oh, Bobby, you look so dapper in your jacket and tie."

Bobby smiled sheepishly and took her plump hand in his. "Thanks, but next to you, I'm about sub-par." Gray eyes twinkling, he pressed his lips against it.

Aunt Violet tittered, her other hand patting her platinum blonde coif. "You're such a charmer, Bobby." Then she turned to an amused Jubilee. "You better hold on to him, dear. He's quite a catch."

The young girl grinned, looking quite angelic in a white, hand-knit turtleneck, a black-and-white, plaid miniskirt, and a pair of black flats. "I tell myself that everyday."

Uncle Frank narrowed his onyx eyes at Bobby. "That's enough, buddy," he said gruffly, removing his wife's hand from the boyishly handsome young man. He then wagged his brows at him suggestively. "Or maybe I'll steal your girl."

"Now, them's fighting words," Bobby laughed, slipping an arm around his girlfriend's slim waist.

The older man leaned towards Jubilee. He pretended to whisper to her, but did so rather loudly. "Seriously, what do you see in this kid? Is it the jokes? Tell you the truth; he's not all that funny."

"It's the hair," Joel teased, pointing out Uncle Frank's non-existent hairline. Grace slapped his shoulder playfully while Ellie suckled on her pacifier.

Jubilee smiled and then edged closer to Uncle Frank. In a conspiratorial whisper of her own, she remarked, "I'm just with him because he can do my taxes for free." She was referring to Bobby's former occupation as an accountant.

The comment earned a chorus of laughter.

Grace was peering over to the other side of the room, where the catering service staff was standing. Her Nordic features arranged themselves into an anxious expression. "We should go over and talk to them," she told her husband. "I called the manager about my mother's allergies to almonds. I want to make sure the menu's been altered."

Joel nodded in agreement, adjusting his navy-and-pink, striped tie slightly. He turned to Bobby and asked, "Mind taking Ellie for a few minutes?"

"Not at all," Bobby replied, welcoming the pudgy baby in his arms. He smiled down at her affectionately. "Let's get you away from all this debauchery. You don't need to hear your Uncle Bobby being insulted."

Ellie immediately tried to stick her fingers in his mouth.

Chuckling softly, Bobby carried the baby to a table with Jubilee following close behind. The young couple sat down, taking a chance to enjoy some quieter moments. They had not seen much of one another since they arrived for the baptism. Bobby was occupied during the ceremony and was then whisked away to pose for pictures with the family both at the church and at the inn. Jubilee, meanwhile, had the opportunity to mingle with other people, who simply knew her as 'Bobby's new girl'. She was regaled with stories about young Bobby Drake and his penchant for getting in trouble.

Her sapphire eyes were amused as they watched the baby shift in Bobby's arms, the tulle and silk of the baptismal gown making a rustling sound. "This is such a big deal for a small person," she cooed to Ellie. "You seem to be getting lost in your little dress."

"You talk about it as if the concept is foreign," Bobby mused, bouncing his goddaughter in his lap.

Jubilee bit her lower lip. "It is," she admitted, smiling when the baby looked over at her. "I mean, my parents weren't all that religious. I think my dad was an atheist. The all-knowing, powerful thing went against his training as a doctor."

"I could see that." He settled Ellie on his lap once more, kissing the top of her head. "Speaking for myself, I'm not sure how I would raise my kids."

His girlfriend held out her index finger. Instinctively, the baby reached for it with a small, chubby hand. "You really think about it?" she asked, somewhat surprised. "Having kids, I mean."

He shrugged, patting Ellie's bald head affectionately. "Sometimes," he admitted and chuckled when she spat her pacifier onto her dress. "I wonder what it'd be like, having one of these around. Especially, seeing Joel with this little one here makes me think about it."

Picturing fun-loving Bobby as a parental figure was hard to visualize. "Really?" Jubilee was intrigued as she picked up the pacifier. She popped it back in the baby's waiting mouth. "Care to elaborate?"

Bobby grinned sheepishly. "What, you think I have fantasies about domestic life?" he asked teasingly.

"No, but you did say you were thinking about it."

"Yes, Jubes."

"So, what in particular have you thought about in relation to the whole kids thing?"

"I don't know."

"Sure, you do. I'm not letting you off the hook until you spill it."

"Jeez, Logan was right. You can be pushy."

"Bobby…"

"I guess how great it would be when I'm ready. I mean, I thought I was once. Turns out I wasn't with the right person at the time."

Jubilee nodded empathically, recalling his history with his former girlfriend, Opal, and how she deceived him into believing that her son was Bobby's. Though he seemed relieved about the truth, it was evident that he was disappointed about not having a child to call his own. Even now, he appeared as if he desperately wanted for Bobby Tanaka to be his. "What about now?" she inquired in a soft voice.

Bobby's gray eyes stared into her hypnotic, sapphire depths with candor and love. "I think," he began in low voice, "I might have found the one."

The corners of her mouth tugged upwards in the beginnings of a smile. However, she hesitated when she remembered a genetics class she had taken years ago with Beast. His lecture on inheritance of certain traits suddenly resonated in her head. "You know that… They'll be like us. You know, mutants."

"I know that," he replied, holding Ellie close and grasping Jubilee's chin with his other hand. "And, I wouldn't have it any other way."

She smiled at him, her lower lip trembling. The thought of a family to truly call her own after being alone for so long was affecting her deeply. The thought of starting one in the future with the man she loved simply sweetened the prospect. As she peered into his boyish face, she did not think it was possible to be any more in love with him than she was at that moment.

She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Really?"

"Really," Bobby assured her tenderly, returning the kiss.

The baby, snuggled between the two of them, spat out her pacifier and laughed.


	43. Chapter 43

Back with another chapter. Sorry for the delay, but real life has been overwhelming with comps, research, applying for an internship, and being a bridesmaid in my brother's wedding.

There is an explicit version of this chapter. If you'd like to read it, please let me know.

Thanks to those of you who have been leaving feedback. I really like hearing from you. Also, thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her feedback and guidance.

Hope you enjoy the fic!

**Chapter Forty-Three: If You Leave Me Now (Non-explicit)**

Swirling winds blew the fallen autumn leaves across the manicured grounds of the Xavier Institute, scattering them haphazardly. The sky was a dreary gray, concealing the warmth and light of the afternoon sun. Adding to the gloomy quality of the scenery were the barren trees and the quiet beating of raindrops against the windows.

Kurt Wagner found himself sorting through the faculty mail delivered earlier that day. It was his turn this month to organize and place the various letters and packages in their respective mailboxes. Eager for some room to spread out, he settled in the living room with a fresh cup of hazelnut coffee from the new coffeemaker Jean bought for the kitchen. The living room, he found, brought an air of relaxation. There was a palette of muted jewel tones-teal and amethyst, plum and garnet, loden and amber-colored mohair plaids and velvet paisleys, fringed tattersalls and Harris tweeds, and warm carriage blankets. A selection of oversized photography books was stacked on a side table, while a leather ottoman was used as a resting place holding a tray set with a teapot and two cups on antique saucers. Timeworn velvets, faded damasks and vintage leathers, which took their cues from the walls' antique patina to create a well-worn setting, accented the room's well-worn plank floors. Across the generous library table crowned with an abundant spray of pussy willows, was a clubby sofa in a tone-on-tone loden stripe mixes tweedy pillows with a glamorous coyote throw. The room was finished off by the curves of intimately scaled leather chairs, emphasized by nailhead trim.

Seated on a leather sofa, the German native became engrossed in his task. Within a matter of minutes, he was already halfway through the stack. His yellow eyes were thoughtful as he finished Warren's pile. Apparently, the CEO of Worthington Industries was on the mailing list for the Underwear of the Month Club, as evident by the package addressed to him. Somehow, Kurt could not help but suspect that this had the trademark of Bobby Drake or Hank McCoy. Or perhaps both.

"Hiya, Blue."

His head snapped up, recognizing the voice instantly. When he tore his attention from sorting mail, he jumped. Sitting next to him was Tabitha, who was also leaning towards him with her face only inches from his. He could feel her breath, which was warm against his cheek and smelled of Clove cigarettes.

"Aren't you going to say hi back?" Her blue-green eyes twinkled merrily, betraying the innocence in her voice.

He swallowed hard, drawing back slightly. She frightened and fascinated him at the same time in equal measure. Never had he known anyone quite so forward. In a way, it was intimidating. Most of the time, he felt rather off-balance in the face of her flirting.

"H-Hello," he finally managed, cringing slightly when he noticed the squeaky quality to his voice. Quickly, he cleared his throat and smiled at her.

She scooted closer to him, pressing her denim-clad thigh against his. "What's wrong?" she asked even though she was fully aware of her effect on him at this moment. His obvious nervousness intrigued her all the more. It made him so much more adorable and endearing.

"Uh…" Kurt blinked as he fumbled for words to respond with. "I-I vas just startled, that's all."

"You seemed kinda stressed to me," Tabitha observed. She placed a hand on his thigh, her nails the same shade of lavender as the ruffled tube top she was wearing. Her magenta-painted lips curled in a smile when she noticed the firm muscle that met her touch.

His yellow eyes were now fixated on her hand and where it was resting. He gulped, the sound audible to his ears. "Stressed?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Vat makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "Oh, I don't know, Blue," she replied coyly, invoking the nickname she gave him months ago. "Maybe it's the way your voice sounds. Or, maybe it's how you can't tear your eyes off of where my hand is."

Sheepish, he lifted his gaze to her face. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry," she chided him teasingly. Her fingers began to rub circles into his leg. "You know, because I'm not."

He inhaled sharply, his brows shooting upwards to the roots of his wavy, black hair. While his romantic dalliances were rather limited, there was no way he could deny knowing what the blonde's intentions were. It was exhilarating—this feeling of being wanted and pursued. Most women would be put off by his demon-like appearance.

However, this did not seem to be the case with Tabitha. From the way she was acting now and for the past several months, she definitely expressed some interest beyond their casual acquaintance. Her efforts to engage him conversations and to get his attention whenever he was nearby did not go entirely unnoticed. As uncomfortable as she made him with her aggressive flirting, she also made him laugh and forget briefly about the seriousness of his position at the school and with the team.

Yet, he found himself hesitating in completely accepting her interest as being genuine. The wild child was often gregarious with other people. She was known for her impulsive proclivities and not truly caring what other people thought. Then there was her dating record. Having had relationships with Sam and Roberto, two rather good-looking men, it was difficult for Kurt to understand her interest in him. The lack of commonalities between them did not do much to help, either. As an orphaned, former circus performer who found solace in his faith, he was uncertain how he could possibly relate to a street-smart woman who liked "mixing things up".

His curiosity made him slightly braver. "You're not?" he inquired evenly with a foreign sense of calm.

"No, I'm not," she laughed. "In fact, I want to help you relieve some of your stress."

Quickly, his miniscule amount bravado retreated. He began to lick his lips nervously. "Vat do you mean?"

Her other hand traveled to his cheek, tracing the facial tattoos etched into his cobalt-blue skin. "I mean it's such a drag to see you so tense, Blue," she murmured. "I just want to do my part to help you out."

Pulse racing and sweat drenching his palms, Kurt honestly thought he might faint. This mode of thinking was exacerbated when the hand that was rubbing his thigh wandered lower, squeezing his knee. "Help me out?" he squeaked out.

"Sure, but it's a drawn-out process, you see."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Well, we'd have to start by ditching this place for dinner. Maybe we can head over to Benton Park and then maybe go back to my place to hang out."

"Your new apartment?"

"Yeah, it's not too far for you to teleport."

"Oh… Vat about Amara? Aren't you two living together?"

"She's visiting friends in Italy. So, it'll just be us. Alone."

"Alone?"

"Alone. What do you think about that?"

Kurt felt his face grow warmer with each passing second. He was undecided as to whether the prospect of a date that elicited this response or the fact that Tabitha's face was now quite close to his. Her blue-green eyes stared boldly into his, twinkling with a mischievousness that was different from previous encounters. There was no teasing here, no indication that she might be joking around.

At a loss as to how to react, he searched his brain in desperation. Unfortunately, it seemed to go blank as a result of his anxiety. He screamed at himself silently, wishing for the millionth time he was suave and not at all his frightened self. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby and Hank sauntering past the room with sly grins. With no other courses of action available to him, the German native did the only thing that seemed to make sense to him.

"I've got to give them their mail," he blurted out, jumping away from her, bolting off of the sofa, and racing towards the hallway with a handful of envelopes. "Guys, vait up!"

The duo paused in their steps, surprised to see Kurt with them. They had been playing a game of chess in one of the rec rooms when they happened to hear the conversation. Intrigued by what they were listening to, the two friends decided to get closer to the action. However, Hank expressed some second thoughts about invading other people's privacy and began to urge a still curious Bobby to leave their post outside of the room when they were caught by Kurt.

"What are you doing?" Hank demanded, gesturing for the younger man to return to the living room and Tabitha. Unlike Kurt, he could see the obvious attraction that had been building up between the German and the woman known as Boom-Boom.

Bobby nodded in agreement. "Yeah, finish the deal, man."

A helpless Kurt glanced at the entrance to the living room warily. "I…" he began.

"Thanks for the mail, Blue," Tabitha sang out as she made her way to where he was standing. She peered over at Bobby and Hank, her face totally masking her utter frustration of being thwarted. "Hey, guys."

Both men mumbled a greeting, wondering if she was aware of their eavesdropping.

She tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear, leaning towards Kurt. "By the way, don't think you're off the hook. You owe me a date, Blue." With that, she smacked his bottom with her Victoria's Secret catalog and traipsed down the hallway, towards the spiral staircase.

Kurt's tail stood straight in the air for several moments, even after she was gone.

Hank sighed, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "And so ends yet another potential sexual escapade for Kurt Wagner."

Bobby snorted. "'The Sexual Escapades of Kurt Wagner'… Now there's the shortest book ever written," he commented.

Almost immediately, Kurt threw a cardboard envelope at Bobby. The projectile hit the boyishly handsome man in the chest, earning a slightly grunt. Sheepishly, he examined the address label to see who the package was for. It was then that his eyes lit up.

"What is it?" Hank asked.

Bobby began to tear at the envelope. "I had some photos from my digital camera developed from this online vendor," he replied excitedly. "My first time prints were 20 percent off the normal price. Can't beat that, huh?"

Kurt nodded thoughtfully. Bobby's frugalness was as well-known as his reputation for playing various pranks. This led the German into asking the following question, "Vat exactly are these pictures of, mein freund?" He was still scarred mentally from the video Bobby had shown him last month as a surprise, which captured an unsuspecting Gambit dancing and singing along with Destiny Child's 'Bootylicious'. Even now, it was still hard for him to look the Cajun thief in the eye.

"Just some stuff Logan and I took," Bobby answered, sliding some of the prints out. However, he soon stopped when he suddenly remembered Hank's presence nearby and that the larger man was one of the subjects. Flashing his most sheepish grin, he stuffed them back in the envelope. "They're really not all that great."

Hank gave him a quizzical look. "How do you know?"

Bobby shrugged. "Well, I just remembered that the light wasn't right for these shots," he lied, trying to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Oh well. No biggie. You know, guys, I should head upstairs and work on that lesson plan for my class—"

Before he could dash off, Hank firmly grabbed his arm. As Bobby's best friend, he knew when the resident jokester was attempting to conceal something, particularly when it came to a prank. There was a strange glint that flickered in the man's gray eyes that simply gave his hand. Upon detecting that familiar look, Hank quickly inferred there was something about these pictures.

"Not so fast, Bobby," he said, revealing a set of sharp, pearly-white teeth as he smiled broadly. "I think the lesson plan can wait. Now, about these pictures…"

His friend put on his most charming smile. "Trust me, Hank, it would insult your tasteful eye to show. In fact, no one should see any of these horrible pictures. That's how bad they are."

"Why don't you let your awaiting public be the judge of that?" Hank countered, concluding that he was right to be suspicious. His blue eyes glanced over at Kurt, who appeared thoroughly amused with the situation. "What do you think?"

Kurt pretended to be nonchalant, feigning thoughtfulness. "I agree," he said and rubbed his chin. "You are entirely too modest about your talent, Bobby."

When the German native winked at him, Bobby made a mental note to retaliate later. He narrowed his eyes, a scowl marring his boyish features slightly. "Fine," he huffed, bracing himself to make a quick retreat as soon as he revealed the pictures. The image of Hank racing after him was a realistic possibility at this point. "Just let go of me, OK?"

"Agreed," Hank said, releasing his arm but edging close to him in order to ensure that Bobby did not go back on his word.

Bobby warily retrieved the prints from the envelope and turned to his friend. "Now, before you say anything, I just want you to know that I consider these similar to those pictures with the babies modeling as flowers and animals. You know, something endearing, and not as a source of chuckles for me."

"I'll let you know if I agree or not," Hank informed him, quickly swiping the photos from a smirking Bobby. His guarded expression suddenly transformed into a frown as he stared at the first picture.

Curious, Kurt made his way to Hank's side to inspect the evidence. A chortle of laughter escaped from his lips. Apparently, Bobby had taken advantage of a slumbering Hank, who was depicted in the photo with an airline pillow tucked behind his head, black-frame glasses pushed up slightly on one side, fur mussed, and a thin line of drool oozing out of a corner of his open mouth.

Bobby studied the picture carefully. "Oh, Logan took that one," he remarked, grinning. "Who knew he had an eye for this kind of stuff?"

Kurt nearly fell to the floor, overwhelmed by his laughter.

Hank glared at his friend. "Somehow, I believe he had some encouragement," he said between clenched teeth. He growled when he came across several shots of himself, Warren, and Gambit, snuggling together in the back of the jet as they slept. The blond playboy's head rested on Hank's shoulder while Gambit was on Hank's other side, his arm draped across the larger man's chest.

The larger, bulky man with feline features was now glowering at a sheepish Bobby. Adding to his annoyance was the fact that Bobby was trying to put on an air of innocence as he stood there. Thoughts of flipping his friend upside down by his ankles and shaking him until he disclosed the location of the memory card raced through Hank's mind. Or, he could simply lock Bobby in the sauna and turn up the heat inside.

As he was mulling over his options, Hank heard the front door open and slam shut. Light footfalls crept across the slate floors of the foyer. They became more defined as the individual neared the hallway.

"Hello?" Jubilee's girlish voice called out, echoing slightly. "Anyone home?"

Bobby exhaled, thanking fate for stepping in and bringing his girlfriend to the rescue. There was no way Hank would impose any kind of bodily harm towards him if she was around. Smugly, he inched away from his scowling friend, and replied, "We're here, Jubes."

She arrived seconds later, pulling off her yellow, wool hat from her head with her gloved hands. "Hi," she said in greeting, her cheeks pink from the brisk air outside. In spite of the layering she had done before she left for school, she was still cold. "Brrr… Don't go out there unless you have to."

Then she noticed Hank's angry expression, Bobby beaming mischievous pride, and Kurt tearing up as he laughed. Something was definitely up, and she wanted in. "Um, what's going on?" she asked, sapphire eyes inquisitive.

Kurt watched her unbutton her suede utility jacket that she wore over a pink sweater and corduroy pants with boots. "Ve're just looking at some pictures Logan and your boyfriend took," he explained between chuckles. "Herr Logan shot the first few here."

"Oh, let me see!" she cried gleefully, snatching them from Hank's hands before he could hide them or protest. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she flipped through the photographs. She then began to giggle when she came across the picture with the three X-Men snuggling together.

Hank rolled his eyes, not at all surprised by her reaction.

Finally, she stopped. "Hey, Wolvie takes good pictures," the young girl remarked, smiling but nonetheless impressed with her mentor's talent. Here, she was under the belief that Logan was simply interested in hunting and fooling around with his truck.

Bobby elbowed Hank's arm good naturedly. "I told you!" he crowed triumphantly, earning a deeper scowl from him.

However, his gloating was to be short-lived. "But these look like a monkey got a hold of the camera," Jubilee pointed out, shuffling through the photos and scrutinizing them carefully. "Like a monkey high on something. I mean look at how the heads are cut off in this one. Here, this shot is kind of blurred out. Then there's this photo where you can only see Gambit's hair."

Her boyfriend flashed a perplexed look at her and leaned over her shoulder to inspect. "Wait a minute," he said indignantly, "I took those!"

Kurt howled, clutching his sides upon hearing this. This time, Hank joined him in mirthful expression. He snickered loudly, making sure Bobby could hear.

"Give me that!" Bobby grabbed the pictures from her and quickly stuffed them in the cardboard envelope they arrived in. Now, he was the one scowling in annoyance and frustration.

Jubilee bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing with Hank and Kurt. "Oh, it's okay, honey," she drawled soothingly, draping her arms around him. "Not everyone has the fine motor skills to work a camera."

He shrugged out of her embrace. "I don't need your fake pity," he sulked. His frown deepened when she giggled.

Despite the onset of his grumpy demeanor, Jubilee remained cheery. She raised herself on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I'll meet you upstairs," she told him, discerning the fact that he was not entirely upset with her as he relaxed slightly at her touch. "I need to drop off these books. They weigh a ton."

It was hard for him to continue pouting at that point. He fought the urge to instantly turn into a puddle, straightening his shoulders. "Sure, I'll meet you there," he mumbled, knowing full well that she was aware of her effect on him. The hint of a smile crept out from behind the scowl he wore.

Jubilee turned to Hank and Kurt. "I'll see you guys later," she said, waving good-bye. Then she departed, leaving behind her trademark scent of bubblegum and cinnamon.

Hank turned to Bobby, his indignation returning once Jubilee left. His blue eyes narrowed as he said in the most threatening tone he could muster, "Now about those pictures…"

Bobby swallowed hard. He smiled up at the larger, blue-furred man as he feigned his most innocent expression. "Oh come on, Hank," he began. "It was all in good fun. Besides, as Jubes pointed out, you can't really make all that much out."

"Not in all of them." Kurt choked out, grinning cheekily.

Bobby scowled at the other man, finding his comment completely unnecessary and annoying. _You're next, Wagner,_ he mused inwardly.

Before Hank could respond, the Professor's soothing voice suddenly echoed in his head. From the startled expressions on the countenances of Bobby and Kurt, it appeared they were privy to this slight intrusion as well. The humor that permeated the air disappeared, replaced by a more solemn mood.

"There is a situation on Genosha that has been brought to my attention," Professor Xavier's psionic voice announced. "Though I will be briefing you in the War Room with Scott in several minutes, please be aware that you will be away from the mansion for several weeks. Prepare accordingly as all of you are scheduled to leave by the end of the day via the Blackbird."

Inside Bobby's room, Jubilee tossed her black messenger bag on his bed along with her jacket, hat, and gloves. The cold air mixed with the rain she had trudged through outside left her shivering. Her sapphire eyes twinkled as she cast a glance at his private bath. Energized by the thought of a warm shower, she quickly stripped out of her clothes and walked towards the bathroom. A trail was created as a result of her tossing her jeans, sweater, socks, and underwear on the floor.

She left the door ajar, flicking on the lights. Then she eagerly climbed inside the stall. As the water spattered against her chest, Jubilee stared up at the nozzle head. Unsatisfied with the pressure, she turned it to the next level. A hard beam of water shot out, and she was momentarily taken aback. She turned, and the stream pounded against her back, hitting her muscles, massaging them.

"Ahh…" she sighed, relishing the warmth from the water. Heat was sometimes a luxury when one dated a living air conditioning unit.

With eyes closed, her head rolled back lazily, and she shifted slightly, letting the water soothe her neck as well. Absentmindedly, she uncapped the liquid soap bottle and shook some of the gel into her palm. The familiar ritual of lathering her arms and shoulders steadied her thoughts.

Her mind began to wander. At first, she mulled over her day at school, which was filled with reminders of upcoming assignments and capped off by a meeting she was dragged to by one of her classmates that talked about study abroad programs affiliated with the university. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she remembered her encounter with Bobby and company earlier. In regards to her remarks, part of her felt sympathetic towards Beast and his role as prank victim, while another part of her was dying to make a smart comment about Bobby's handy work.

In spite of the sulking fit he put on, Jubilee knew there was no way Bobby could be upset with her. It was as if the two of them were attuned to one another's sensibilities. There was complete security of being understood without the need to explain. That knowledge instilled a safety that was still somewhat foreign to her, but very much welcomed.

What drove the point home were his words at Ellie's baptismal shower. Granted, neither one of them were ready for the responsibilities of a family, the prospect was certainly interesting to think about. As someone who did not have much a home life, thoughts of a future intrigued her. It was something she never fathomed was possible. Before Bobby, Jubilee was convinced that, like Logan, she was destined to be alone.

But now things were different. She finally found her piece of happiness in the world. And, she couldn't be happier. Or so she thought.

There was still something that vexed her. It had nothing to do with Bobby, or their relationship. Rather, her preoccupation pertained to another person. Someone she had grown to care about; someone whose well-being became a source of recent concern for her.

Sam.

Jubilee had seen very little of the Southern gentleman since their outing to the Keane concert. She had chalked much of this to his continued rehabilitation for his leg. Whenever she attempted to visit him, he was either in the gym with Logan or locked away in his bedroom. During the rare instances that Sam was out and about in the mansion, he appeared absorbed in his own thoughts. Gone was the carefree, laid-back persona she came to associate with him. Instead, he was solemn, his face drawn and rather haggard.

Concerned, she wanted to discern what was troubling him. However, her efforts to catch up with him in order to see how he was doing went unrecognized. Often, he would duck into another room or slip away completely. There were times when she believed he was aware of this pursuit. Before darting off, Sam would briefly glance at her, trepidation clouding his pale eyes. It was as if he were avoiding her.

The most damnable part of it was that she had no idea why.

She racked her brain, searching for some plausible explanation. The last time Jubilee spent any significant amount of time with Sam was when they went to the concert and stayed overnight at the hotel. From what she was able to recall, they had a good time together. They enjoyed the sights of the city, the music at the concert, and each other's company. But the next morning, things suddenly changed. Sam was withdrawn, claiming illness as the source of his mood. Yet, there was something in his voice that failed to completely convince her of this position.

At a loss, she confronted Paige in the hopes of discovering what was vexing the oldest Guthrie. Her hopes were swiftly dashed when the normally candid, straight-talking Paige was evasive upon questioning. The blonde then asserted that her brother was simply suffering from cabin fever since he was forced to sit out from active duty. To Jubilee, this sounded rather dubious, and she made that clear to her former roommate. Pressing the issue further, Jubilee repeated her line of questioning. Unfortunately, Paige maintained her oblivious, albeit defiant, stance.

The encounter left her with even more questions and a burning desire to get down to the heart of the matter. While they were not all that close, Jubilee still considered him to be a friend. Sam had been a protective figure in her life when she and Paige roomed together. The years that passed did nothing to extinguish the kindness and care he extended to her. Given this, it was about time she returned the favor.

"Jubes?"

She jumped slightly, Bobby's voice breaking into her reverie. "In here," she called out.

The boyishly handsome young man surveyed the discarded clothes on his bedroom floor. His gray eyes observed steam wafting from the bathroom, the sounds of the shower running. Kicking off his brown loafers, he followed the trail of clothing and steam. He tried to mask his sober-faced expression as he stood outside of the shower, leaning against the sink.

The Professor's announcement of a field mission proved to be a piece of news that dampened his upbeat mood from earlier. He had talked to his mother on the phone this morning, asking her if it would be alright to bring Jubilee home for Thanksgiving dinner. In the back of his mind, Bobby was hoping to make up the fiasco that permeated through last year's meal. His mother, in her husky, but enthusiastic tone, replied that it was perfectly fine for him to do as she was now a fan of the young girl. In fact, Maddy told her son, both she and his father were preparing the house for their impending visit. She added that his father even helped her with the shopping list for groceries, ensuring that it included chocolate-frosted Sugar Bombs.

Upon hearing this piece of information, Bobby could not help but be taken aback. As far as he knew, the elder Drake was still rather cool, but civil towards Jubilee. He avoided speaking to her when possible, and only managed a few curt words here and there. Even at Ellie's christening, he kept his distance while the rest of the Drake clan was more than happy to become enthralled by Bobby's new girlfriend. Based on this evidence, the younger Drake was dreading taking Jubilee back with him to Long Island. It was clear that his father was still not comfortable with their relationship.

Yet, according to Maddy, the laconic and somewhat surly Bill Drake had insisted that Jubilee's favorite breakfast cereal be included on the grocery list. While the gesture was by no means an indicator of a complete thaw, it did imply that the elder Drake was indeed making an effort. He learned something about his son's companion, and in his own way, was attempting to be as hospitable as his wife was for their impending arrival. Perhaps, there was reason to hope. Maybe there was a chance that his happiness would be complete.

Anticipatory thoughts of taking Jubilee home with him were dashed, however, when he and the others arrived at the war room deep within the mansion. The Professor, wearing a grim expression that seemed to remain with him always, began to detail the aspects of the mission. He informed the group of a disturbing trend he was alerted to on Genosha. While the human minority government was putting forth a public relations campaign that trumpeted their strides in recognizing mutant rights, there was mounting evidence that pointed otherwise. Poverty among the mutant population was high. There was a boom of slums around the main city, which was mainly comprised of mutants. Many of the living conditions were quite poor, harkening to the days of shanty towns that dominated America during the Industrial Age.

What was truly concerned the Professor was the dwindling population of mutants under the age of eighteen. After running several possible population growth models with Hank, the data did not simply support the theory that there was widespread use of contraceptives among the fertile adults. While he was unable to attain a more comprehensive picture of what was transpiring on the island nation, Professor Xavier said he was convinced that there was something terrible underlying the situation.

Scott then spoke up. His chiseled features echoed the Professor's serious expression as he informed the members in the room, which included Logan, Warren, Hank, Kurt, Cain, and Bobby, that they were to depart for Genosha by the end of the day. He went on to explain that this was a covert operation, where the cover story purported that the group was acting as representatives for Professor Xavier, who was looking to invest some money in property on the island. However, the true objective for the team was to entrench themselves in the inner city in order to discern what was going on. Once they obtained the information, they were to report their findings back to the mansion and if possible, act accordingly to address the situation.

Logan was the first to inquire about the specifics. Most importantly, he asked about the timeline for the mission. Scott replied that he was uncertain as to an ending date since the team's priority was to investigate in a discreet manner as possible. Furthermore, there was to be no communication with anyone not linked to this mission. Included in this group were friends and loved ones. This was to ensure that nothing would compromise the objective. Although the government claimed a era of tolerance never seen before for the island nation, there was still a sense of mistrust. After all, it was not too long ago that they enslaved the mutant population under the auspices of performing heavy, hard labor.

Granted, there were no outright protestations in regards to Scott's answer, but a pall suddenly permeated the air. Each member realized that his respective plans for the holidays were forced aside in order to pursue this mission. Both the Professor and Scott expressed their regret. However, this did nothing to assuage the group.

When he heard about the indefinite duration of the project, Bobby instantly felt his stomach sinking. Gone were the hopes of seeing his father make an effort to reach out to Jubilee. Gone were the hopes of erasing the disastrous Thanksgiving from last year in his memory. Gone was the anticipation of spending time with Jubilee without worrying about school, missions, or other responsibilities around the mansion. No, none of that. All he had to look forward to was an undetermined amount of time with men who were as glum as he was.

Now standing in his private bath, Bobby pressed his lips together into a thin line, still in disbelief as to his poor fortune. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to contemplate a way to disclose the news to his girlfriend. While she was wary of Bill, the thought of seeing Maddy and the rest of the Drake family was something she was looking forward to. She had grown quite fond of Ellie, whom she declared as the most adorable baby ever.

"Hey," Jubilee greeted from other side of the sliding glass shower door, which was now fogged up. The young girl was rinsing off her soapy skin.

"Hey." In spite of his somber mood, he found himself imagining himself in there and visualizing how the water was running in soft rivulets over her flawless body. It only served to dampen his spirits even more.

Jubilee stepped from underneath the shower head, her ears picking up something unusual in his normally cheery voice. "What's going on?" she inquired suspiciously.

Bobby raked a hand through his sandy hair. "Nothing good," he replied miserably.

The door slid back slightly and she poked her head out. "What do you mean?" she asked, tendrils of wet hair clinging to her face.

He shifted slightly under her curious, but empathic gaze. Guilt surged through his veins as he prepared himself to disclose the bad news. He wished he was capable of being more eloquent about the delivery, or that he would not have to say anything at all. However, he had neither luxury and therefore, was forced to brace himself.

Staring at her lovely face, he exhaled heavily. "I'm going off on a mission," he began in a low voice.

"Oh." Jubilee was still puzzled, as his field missions had become a common occurrence. The separation was not something either of them liked, but they simply gotten used to it since the duration was quite brief. Then she flashed him a cheerful smile and said, "Well, how long are you going to be? You act like you'll never see me again."

Bobby shook his head, still gloomy. "Not quite, but close." Before she could prod any further, he explained. "It's one of those indefinite missions, where you don't come back until you get the job done. The Professor's sending me, Logan, Warren, Hank, Cain, and Kurt out for some work. Unfortunately, what we're doing can't be wrapped up in a couple of days, or weeks..."

"Oh." This time, she echoed his tone. "There's no way you and your team can speed things up?"

He smiled at her ruefully. "Don't think so," he replied, hating himself for being responsible for her crestfallen expression. He pursed his lips and cursed softly. "The timing is pretty shitty, I know. I mean with the holidays and all… The last thing I want to do is leave you alone."

"When do you have to go?"

"By the end of today. Hank and Logan are checking out the Blackbird, making sure it's ready for the trip."

"That's soon."

"I know. Believe me, Jubes, I tried to talk my way out of going. Then I tried to negotiate a delay. No dice."

"I guess that means you're a popular guy."

"Yeah, unfortunately."

She peered over at him sympathetically. While she was not looking forward to the prospect of spending Thanksgiving and Christmas without him, she knew it could not be helped. Whatever disappointment she was experiencing was minimal in comparison to his anguish over the situation. It was evident that he felt culpable for what happened even though the situation was not in his realm of control. The absence of his usually jovial self spoke volumes.

There was no way she could allow him to leave on those terms. The thought of him spending the next couple of weeks brooding made her chest ache. For her, the feeling went beyond empathy. It was difficult to describe. Not to sound utterly trite, but it was as if when he was in pain, so was she. Perhaps, it was corny and yet, it was true.

Finally, she slid the door back further and slipped back inside the stall. "Come in," she said, gesturing him to follow with a coy grin. "Relax with me."

There was no need for her to repeat the invitation. Bobby quickly shed his clothes and climbed inside the shower with her. "Better?" he inquired, his expression reflecting a mixture of amusement and fascination.

"Now that you're here," she told him breathily, grinning up at him. She took a step backwards to accommodate him as he slid the door closed.

His gaze traveled to the seemingly benign showerhead, but it was characterized with a whole new appreciation. "Why don't we make this shower interesting?" he asked.

She peered up at him with quizzical, sapphire eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see." Reaching over her, he brought it down from the hook. With it one hand, he moved the pressured stream across his girlfriend's shoulders, and then her back.

With eyes closed, she touched her lips with her hand, and slid it slowly down her chin, down her throat. Meanwhile, he moved the pressure around the curve of her waist.

His gray eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched the water lap at her belly. "More?" he whispered huskily.

Jubilee exhaled and smiled up at him. "Mmmm hmmm…"

Bobby kissed her. "I'm going to miss you so damn much," he murmured.

She pressed her back against the tile wall with her eyes clenched shut. "Me, too."

"I want to show you how much I'm going to miss you." He turned her around and nipped at the nape of her neck.

Her back was pressed against him for support. "This has got to be the best shower I've ever had," she gasped, managing a sweet smile over her shoulder up at him.

Tenderly, he kissed her shoulder. "Consider it something for you to remember me by."

"Maybe you should go off on missions more often," she laughed, facing him and pressing her lips against his. Her hand then reached for the door and pulled it back.

Perplexed, he watched her slip away from him and step out of the shower. "Where are you going?" he asked.

Jubilee grabbed a white towel from the nearby rack. "I'm getting all pruny. It's not good for the skin." She wrapped it around her slim form, a slender hand holding it in place. Then she winked at him playfully as she closed the door.

Bobby grinned, her cheekiness driving him more and more wild with each passing second. Quickly, he turned off the water and slid the shower door open to follow her. "What happened to the rest of my send-off?" he asked in mock surprise, snatching the remaining towel on the rack.

She hopped onto the counter. "I didn't know there was supposed to be more," she replied with feigned innocence. Her sapphire eyes twinkled as she observed her boyfriend drying himself off.

Usually one to engage in flirtatious banter, he did not respond. Instead, his gaze focused on her bare skin exposed around the towel—her swanlike neck, graceful shoulders, lithe arms and legs. The light glinted off the drops of moisture, giving her an ethereal glow. It still amazed him as to how beautiful she was and how fortunate he was to have her.

When he did not reply, Jubilee decided to break the silence. "Do you want there to be more?" she inquired, her tone softer but still coy. She could feel his cool breath on her skin as he moved closer to her.

"You have no idea," Bobby murmured huskily. At this point, he was standing in front of her, clad in a towel as she was.

He then reached for her, his hands firm on her waist as he pulled her towards him. Their lips sought each other with desperation. She ran her small hands over his face and through his wet, sandy hair, her mouth pressing hard to his. His tongue separated her lips, as she parted her legs, snaking them around his waist. In response, he explored her mouth, trapping a moan low in her throat.

Bobby rested his forehead against hers. "I want you so bad," he told her thickly.

"I want you, too," she murmured. Then she sighed, "Now I really don't want to let you go."


	44. Chapter 44

Back with another chapter. It's a little graphic in the violence. Still having issues with email, so if you'd like to read the explicit version of this chapter, please leave a message on the board.

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her help on this one! Also, thanks to those of you who have been reviewing. I love hearing from you.

Enjoy.

**Chapter Forty-Four: Waiting, Wishing (Non-explicit)**

Located within The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning, was an extensive collection of books, periodicals, and other resources. The library, housed in the east wing of the mansion, boasted a fine collection of classical works and contemporary offerings in literature, philosophy, science, mathematics, and history. Thanks to a recent overhaul by the new librarian, Xi'an "Shan" Coy Mahn, students could now access online journals and electronic versions of textbooks from the school's computers. In addition, students were offered a variety of study spaces in a range of different study environments (individual cubicles and group study rooms), photocopying and computer printing facilities, and individual computer stations. Occasionally, some of the teaching assistants would make use of the group rooms, conducting tutoring or review sessions.

The decor was reminiscent of Old English libraries, filled with dark wood and gracious, leather-bound volumes. Venturing inside, one's nostrils were instantly filled with the smell of old, dusty books mixed with lemon from the wax the maintenance staff used to clean the floors, bookcases, and other wood furniture. While it was one of the few areas where students were quiet, there was still the occasional conversation that involved an outburst of laughter or raised voices. When this occurred, the offending party was more likely to be scolded by their peers rather than by Shan, who was, for the most part, willing to overlook such transgressions.

However, there was no such concern for noise this evening. Many of the students had taken their exams and completed their assignments. As a result, a majority of the student body and some of the faculty and staff had already taken leave for the Thanksgiving holiday. This left the usually active library even more tranquil and still than usual.

Needless to say, this was one of Shan's favorite rooms. Although her degree in library science and professional experience contributed, there was something more personal. She found that books, in a way, lent a sense of history, story and romance to a room. To her, towers of books were as comforting and beautiful as layers of textiles. Her passion for books began as a young schoolgirl in Saigon when she discovered a small leather-bound version of the complete works of William Shakespeare. She remembered picking up the tiny copies of _Hamlet_, _Othello _and _The Twelfth Night_ , becoming immediately hooked to the joy of reading. It allowed her some form of escape. Without spending money on plane tickets, she could instantly whisk herself away to a new place, a new situation, surrounded by new people. The depths and capabilities of her imagination never ceased to amaze her when she was engrossed in a good piece of literary work. As a survivor of war and other traumatic experiences in her young life, this was a welcomed gift.

This early evening found the waif-like, former New Mutant sitting at her desk, which was located near the entrance to the library. Like the rest of the fixtures in the room, the desk was dark, made of mahogany wood. The dramatically turned legs gave it a shapely profile that was a hallmark of British colonial furniture, completed with cast-brass hardware, which were finished with antique-bronze. A Persian-inspired rug with stylized botanical motifs rendered in muted shades was placed underneath the desk, acting as cushioning for her feet. Along with piles of papers from her students as well as internal memos from the Professor were framed photographs. At the corner of her desk was the only remaining picture she had of her parents, worn and almost dog-eared from years of carrying it in her pocket during those harsh times when she first came to this country. Some time ago, she considered having it restored. Then she decided against it, believing that it would take away the emotional significance associated with the picture.

Next to it were photographs of the twins, which had been taken for the school's yearbooks this past spring. The fresh-faced smiles her younger siblings wore belied the mischievousness in their dark eyes. Shan smiled fondly at the pictures, relieved to be given a second chance with them. Not too long ago, there was a time when she feared she had lost them forever. Now that she had them back, they were her number one priority.

Given this, she allowed them to sway her decisions as to their plans for the upcoming holiday. They had grown quite close to David, who had unofficially become their favorite babysitter. He, in turn, became quite fond of them since they reminded him of his younger sister, Kim. With his parents' permission, he invited Shan and the twins to their home for the holidays. When Nga and Leong expressed their excitement over this prospect, there was no way Shan could say no. That and she was relieved not to have to worry about preparing a traditional meal. Her last foray resulted in complete disaster.

Leaning back in her leather swivel chair, she brushed her thin, shaggy locks from her forehead. As Shan peered over at her desk clock, she noted she only had five minutes before could close the library for the day. Between managing the library and teaching French, she had little time to pack for the trip. Adding to the urgency to pack as soon as she was finished here was the fact that they would be taking her 1995 maroon Toyota Corolla to Chicago. David estimated that the trip would take twelve hours, which meant they would need to get on the road fairly early.

She rose from her chair and began to saunter around the library, checking the study spaces and computer lab to see if there was anyone else around. The heels from her green, plaid shoes clicked against the hardwood floors, breaking the silence when she discovered that she was alone. Surmising that the Professor would not mind if she were leave a little early, Shan began to head back to her desk and quickly began to pack up her things.

After shutting down her computer and locking her desk drawers, she turned to the coat rack behind her and grabbed her orange scarf with blue stripes. She casually wrapped it around her small neck, feeling very warmed. Eager to dash to her room, she turned to switch off her desk lamp. It was then that she saw she was no longer alone.

"Hi, Shan," a familiar voice drawled, bringing her back several years.

Her brown eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. "Hello, Sam," she greeted, somewhat surprised to see him. Though the two friends and former teammates had returned to the mansion around the same time, they had seen very little of one another due to their hectic schedules. While she was devoted to the school and students, he was more active on missions that took him far from Westchester.

Peering up at the Southern gentleman, she was amazed as to how he changed. Years and life experience as an active team member erased traces of the awkward, naïve country boy she knew. In his place, was a man who was a little more aware of the world. However, this failed to diminish the kindness that seemed to exude from every fiber of his being. It was somewhat comforting to continue to see that in him.

As he stood across from her, she was quickly becoming aware that there was something amiss. While Dani, Rahne, and Amara expressed their concerns to her, it was hard for Shan to fathom the thought of a troubled Sam Guthrie. The classmate she came to know as a friend was always ready with a smile. Yet, here he was, pale eyes grave and solemn in spite of the smile he was wearing. Concerned, she made a decision to pursue the issue. It was the least she could after all his help in tracking down her siblings.

"Something wrong?" she inquired, biting on her lower lip and hoping to grasp a more eloquent manner to broach the subject.

The coal miner's son masked his surprise, shaking his head. For a moment, he had to remind himself that her abilities were merely limited to telepathic possession. As far as he knew, Shan would never use her powers against him. Still, it was unnerving as to how astute her observation was.

Following his conversation with his younger sister, the eldest Guthrie was grudgingly forced to acknowledge the logic of her argument. No matter how much distance he placed between himself and Jubilee, it would do very little to lessen his feelings. It was utterly foolish to attempt to deny the truth in the first place. Being in Kentucky, he would continue to think about her lovely face, wondering what she would be up to, and anguishing over the fact that she was not with him. In essence, nothing would change.

So, he stayed. Other than rendering Paige complacent, his decision did little to assuage his thoughts and heartache. Around his friends, he felt like a fraud. He lied to his friends and family, assuring them that nothing was wrong and that he was simply locking himself away in order to get some reading done. Even worse, there was the root of his angst to deal with. Day in and day out, he was still forced to be around the one person he wanted most, which racked him with guilt on a constant basis.

Seeing her with Bobby's arm draped around her made him miserable. He was almost certain that he died each time he saw them together. At times, the Southern gentleman was tempted to act upon his feelings, to find some sort of release. But he was helpless to do nothing except to smile and play the role of the good guy people knew him to be.

Shan's soft voice broke into his thoughts. "I take it you have come down here for some seasonal reading then?" she asked, easing herself into her chair. She gestured for him to follow her lead. It was more than evident that he did not to address the subject at the moment. Rather than push him, she decided to keep her distance.

He obliged her, nodding his gratitude and smiling with relief. "Nah, not taday," he replied as he unbuttoned his brown suede car coat that he wore over a navy sweater with white stripes, jeans, and worn boots. Then he peered around, observing the unusually empty library. "Man, looks like a ghost town 'round here."

"It is just like the rest of mansion, isn't it?" Shan nodded with a small smile, finding that the emptiness was having a calming effect. "It is almost nice, at least just for this one day."

Sam chuckled. "This is the most quiet Ah'm gonna see," he said, raking a calloused hand through his straw-colored hair. "Thanksgivin' at the Guthries ain't exactly tranquility, ya know."

"Ah, that's right," his former teammate mused, trying to remember the names of all of his siblings. Unfortunately, there seemed to be so many of them, it was difficult to keep track. "All of you are going to be home for the holidays?"

"Not this year. Paige went off with Alex, Lorna, Scott, and Jean on some mission this mornin'. So, it's just me, Jay and Melody makin' the long drive home tomorrow." The eldest Guthrie sighed at the thought of riding in the car with his siblings, both of whom recently accused him of being way too strict. "How about ya, any plans?"

"I'm driving the twins and David to Chicago tomorrow," she told him, playing with the scarf around her neck and echoing his excitement over the prospect of a long car ride with children. "This year, my brother and sister wanted a traditional Thanksgiving meal with all of the trimmings. I suppose phô is not an adequate replacement for turkey and cranberry sauce."

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky rubbed his stubble-ridden cheek thoughtfully. "Ya could always learn ta make yer own dinner," he suggested, rather amused with the picture of tiny Shan slaving over a mammoth bird.

"Oh no, I couldn't," she replied and shook her head emphatically. "I'm hoping to find a girlfriend who can handle that."

The corners of his pale eyes crinkled as he smiled. Initially, it had been strange for him to grow accustomed to the idea of one of his friends being openly gay. Coming from rural Kentucky, he did not know of anyone who identified themselves as being such. However, since arriving at Xavier's, his provincial view had since widened, allowing him to meet and befriend many considered different according to society's standards. There was also the fact that Shan was someone he had grown close during their years as New Mutants. As long as she was happy, nothing else mattered.

"How close are ya on that front?" he inquired casually, crossing his ankles.

Shan sighed, resting her chin on the palm of her hand and looking rather wistful. "I thought I was on the verge of something, but…" Her voice trailed off as she quickly blinked, recognizing her own discomfort with the subject. The disappointment was still too fresh, not to mention the awkwardness she continued to experience whenever she saw Kitty. Then she changed gears rather abruptly. "So, it seems like everyone left for missions, doesn't it?"

Sam followed her lead, taking the not-too-subtle hint. "Yeah," he echoed. "Ah just saw Storm and her team head off not too long ago. Who knew the holidays were so busy?"

The comment earned a wry smile from the normally solemn Shan. "It is surprising, but I know of a few people who should be here."

"It seemed pretty empty when Ah got back from town taday," he remarked, shrugging. "Then again, Ah wasn't lookin' for anyone, really."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "Well, there's Dani and Rahne. They're supposed to be staying with a group of students, but I think they're all going to Laurie Collins's house for dinner… Wait, then there's Jubilee."

"Jubilee is still here?" He struggled to hide his astonishment and temper the excitement in his tone. Since his decision to remain at the mansion, the Southern gentleman tried to avoid seeing her when he could. It hurt too much otherwise.

"Yes. I believe she was supposed to spend the holidays with Scott and Jean, but they left this morning."

"Oh, she's probably goin' home with Bobby."

"No, Bobby's been away since yesterday with Logan. They're not scheduled to return for quite some time."

"Ah see… Do ya know what she's gonna be up ta?"

"I haven't talked with her or anything, but I would assume she would be staying here with Dani and the others."

"Ah wonder if she's disappointed."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah mean, havin' her plans fall through and all."

"You could ask her yourself. The last time I saw her, she was heading to the Danger Room."

Before Sam could muster a response, Shan's younger brother, Leong, barreled into the library. He was pulling on his black, wool toggle coat over his gray, hooded sweatshirt, yellow polo shirt, and chinos as he made his way to where his sister was. "Shan, Shan!" he called out, running out of breath.

Sam caught the ten-year-old before he collided with the desk. "Easy there, buddy," he chided lightly.

Shan flashed him a grateful look before rising out of her chair and kneeling down in front of her little brother. "Now, what's all this excitement about?" she inquired.

Leong took a deep breath, onyx eyes shining. "Aunt Dani's taking all of us kids to pizza and to the arcade for our last night here," he announced, clearly overjoyed with the trip into town. "She wants you to come with us, Sis." Then he peered up at Sam and told him, "Your brother says he'll play 'Space Avengers' with me."

"And yer gonna beat him, right?" Sam grinned. Jay wasn't exactly the video game type.

"Yeah!" Leong chirped up, pumping his fist in the air. "I've played that game, like, a million times."

"Don't remind me," Shan groaned, rolling her eyes. There were times when she swore he spent more time with the PlayStation than with other people. She rose up and grabbed her olive-green overcoat from the coat rack. As she pulled it on over her brown, herringbone jacket, pink camisole, and white corduroy pants, she said, "Sam, why don't you get Jubilee and we can all ride into town together?"

The prospect of initiating such a conversation left him torn. On one hand, he was thrilled over the possibility of talking with Jubilee alone. In spite of his tortured existence, it was still her face and those deeply stunning eyes that never failed to lift his spirits. But on the other hand, he was no fool. He was perfectly aware of the status of the situation and was not about to allow himself to entertain other ideas. There was no way he could afford to. Simply put, he had to maintain his act.

Finally, Sam cleared his throat and nodded. "Sure," he replied, his mouth suddenly as dry as cotton.

Leong's face darkened with an impatient scowl. Tugging at his sister's shirt sleeve, he remarked, "There won't be enough room in both vans. Besides, I don't want to get there late."

"Shh," Shan admonished and shook her head reprovingly. Tilting her head up to look up at Sam, she sighed. "Would you mind driving into town yourselves? I hate to ask, but if I didn't, I wouldn't hear the end of it from this one." Her dark eyes gazed down at her brother, who was jumping up and down in anticipation.

Sam peered down at the imploring expression of the younger Coy Mahn. Thoroughly understanding where the boy was coming from, it was difficult not to relent. He nodded with a smile that genuinely reached his pale eyes. "No problem," he assured her, getting up from his chair. "Jubilee and Ah'll meet ya there." For a moment, his heart skipped a beat when he uttered his reply.

Located off the east coast of Africa, the island nation of Genosha had long been a place of turmoil. At first glance, it appeared to be free from the political and racial conflict that characterized its neighbors. In addition, the country boasted a high standard of living and an excellent economy. However, it was soon discovered that this utopian appearance was a façade for something quite insidious—Genosha's prosperity was built upon the enslavement of its mutant population. Mutants were the property of the state and children who were positively identified with the mutant gene were put through a process, stripped of free will, and made into mutates. Moreover, certain mutant abilities were modified in order to fulfill specific labor shortages. Citizens who attempted to leave the country were tracked down and forcibly brought back to the island.

In recent years, the foundations of this social structure were confronted and subjected to a revolution of sorts. Through the intervention of the X-Men, government was toppled. In its place, a new body of officials were appointed to the new Genoshan regime, who promised better treatment of mutants. Yet, a period of general chaos continued with the introduction of this government. Among the tumultous events that followed were a number of attacks by superhumans, including Magneto's Acolytes who were unwilling to forgive the former Genoshan government for its crimes against mutants.

Several years after the mutant-friendly government came into power, the nation soon underwent another series of changes. The economy began to thrive once again, thanks to the lifting of sanctions. Mutants, for the first time in history, were being afforded the same opportunities as their human counterparts. It appeared they were allowed the right and freedom to exist without the fear of enslavement or worse.

It was still too much for Warren to absorb. As he climbed out of black town car he reserved for himself and the rest of his teammates, he could not help but reel from what he was witnessing. His blue eyes cast a gaze across the crystal-clear waters that complimented the pure, white sand of the nearby beach. Businesses thrived with newly-built homes. Recent European and Japanese imports cruised the streets. Not too long ago, he remembered this place for the burning buildings and crumbling infrastructure. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes at night, he could still see the anguished faces of people, victimized and tormented for what they were.

As a green-faced bellhop trotted towards him with a large, brass luggage cart, Warren was quickly reminded of Jean-Paul's analysis of continuing inequities in the job market for Genoshian mutants. According to the former Alpha Flight member, it was because of this disparity that there was an overabundance of shantytowns on the other side of the island. However, he was at a loss when it came to explaining the dwindling population of mutant children.

_Which is why we're here, _Warren mused to himself grimly, watching Cain pop open the trunk to the car. While he promised his friends that he would try to lose his pessimistic perspective, there was a part of him that would not completely rule out the possibility that something unseemly was at play.

Like the others, he was not all that thrilled to be working on a mission during the holiday season. Given there was no way to remove himself from the team, Warren decided to make the best of it. Under the guise of a potential investor, he booked accommodations that aided this ruse. His tasteful and discerning eye led him to the Renaissance, a majestic and airy villa with one-of-a-kind Balinese furnishings and art. Reserving guest rooms on the top floor, he ensured each member had terrace views of the water. When he noticed the expressions of awe on the faces of Bobby, Hank, and Kurt, Warren was confident he had taken the right course of action. Meanwhile, Logan and Cain remained characteristically diffident.

The group, with the exception of Logan who wished to finish his cigar, followed the bellhop through the double glass doors. Cain made a beeline towards the hotel bar. The large man somehow disappeared into the dark, smoky area. Meanwhile, Bobby, Hank, and Kurt started a game of tag in the lobby.

Warren, shaking his blond head, made his way to the concierge's desk with his platinum card in hand. He forced a smile on his travel-weary face as he greeted the rosy-faced man behind the desk. "Good afternoon. Reservations under the name Worthington."

Almost gleefully, the man nodded and recognized the potential for good business that emanated from the world-renowned millionaire. Then his gaze traveled past blond Adonis, which heralded a change in his demeanor. "Are those three also with you, Mr. Worthington?" the concierge asked warily.

The tall, blond playboy peered over at the trio, who were now leaping over chairs, dodging other personnel, and sliding across tables. With an inward groan, he rolled his eyes before responding. "Unfortunately, yes," he sighed, exasperated. He made a mental note never to stop at another Starbucks again.

"I see." The concierge masked his disapproval as he tapped the keys to his computer. "Oh yes. The rooms you've booked are ready. Now, if you could wait for a moment, I'll give you your keys and access cards."

"Excellent." Warren quickly turned his head and glared at his teammates, hoping to silently admonish them. To his annoyance, the three of them continued in their game until Kurt bumped into a cleaning woman, nearly knocking her over.

Minutes later, Bobby found himself in his hotel room. The boyishly handsome young man tossed his travel bag on the bed, his ears still ringing from the scolding he and his tag buddies received from a mortified Warren. As he began to unpack, he wondered when his friend decided to completely turn his back on fun. It was not too long ago that Warren provided his financial assistance in enrolling Scott into the underwear of the month club.

_He laughs every month when Scott gets unmarked packages, but won't crack a smile when we're at the hotel,_ Bobby groused, hanging his Hawaiian shirts in the closet. He heaved an indignant sigh.

As much as he wanted to attribute his unusually grouchy mood to the condescending lecture he received or the long travel time or the long plane ride, Bobby was aware that he could not do so in good faith. The sunshine that streamed through his windows, cool and gentle breeze, and placid sounds of the ocean did nothing to assuage him. Peering out at the scenic view in front of him, he was unable to lose himself in this piece of paradise.

When it came down to what was troubling him, he knew full well the mission contributed greatly to his state of mind. It was taking him away from a potential break needed after a long semester of classes. It was taking him away from his mother's delicious Thanksgiving meal. Most importantly, it was taking him away from someone he cared about and could not bear the thought of being away from for too long.

Jubilee.

Bobby's gray eyes softened behind his purple-tinted sunglasses as his mind drifted. He knew they had been apart because of fieldwork before. But the prior separations seemed rather painless to deal with compared to this indefinite stay in Genosha. According to Logan's estimates, the reconnaissance in the shantytowns would prove to take several weeks. Making contacts with the locals would then take an additional couple of weeks. From there, the gruff Canadian was unsure as to where the endpoint would be.

Glumly, he felt a twinge of guilt creep into his chest as the information replayed in his head. It was certain that he was going to miss spending the holidays with her. There would be no late nights, cuddling by a fire; no moments under the mistletoe; no exchanging of gifts. Recalling the pain and separation that characterized last year's festivities, Bobby wanted to make things up to her. He swore to himself that the two of them would never endure another period of anguish similar to that again. Now, staring at the landscape of a place that was miles and miles away from her, he cursed his luck.

Fortunately, their parting this time was less acrimonious but remained heartbreaking nonetheless. In between packing for the trip, there were wishes of not having to leave and promises to think of one another during this separation. He remembered Jubilee trying to keep up a cheerful front, as she always did in the face of adversity. It was not only her defense mechanism against the experience of pain, but also her way of reassuring him that he had nothing to be concerned about. While it made him miserable to observe this, he was hard-pressed to deny that her actions did not have the slightest effect on his troubled mind.

In return, he provided an equally cheery, optimistic façade. He joked around about working on his tan while prowling the pristine beaches. She chided him, remarking that no one but her would want to see him with little clothing on. Their conversation continued along this playful banter, never acknowledging the reality of the situation. In a way, it was comfortable and familiar. It was…them.

They were able to engage in this form of denial until Kurt came rapping at the door.

There was nothing more Bobby wanted than to inform his teammate that he was sitting this one out. For a moment, as he held Jubilee in his arms, he considered it. Just once, there was a part of him that longed to be selfish, to disregard his responsibilities. He was tired of being needed for missions all the time. For God's sakes, he wasn't aspiring to be Logan or anything, stretching himself thin with commitments.

Sensing his reluctance to leave, his girlfriend pulled him close to her for one last embrace. She pressed her sweet mouth against his, relishing their closeness to imprint in her memory. Her fingers stroked his hair, danced along the back of his neck as she said her good-bye. Then, with great trepidation, she let him go.

Leaning against the French door that was ajar, Bobby peered out at the waters that crashed along the white sands of Genosha. The blue of the ocean paled in comparison to the sapphire hue in Jubilee's eyes. They radiated her understanding, her kindness, and her strength. It was then that he was brought back to their final moments together. He could still hear her voice, her words reverberating in his mind.

_"You've got to go," she had whispered in his ear, "just come back to me safe." _

His reverie was soon shattered when music suddenly started playing. Specifically, Billy Ocean's "Caribbean Queen" was blasting from somewhere in the hotel room. Still weary from jet-lag, it took several seconds for Bobby to figure out the source of music. He then remembered how he and Hank programmed classic 80s tunes as ring tones to their cell phones. Quickly, he searched through the pockets of his black leather jacket.

When Bobby found it, he immediately answered without bothering to look at the caller id. "Hello?"

"Bobby, dear, why are you all out of breath?" Maddy Drake's throaty, soothing voice inquired from the other end.

"Mom?" Bobby's brows shot upwards, and his boyish face was drawn in a perplexed expression. His confusion did not stem from any haze he was experienced as a result of the time differences, but from the fact that he and the rest of them just received their cell phones yesterday. With the exception of Scott, Professor Xavier, and each other, no one from the team had given out their individual numbers.

Unfazed by Bobby's astonished tone, his mother pressed on. "I got your message on the answering machine this morning about you and Jubilee not being able to make it up here for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Your father and I are so disappointed! We were looking forward to seeing you both again."

Bobby blinked rapidly, somewhat recovered from his initial shock. H ran a nervous hand through his sandy hair. "Um, Mom, how did you…how did you get this number? I don't remember—"

"Oh, don't be silly," she admonished in her husky voice that dripped with her trademark genteel. "I'm your mother. Of course I'll find a way to track you down."

_Of course, _he mused to himself, placing his hand over the lower half of his face. He considered querying her as to how she managed to obtain the information, but decided against it. In the end, he thought it would simply hurt his head too much to even listen to the answer. Sighing, he sauntered to the inviting queen-sized bed and sank his weary form into it. "So, what's up?"

"I thought the message was awfully vague as to why the two of you can't make it down here," his mother sniffed, not bothering to hide her hurt.

Desperately, Bobby racked his mind to recall the message he had left. In between packing, leaving an agenda for his teaching assistant, and saying good-bye to Jubilee, he remembered being in quite a hurry. Whatever explanation he provided was surely rushed, but conveyed the news. Unfortunately, the nature of the message did not seem to sit all tat well with Maddy.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he apologized. "It's just that I was kind of in a hurry."

Apparently, his attempt at atonement did little placate her. "In too much of a hurry to explain why you cancelled plans to visit?" she countered.

_Oh boy, _Bobby groaned inwardly. "No," he began, but cut himself off before he could squeak out an excuse. It struck him as rather perturbing as to how Maddy continued to exert this strange hold over him despite the years he spent away from home. As much as he wanted to declare himself completely free from it, he knew that was not simply the case. She was his mother; it was her role in their dynamic.

In an attempt to deflect this unneeded scrutiny from himself, he backtracked. "You said you and Dad are disappointed…"

"Yes, we are. We were looking forward to seeing you and Jubilee." Much to his relief, his mother did not call him out.

"Both of you?" He was surprised again, but for a different reason. Somehow, the idea of his father being upset over the fact that his son and his son's mutant, Chinese girlfriend was rather strange given how strained things continued to be. From what Bobby was able to discern, the elder Drake was still rather standoffish and wary of their relationship. Even during Ellie's christening, Bill made a point to keep his distance. Why was his mother trying to convince him that things were changing?

"Yes, both of us, Bobby." Maddy paused for a moment. "Why did you ask like that?"

Bobby frowned deeply, relieved his mother could not see him. "Ask like what?" he sighed.

"Ask in that voice, like you can't believe that your parents wouldn't want to see you two?"

"It's not that I doubt you want to see Jubilee and me…"

"But?"

"But Dad? I'm not so sure, Mom. Let's just say we have an understanding about my relationship with Jubes. I know he's not thrilled about us."

"How can you say that? How can you even believe any of that?"

"Mom?"

"I mean it. Is this your way of being funny? If it is, young man, I'm not laughing. Not this time."

"No, it's not. It's just that—"

"Is that the reason why you're not coming home? If it is, I'll have you know that he's trying. Your father is really trying, Bobby."

"Could have fooled me."

"Now, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Mom… Listen, I should be going—"

"Oh no, you don't. I want to talk about this right now."

Bobby tried not to scream through his teeth. He recognized that tone. It was the same tone she used when he was twelve and he backed his father's station wagon over the garbage cans, thanks to a dare by Joel. Maddy usually meant business when she summoned that tone. Silently, he berated himself for even provoking her. He should have known better.

Clearing his throat, he rubbed his forehead and relented. "Okay, Mom. Let's talk."

There was a substantial pause on the other end of the line. After several moments of crackling, Maddy finally spoke up. "I'm not saying the way he acted last time was appropriate. I'm not. It's just that your father… He's had a difficult time these past few years. You know that."

Bobby felt his throat suddenly constrict. "I know," he managed, the sensation equivalent to choking on air.

"You also know that he loves you very much," she said, her voice softening to a soothing quality. "He might not say it all the time, but he does."

The younger Drake exhaled heavily, guilt slowly creeping over him. Of course, he was aware of this. Beneath the laconic, gruff demeanor Bill often portrayed to the world was a man who deeply cared about his family. There was a great deal of evidence to justify this argument. His support for his son was unwavering in every aspect.

Well, almost.

Bobby's sandy brows furrowed together thoughtfully as he sat up. "It's just hard," he began, bracing for another discussion about his father's continued cool behavior towards Jubilee. "I mean to know that he doesn't accept someone I really care about… What am I supposed to think?"

Back in Long Island, the Drake matriarch stood in her bright, airy kitchen with its' wainscoting walls and the nickel-plated brass lighting fixtures overhead. She found herself speechless, recognizing the tinges of anguish that characterized her son's voice at that moment. It was as if he were a little boy again, eager to please and searching for his father's approval. Her chest suddenly tighten in sympathy. At that moment, there was nothing more she wanted than to find Bobby and wrap her arms around him to comfort as she did before.

But she couldn't do that.

Not anymore.

"Bobby," she began, anxiously smoothing out a wrinkle in her velveteen jeans that she wore with a turquoise sweater and a pair of hand-sewn moccasins. "I'm not going to make any excuses for how your father treated you and Jubilee last year. His behavior was absolutely deplorable, and he's aware of that. I know for a fact that he has spent this past year, lamenting over his actions. Seeing the way he upset her and hurt you shook him to the core."

In his hotel room in Genosha, Bobby listened to his mother's words. He mulled over them carefully in his head. There was a part of him that was hesitant to be taken in. After all, his father had established a pattern of narrow-mindedness that was demonstrated towards other women Bobby brought home. At the same time, it was difficult to characterize the elder Drake as not capable of change. His mother was correct in pointing out that he had made an effort to reach out. The Claddaugh ring around Jubilee's finger was proof of that.

In the end, Bobby was desperate to believe. He was tired of the tension, the strained air between them. But he had to know that every aspect of his life was going to be accepted, including the person who continued to be the target of Bill Drake's disdain. "Jubes means a lot to me," he said earnestly. "She's not like the others. For the first time in awhile, I'm happy."

Then Maddy asked in a low, quiet voice, "How serious is this, sweetheart?"

"It's serious, Mom," he confessed, suddenly feeling lighter for the first time since he arrived at Genosha. "Really serious."

"Computer, simulation exercise: urban combat. Level: moderate high difficulty."

"Recognition of user request. Welcome, Jubilee."

"Thanks, Computer."

Jubilee surveyed the holographic images of a generic city landscape from behind her oversized, pink sunglasses. Thanks to Sh'iar technology, the computer-generated scenario was quite realistic. The sights of tall skyscrapers, the sounds of traffic, and even the smells that emanated from car exhaust and hotdog vendors combined to add to the effect of authenticity. One unfamiliar to the Danger Room would have sworn they were in downtown Manhattan.

Taking a deep breath, the young girl reconnoitered her surroundings. Her face was filled with concentration as she set out on the streets. While not a stranger to training in the Danger Room, it had been quite some time since Jubilee engaged in a simulation exercise. The fact that she was not a field team member and her full-time studies at college both contributed to her inactivity. She only hoped that the time spent away from training did not show too much.

As for what brought her here this afternoon, she was at a loss to come up with one defining reason. Part of it stemmed from an interest to join one of the teams at least on a half-time basis. She had expressed this to Scott shortly before he and Jean left with their team for a mission. Upon hearing this, he seemed rather apprehensive about the proposition. He gently pointed out that it had been some time since she saw any type of combat. In spite of her arguments that she was perfectly in control of her powers, he remained steadfast to his position. Scott then added that he would not be able to forgive himself should anything happen to her.

Granted, Scott's rationale for refusing her offer was rooted out of paternal concern, but Jubilee could not help but be somewhat peeved. The conversation reminded her of many that had transpired before, where she was made to feel like an immature child who was not capable of any kind of independence and who was left behind while the adults got to play heroes. Through the years, she learned to joke around and take things in stride, not allowing the world to know how much it grated her nerves. She had hoped that this treatment, this view of her being an eternal child, would stop once she became an adult. Much to her dismay, she was proven wrong.

The way she perceived things, perhaps by clocking in some time in the Danger Room, Scott would consider the possibility of placing her in the reserves with people like Sam or Jean-Paul. Not only did she have her fireworks to offer (which were now quite capable of causing violent explosions at the molecular level), but her hand-to-hand combat skills were reasonably good. While she was not as well-trained as Kitty, Jubilee was able to hold her own in a confrontation.

Also compelling her to engage in training exercises was her need to deal with her status of being alone for the holidays. She had been determined to put on a brave face for Bobby. Much as she shared his feelings about not wanting to leave, she realized the two of them had very little choice in the matter. It was not as if he had scheduled this outing on purpose. Prior to this news, he had talked about spending the holidays together this year with his family. While there was apprehension on both their parts about the prospect of facing his father, who was still rather reserved about their relationship, the couple realized that the visit provided a chance to compensate for last year. This time, both of them knew what they would be in for.

However, unlike her boyfriend, Jubilee detected a thawing on the part of Bill Drake. In a way, Jubilee was disappointed with not being able to visit the family. She had hoped to determine whether there would be any other signs of change in Bobby's father. Although he was still reluctant to embrace her with open arms, there were signs that he was reconsidering his initial position. For one thing, he was able to be around her without grimacing. At Ellie's christening, the elder Drake initiated a conversation with her while waiting for Maddy to return from the ladies' room. While the content of the discussion was limited to superficial small talk, it seemed to mark a sense of increasing ease he had with his son's relationship.

As for her own feelings about the romance, Jubilee found herself thinking quite deeply about it in Bobby's absence. In contrast to the last mission he went on to Istanbul, there was no end date. Moreover, communication with anyone not involved with the task at hand was strictly forbidden. These two elements of this mission seemed to put her out of sorts. In spite of the fact that Bobby had just left, she noticed her thoughts drifted to him, and whether or not he was safe. During these moments, her stomach fluttered nervously. She was restless, ruminating about the unjust nature of the situation. Not being allowed to even email him or hear his light-hearted voice seemed so cruel, especially around this time of year when togetherness was an implicit message of the holidays. In short, she missed him terribly and could not wait for him to come back to her.

Despite this longing to be with him, she was determined not to play the pining damsel who sat by a window and sighed until her lover's return. It simply was not her nature. She had to find a way to deal with her anxieties, or at least find a way to distract herself. The nervous energy that flowed through every fiber of her being nearly made her jump out of her skin.

Consumed by her own musings, the young girl temporarily let her guard down as she walked through the simulated city the Danger Room provided. She did not pay attention to the scenery or the direction she was walking towards. Her concentration finally returned when she heard the background noises of traffic and people bustling in the streets suddenly disappear. It was now deafeningly silent. Alarmed, Jubilee peered around her and saw that she was now in a dark alley, littered with old newspapers and other bits of trash. A slight breeze blew tendrils of hair from her cheeks, sending shivers up and down her spine. Yet, she was not convinced that it was solely the wind that elicited such a response.

All of a sudden, her ears picked up on a deep, rumbling voice that made her heart stop. "Miss me, sweetheart?"

Jubilee whipped around, ponytail swinging. Her mouth went dry. Standing inches away was Victor Creed, or rather, a robot designed to look like him. It had his sharp, yellow teeth, mouth that seemed to be fixed in a permanent sneer, and eyes that illustrated what the depths of hell might have been like. His blond hair, dirty and tangled, added to the madness he emanated. The long, brown trench coat the simulated Sabretooth wore even smelled like the real monster—tobacco, beer, and body odor.

Before she could mentally orient herself, the robot pounced. Sabretooth's foot swept out, hooking around her ankles and pulling her feet from under. She was barely able to break her fall with her arms, her face inches from the floor. A split second later, he covered her body with his own heavy form, his chest pressing against her back. "Ya like that, frail?" he panted in her ear. "Scream for me."

Jubilee bit back a scream of terror as an overwhelming sense of fear rose to incredible heights. It took all her mental fortitude to remind herself that this wasn't real. The creature fighting her was not the same person who terrorized her when she was younger. He was not the Creed who used to frighten her in nightmares, killing those she cared deeply about. No, this was simply a robot that looked like Victor Creed and nothing more. It was imperative she remember that.

Face flushed with embarrassment, she cursed her rustiness and used a free hand to summon a paf. The force of the plasmoids sent the Sabretooth robot into the back wall. This allowed her to catch her breath and attempt to figure out her next move.

Unfortunately, the reprieve was fleeting as Sabretooth dropped to the floor, sweeping his leg around. This time, she was prepared and leapt into the air. She landed next to him, blasting another round of fireworks in her opponent's direction. However, the plasmoids missed him by inches as he flipped out of her way.

"That's the best ya can do? Thought that runt Logan woulda taught ya better, little girl." The Sabretooth robot sneered, revealing a set of sharp, yellow teeth.

Jubilee scowled, furious. "He did," she snapped, diving between his legs. She quickly flipped onto her back and landed a blow with her foot to the back of his knees, knocking him over.

Dropping sharply to the side, he reached for her, but was only able to bury his claws into her yellow raincoat. Instinctively, she tried to pull away. The force of the action pushed her body backward. Suddenly, she felt pressure across her back until the seams of her raincoat tore into shreds, leaving her in a red, low-cut T-shirt, black pants, gold belt and black boots.

Momentarily stunned, Jubilee stared at the remnants. Then she felt something wet and sticky running down her arms. Blood—her blood. It was at that point in time she realized the robot's claws scratched her shoulders while ripping off her raincoat, possibly inflicting deep cuts that were beginning to bleed out.

"Now, it's on!" she yelled, narrowing her sapphire eyes. I _Who would have thought a simulation would have hurt this much? _/I When she saw Sabretooth was pulling himself up, she kicked out at him. Her foot caught underneath his chin, snapping his large head back.

"Ya little brat!" the Sabretooth robot screamed, sounding very much like the real Creed. He snarled at her menacingly, harkening her back to a few nightmare encounters she had with the actual monster.

Jubilee tried not to shiver, swallowing her fear back. I _This isn't real, _/I she told herself. I _I can do this. I can beat him. _/I

In the back of her mind, she was aware of the fact that at any time, she could easily call upon the computer to quit the program. But that would be the easy way out, and she was not willing to do that. She had something to prove. She was not the little girl that was left behind all the time anymore.

Holding out her hands, Jubilee fired a series of multi-colored fireworks of various shapes and intensities at the Sabretooth robot. She ensured the blasts met their target, directly aiming at his face. He howled, crying out something rather unintelligible as he clutched his face.

Then he pulled his large hands from his now scarred face, his eyebrows completely singed. "Yer gonna pay for that," he snarled, stumbling towards her.

Calling upon the martial arts tutelage she received from Logan, the young girl provided her response to his challenge with a roundhouse kick. However, the robot managed to recover by blocking the blow. She attempted to use her speed to slip past his defenses, but was caught by an outstretched hand. Grabbing her by the hip, he threw her to the floor and knocking the wind out of her.

The young girl choked, her lungs compressing inside. It was as if her chest was going to cave in at any moment. Her limbs were exhausted, weary from the sparring and from her frustration with herself. With her body fatigued, hand-to-hand combat was completely out of the question. She was left with the option of using her sparks to get out of this situation.

Somehow, the robot Sabretooth sensed her plan of action. He reacted with his keen reflexes, flipping her small frame over. Then he straddled her, squeezing her legs together with his knees, and pinning her arms to the floor with one hand. He squeezed her wrists to the point where her hands began to go numb. His mottled and burned face was already beginning to heal from her attack. Still, the scarring did not horrify her as much as the leer that touched his lips.

"I can see why Logan and that One-Eyed freak kept ya away from me," he grunted, running his razor-sharp claws along her sides and across her chest. His eyes roved over her as if she were a meal he was about to devour. "I'm gonna enjoy eating you up."

Jubilee winced, feeling each of his claws tear into her shirt and cutting the flesh underneath. Her thighs and shins were beginning to ache. She was certain they were bruised with the pressure that was being applied by the robot. All she had to end this was to ask the computer to quit this program.

Still, this was not an option.

_I won't take the easy way out,_ she thought, gritting her teeth as the physical toll was wearing her down with each passing second. _I won't take the easy way out. I won't take the easy way out. I won't take the easy way out…_

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, she managed to generate a small spark from her fingers, using it to zap the hand that clutched her wrists. This took the Sabretooth robot by surprise, knocking him back slightly but not enough to throw him off of her. The lower half of her body still pinned down; she struggled to catch her breath. Taking a deep breath, the young girl held up the palms of both of her hands and focused mentally on what she needed to do.

PAF!

Her crystalline eyes widened as she watched the bursts of light that streamed from her hands. The scalding heat of the energy from the blasts sent the Sabretooth flying backwards into a nearby building. Meanwhile, the intensity of the impact coupled with the concussive nature of the plasmoids caused the robot's hologram function to go awry. With its steel-frame exposed, the robot then began to shatter into several pieces.

Jubilee sat up, mesmerized by the destruction of her opponent and amazed with how she managed to draw upon enough strength to come through the exercise. When the last piece of the robot clattered to the floor, she lay back down and allowed her drained form to rest. "Computer, end program."

Sam Guthrie stepped out of the elevator, the steel-reinforced doors sliding shut behind him. His steps echoed loudly as he made his way down the corridor in the direction of the Danger Room. Though not a stranger to this part of the mansion thanks to his time as a New Mutant and now an X-Man, he could not help but be awed by the sophisticated technology that was showcased throughout this floor.

The Southern gentleman was filled with a myriad of emotions with nervousness being at the top of the list. Granted, inviting Jubilee on an outing with the rest of the students and staff was innocuous and hardly revealed his feelings for her, but the prospect left him quaking in anticipation. In fact, he was hard-pressed to think of another instance when he was just as apprehensive. It had been quite a while since he actually spoken to her. Besides the fleeting moments when he would see her in the mansion, the coal miner's son made an effort to avoid any direct contact with her. How would she respond? Would she perceive anything out of the ordinary because of his approach after weeks of not saying a word to her?

While he made the decision not to leave for Kentucky, there were times when Sam questioned his choice. It would have been simple to run away. But the truth was, Paige was right. Fleeing the mansion would do nothing to diminish what he felt and how felt. However, this was not to say that life as he knew it was easy. Seeing her with someone else killed him inside. At the same time, not seeing her at all would equate to the same heartache. In the end, it was a draw.

Turning a corner, he contemplated as to how he would talk to her without losing his composure. Shy and reserved by nature, it was difficult for him to approach people in general. The fact that he was going to initiate conversation with the woman who occupied his every waking minute made the task all the more daunting. He wished desperately for Gambit's casual cool, or Logan's self-assuredness, or even Drake's laid-back, playful persona instead of his formal, overly polite mannerisms that bordered on stiff and boring. Knowing his luck, he might stumble over his words, or worse yet, blush uncontrollably.

The sensations and stirrings that his fascination with Jubilee elicited was nothing the Southern gentleman had experienced before. It was strange, really, considering the fact that he had relationships with other women. Lila, his first girlfriend, pursued him and taught him many things about romance and women. Yet, her lifestyle of gallivanting around the universe was not compatible with the stability he really longed for. Her other occupation as a thief did not help all that much either. His time with Tabitha was characterized by moments where her colorful personality overwhelmed him. Along with her manic highs, there were her desperate lows he had to contend with. She was an unstable wild child who had known nothing of the world except abuse and neglect, and he became her steadiness, her rock. As for Amara, it was merely a brief infatuation that led to their friendship and nothing more.

With Jubilee, things were different. There were qualities about her that made her more accessible and more endearing. She was honest, fiercely loyal, and funny. Her old-soul blue eyes hinted at a maturity that was beyond her years, but did not lessen the youthful enthusiasm she had for life. As an adult now, she was thoughtful and grounded unlike the bubble-gum popping teenager who craved attention. She had also grown up to be very striking with her dark hair, creamy skin, and dazzling eyes that were hypnotizing.

Sam was nearing the Danger Room, but had to pass the clinic first. It was then that he heard a muffled curse and noticed that the lights were on inside as he walked by. His blond brows shot upwards in alarm. _No one's supposed to be in here, unless…_ He could feel his stomach flip when the possible explanations flashed in his mind. Quickly, he darted through the doors.

Inside, he found Jubilee sitting on an examining table. She looked roughed up underneath the sterile, overhead lights. Her hair was arranged in a messy ponytail, which was ready to spill out of the clip that was barely holding it in place. The T-shirt she was wearing had been torn into shreds around her lithe form. Edging closer to her, he noticed that blood stained the shirt, particularly around her shoulders and chest. She had stripped off her pants and boots, and wrapped her coltish legs, clearly bruised, with ice-packs and ace bandages. Meanwhile, traces of black soot were smudged across her forehead.

"What happened?" Sam demanded, his fear and concern intermingling. Almost instantly, he felt himself prepare to seek revenge on whoever the perpetrator was. "Are ya alright? Who did this?"

She shook her head, appearing calm which was in contrast to her condition. "I did this," she explained, her expression now sheepish. "Well, if you want to get technical, the Danger Room did this. I went in for a session, and I guess I was rustier than I thought."

While he was relieved to hear that she was engaged in training, the Southern gentleman was still on edge about her injuries. It was evident that they were serious. The grimace she wore on her lovely face spoke volumes. "What about you?" he asked in an attempt to assess her state.

"Other than getting my butt kicked for most of it, I'm good." She tried to laugh, but winced. "Okay, it looks bad, but I did beat the simulation in the end. Some victory, huh?"

He nodded. "Ah'm proud of ya," he told her, meaning every word. Then he watched the corners of her eyes begin to tear up as she attempted to push herself off of the table to stand up. Gently, he placed his hands over hers. "Sweetie, stop."

"I'm not finished," she insisted, still weak from the exercise to pull her hands away and draw back from him. She sighed, a sign of her frustration and discomfort. "I've only iced my legs. I have to… I have to…"

"Haveta what?" He felt a pang of sympathy in his chest for her. At that moment, he would have given anything to take her pain away. If he could trade places with her, he would have. The fact that she was suffering made him miserable.

Jubilee sniffed back a couple of tears. The cuts along her shoulders and chest were now stinging. "Under my shirt… I think I must have sliced myself up pretty good." She took a shuddering breath before continuing to speak. "It's just that there are parts of me that killing me and…" Her voice trailed off as she turned her face away, embarrassed. "Could you help me?"

Swallowing hard, Sam considered the request. He was no stranger to playing medic. Over the years, he had accumulated a large amount of medical knowledge while serving on Nathan's team, treating both himself and his teammates when necessary. There was no issue when it came to providing efficient examination and treatment. However, that was not what made him hesitate.

Helping her meant touching her.

Helping her meant seeing her nearly naked.

Could he help?

"Sam?"

Sam came back to reality. His heart was racing so fast he thought he would surely pass out. Somehow, he managed to compose himself. Clearing his throat, he said, "Sure, Ah'll help. It's just that…Ya have ta take yer shirt off so Ah can see where ya got hurt."

Jubilee blinked nervously. While she understood the rationale of what he was saying, she was slightly nervous. The prospect of another man seeing her naked body was a little unsettling. Her cheeks flushed pink as she thought about this. Yet, she was not sure if she could dress her wounds by herself. Her arms were stiffening as was the rest of her torso. Both would prove to be obstacles when inspecting her injuries and treating them.

She came to a decision, lifting the remnants of her red, low-cut T-shirt over her head. The remains of her bra fell out as she pulled the red cloth over head. Her hips, her flat stomach, and then her breasts came into view. The young girl pulled the article of clothing completely off, shaking her hair free of the tangle of material. It was then tossed to the floor, joining the rest of the uniform she had worn earlier. This left her with nothing on except her panties.

The Southern gentleman looked away, making his way to the medical cabinet and pretending to busy himself with supplies. Desperately, he willed himself to carry it without any emotion. This was definitely the situation where such resolve was needed. After all, she hardly needed him lusting after her. Despite his rational mind drilling this point, there was another dynamic at play. Seeing her in her injured state, he was concerned for her as a friend. However, as a man, he would definitely be affected when he touched her. Even covered with bruises and scratches, she had the most glorious body he had ever seen – a body that he'd imagined in more than one sexual fantasy.

Taking what seemed like eons to compose himself, Sam finally turned to face her. His face was the picture of Stoicism, revealing nothing of the conflict eating him inside. He walked towards the table slowly. Then he placed the tray of bandages and antiseptics on the crash cart nearby. Still, he refused to look at her.

Jubilee swung her coltish legs over the side of the examining table, watching him. "Are you sure that you're okay with this, Sam?" she asked quietly. It was hard not to observe how strange he was suddenly acting. Why wasn't he looking at her? Was he really that uncomfortable?

To his credit, he remained expressionless. "Ah'll be fine," he lied, his voice nearly cracking. "Are you?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath and wincing. "It's my pride more than anything. I still can't believe I got my ass handed to me like that." She forced a laugh, but stopped when her sides began to hurt. "Okay, I'm ready." P He was now standing in front of her. "Ah need ta check each of yer wounds." He kept his voice as flat and wooden as possible. It was as if his sanity dependent on this façade of control.

His love jumped involuntarily when he touched her skin for the first time, and he froze and met her eyes. "Sorry," she said ruefully.

"Don't be," he said, face filled with sympathy and restraint. "Do ya want me ta talk as we go along, tellin' ya what Ah'm doing?"

She nodded gratefully.

"Ah'm gonna ta start with yer right shoulder," he said. "The scratch there ain't very deep, so Ah'm gonna make sure that it's clean and then move on. Ready?"

The object of his unrequited affections began a steady, measured breathing with her eyes closed. "Yeah."

Sam reached forward with some cotton balls and bottle of antiseptic in hand. His manner was efficient but gentle as he cleaned out the wound. His heart panged in his chest when she tensed under his fingers. "Sorry, sweetie," he mumbled sympathetically.

The young girl pursed her lips, inwardly cursing the pain receptors she possessed. "What's next?" she asked, gritting her teeth.

"Ah'll be lookin' at yer shoulder blade now," he informed her, his voice suddenly thick to his ears. When the Southern gentleman noticed that she was still breathing in that same, steady rhythm, he realized he recognized the pattern. "Somethin' Logan taught ya?"

She nodded, swallowing hard before replying. "Yeah," she said, exhaling. "When I took self-defense with him, he used to end class with relaxation exercises. I thought I'd put it into practice. You know it?"

The Southern gentleman bandaged her shoulder carefully, focusing his gaze and concentration only to that area of her body. "Kinda. Nate taught all of us in X-Force, but not for self-defense."

Sucking in her breath sharply as the antiseptic stung yet another wound, Jubilee trapped her lower lip with her small, perfect white teeth. "For what then?" she asked.

"Discipline, he said. Ah think it was meant ta focus ya on what ya were doin'," Sam answered, shrugging. He carefully placed a bandage over the cut. "Didn't work too much for me, though. It always made me tired. Coupla times, Ah fell asleep."

She laughed at the image of an indignant Cable standing over a snoozing Sam. It was too much. However, her giggles were cut short by the pain that radiated from her chest. She grimaced. "Oh crap, that hurts."

"Ah'm sorry," he said sheepishly. He returned his attention to her injuries. The next laceration was located on the upper slope of her left breast down over her nipple. At first glance, it appeared that this cut was deeper than the others. "This one is gonna be more difficult, Jubes."

She looked down at the wound, pressing her lips together. Her fingers dug into the vinyl mat of the examining table. "Go ahead," she said.

Gently, he cupped her breast in a calloused hand, holding it steady while cleaning out the dried blood around her tightly furled nipple. The Southern gentleman tried not to think about the breast's firmness, its perfect fit in his hand. "Ah'm clearin' out the blood here," he told her, cursing the fact that the examination was not proceeding as fast as he wanted. The longer he was forced to touch her like this, the more he feared he was going to lose control. His restraint was beginning to thin as thoughts he willed out of his consciousness began to drift back into his mind. "Ah'm gonna clean the cut after this."

She began trembling as he continued to work over her torso, beads of sweat gathering around her hairline. Meanwhile, her breath came in small, panting gasps. The cut in her breast was now in contact with the oxygen in the air, causing her excruciating pain. It took all her mental strength not to start bawling like a baby.

When her breast moved in his hand slightly, he looked up at her. "Jubes?"

"It hurts, Sam," she whispered, biting her lower lip. Her crystalline eyes pleaded with him to hurry.

Sam turned his attention back to her injury. He saw that her nipple had hardened further, becoming a deeper shade of pink. Clenching his jaw, he willed himself to focus on her injuries and not his throbbing member. He began talking to her again as he had promised, hoping to help her think of something other than the sensation of his hands on one of her most sensitive areas.

"Ya doin' real good," he said reassuringly. "How about after this, Ah buy ya dinner? Anythin' ya want."

She exhaled shakily, watching him reach for the blue bottle of antiseptic. "It has to be order in," she said. "I don't think I can go anywhere."

"Ya got it." He quickly squirted some of the antiseptic onto his fingers and began to rub it softly into the wound.

Jubilee closed her eyes, trying to take her mind off of her discomfort and the fact that she was almost naked in front of a man who was not her boyfriend. Part of her was comforted because it was Sam who was with her. He was so calm, reassuring as he treated her. It was something she definitely needed after her encounter in the Danger Room.

In an attempt to distract the both of them from this strange situation, she spoke up. "So, what are your plans for Thanksgiving?"

A lock of blond hair fell into his pale eyes. He was surprised by the question given what was transpiring, but he then followed her lead. Inside, he was relieved with this diversion. "Uh, Ah'm drivin' home with Jay and Melody," he replied. "What about ya?"

"I guess I'm going with Dani and the others to Laurie Collins's house for dinner. It'll be weird. I don't know these students all that well. In a way, it's like I'm mooching or something."

"Ah don't think no one sees it that way."

"Well, I would feel differently if I knew Laurie better. Then it wouldn't be like I'm intruding."

"Sounds like ya don't wanna go."

"No, it's not that. I just don't have any choice in the matter. Bobby's gone with Logan. So, Scott and Jean were going to take me to Alaska to visit Scott's grandparents, but then they had to go."

Before Sam could think about the implications, he suddenly asked, "Well how about ya come home with me? Ah mean, with Paige not bein' able ta make it, there'll be plenty of food. My momma always makes enough to feed a whole town. We'd love ta have ya."

Jubilee stared at him, her blue eyes round as saucers.

Immediately, he regretted his words. For most of the examination, he had done so well. Now, look what happened. He cursed himself for being forward and inappropriate. Panicking, he tried to deflect attention from his proposition by concentrating on her injuries once again. However, in his flustered state, his palm accidentally brushed her nipple, earning a gasp from her and adding to the thick air of awkwardness and tension.

"Ah'm sorry," he said, trying to be as soothing as possible. "Ah…Ah didn't mean ta—" Then he cut himself off abruptly, placing a bandage over the wound before backing away from her.

Suddenly, her small hand reached out and grasped his wrist. Her skin was so cool whereas his burned like an intense fire. "Don't be."

His pale eyes widened incredulously. "What?" he asked hoarsely, his mouth as dry as cotton.

She held his hand tightly in hers. "I know you didn't mean to," she said softly. Then she gave him a self-deprecating smile and lowered her thick lashes. "It's not like you think anything of me."

A frown wrinkled his forehead. Inwardly, he wondered how she could possibly believe that, how she could be so oblivious to him. Without thinking, he found himself muttering, "Yer so wrong."

"What?" It was Jubilee's turn to be in disbelief.

Startled, Sam tried to pull away from her. Much to his chagrin, she was a lot stronger than she appeared. Her grip was iron-clad and unyielding. When it was clear that she was not going to give him any reprieve, he stopped struggling and simply sighed.

"Sam?"

There was no way he could look at her. Not after what happened. He let himself down, breaking his promise that he would hide his yearning for her. Now, the façade of normality was shattered.

"Sam, look at me. Please."

In spite of his resolve to resist, the pleading tone forced him to turn his head. She was like a siren, calling him, tempting him. His heart began to race wildly as he stared into that lovely face, the one that haunted his existence. He tried to will himself into numbness when her sapphire eyes peered into his soul. All his defenses were weakening. The pretenses of being neutral and feeling nothing for her were eroding. What was left was just him and the truth.

Needless to say, he had never been so frightened in his entire life.

The old-soul, blue eyes that captivated him, studied his face without judgment, but with curiosity. After what seemed to be like eons, she swallowed hard and bit her lower lip. There was no doubt that she knew. She knew.

He expected her to push him away so that she could cover herself. Admonishing him for his unwanted attention was another option. A slap to the face was not out of the realm of possibilities, either.

Yet, she did none of those things. Instead, she held his hand and stared into his eyes again. "I didn't know," she whispered.

"Ah didn't want ya ta know," he said softly, feeling himself teeter over the edge of control. Just being this close to her and knowing that she was practically naked was driving him wild. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to take her into his arms and kiss her. "It ain't fair ta ya."

"It's not fair to you, either," she pointed out, leaning towards him. Her breath was hot and sweet against his face.

Mesmerized by the nearness of her, Sam managed to speak. "Ah'm a big boy, sweetie. How Ah feel doesn't mattah." His voice was low and rough. "You don't haveta think about it."

"That's not true," Jubilee protested, her voice cracking with empathy for him. She brought his hand, still clasped in hers, between her breasts. "Don't say that. I care, Sam."

His heart skipped a beat when he saw where his hand was, feeling the silkiness of her creamy skin. Many times, the Southern gentleman dreamt of touching her, hearing her express genuine concern for him like this. He longed to believe that this moment was going to lead to something, that he would not have to suffer any longer. For once, he wanted to know what it was like to have the one thing in the world that was so precious to him.

As he stared into those hypnotic sapphire eyes, he did not find pity. There was no sympathy. What he discovered was tenderness and concern.

Suddenly, rational thought and restraint disappeared from his consciousness. He was solely operating on his desire. In one swift move, Sam's hands were on her waist and he pulled her to him. He pressed his lips against hers. He was thrilled when she responded, opening her mouth wide so that he could taste her. She relaxed into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck as the kiss deepened. As their tongues slid past one another, the Southern gentleman's hands cupped his sweetheart's face, relishing the soft sighs that escaped from her throat.

Jubilee drew back, gasping for breath. Her sapphire eyes were aflame as she stared up at him. "I want you," she whispered, kissing him back. "I want you, Sam."

Inwardly, he did a back flip. For so long, he waited for her to say that. His euphoria threatened to overwhelm him, affecting his fine motor skills as his fingers found the hem of her cotton panties. Tugging them over her slim hips and down her coltish legs, Sam could not help but think of how blessed he was. He could die now and still be quite happy.

Gently, he urged her to lie back on the examining table. His chest nearly exploded with bliss as he saw the adoration and trust that radiated from her sweet face. Intoxicated with her body, his hands began a torturous exploration of her body.

Jubilee moaned, closing her eyes. Even the very lightest of touches caused her to sigh, eyelids fluttering. In response, she began to moan his name.

"Sam… Sam… Sam?"

Startled, he was immediately brought back to reality. He blinked and saw that Jubilee was still sitting on the examining table, clad in her panties and newly bandaged. From the expression on her face, it was clear that she was perplexed as she peered over at him.

Nothing had happened.

His gaze lowered to the floor, ashamed of being lost in yet another fantasy. He was a fool to even fathom that anything like that would ever happen. "Listen, let me find somethin' for ya to put on."

Then the tall, lean blond man spun on his heel, heading towards the other side of the room to search for a hospital gown in the closet. He stiffened when he heard her call out his name. With a growing sense of dread, he slowly turned around to look at her.

Even though she was battered and bruised, she was beautiful. It was hard for him not to be entranced by her in spite of the fact that he did not want to be. She looked like some wonderful angel. As he stared back at her ethereal face, he wondered if she realized her hold on him. Surely, she had to have known how he felt about her.

Jubilee's sapphire eyes peered into his earnest face. She nodded and said, "Yes, Sam. If the offer's still good, I'd like to come with you for Thanksgiving. That is, if you still want me."


	45. Chapter 45

Back with another chapter. I can't say much, but things are going to start getting interesting...

There's another version of this chapter. If you'd like to read it, leave a message on the board.

Thanks to for the feedback.It's good to know people are still following this. Last but notleast, thanks toJo the Phoenix for beta-ing!

Enjoy...

**Chapter Forty-Five: Pressure Point (Non-explicit)**

No matter how much international travel experience he had under his belt, Bobby Drake always found himself battling his biological clock when it concerned sleep. It was particularly bad when he had to cross an ocean. He was the one who was constantly admonished for taking a lengthy nap during the day to alleviate his fatigue and cranky temperament. During his recent trip to Istanbul, he and Warren almost came to blows on the first day when the winged playboy publicly chastised Bobby for attempting to sneak a nap upon arrival at their hotel.

When the situation was rather desperate, he relied on sleeping pills to ease the adjustment to the time difference. While it took other people only a day or two to get accustomed, he found himself wrestling with his sleep schedule for several days. Often, by the time the mission was completed and the team was set to leave, Bobby only just adapted himself to the time difference.

Yet, this was not the case here in Genosha. Much to his surprise and amazement, Bobby acclimatized himself well to the time change. He managed to stay up until a reasonable hour, sharing a pitcher of beer with Logan, Kurt, and Cain at a local pub while Warren stayed behind at the hotel to participate in a videoconference at Worthington Industries. In a way, he was relieved that his friend was too busy to join them. Cain's dirty limericks and Bobby and Kurt's peals of laughter would not have gone over well with the polished millionaire.

Bobby then returned to the hotel with the group under Kurt's suggestion that they convene early next morning to scout the city for their investigation. The warm air that swirled from his open windows added to the drowsiness he was already experiencing. Stripping down to his snowflake boxers, he climbed into the inviting bed. As soon as his weary body hit the plump mattress, the boyishly handsome young man drifted into peaceful sleep. It was as if his body and his brain needed to recuperate from the long trip.

He wanted to dream of Jubilee, and have her ethereal, lovely face haunt his mind. In a way, it might have lessened the feelings of guilt for leaving her behind for the holidays, or dull the ache in his chest as he longed to be with her again. Hell, he even willed himself to do so, picturing her next to him in bed. To see those old-soul blue eyes and those delicate features framed by a cloud of her ebony hair would have been a comforting image to keep with him his first night away from her. Unfortunately, this did not happen. He simply fell asleep, his mind devoid of any images.

Dammit.

It was the sounds of seagulls crying out on the beach that roused him from sleep the following morning. _Stupid birds,_ he thought and groaned something inaudible, tossing the pillow over the upper part of his face in the hopes of drowning out the noise. Then he remembered agreeing to meet with the others over breakfast to strategize. Kurt was eager to make some community contacts to obtain their perspective regarding the dwindling child population. Logan had commented that he had feeling that the substantial information gathering would take place later on in the day, and that it would be less formal than what Kurt was imagining. Since their arrival in Genosha, he was scowling and muttering how something was not right. However, he would not elaborate as to what or how he knew.

Bobby pushed the pillow from his eyes and rolled over on his side to check the clock radio on the bedside table. Surely, he had another hour or two before he had to meet the others for breakfast downstairs. While he had fallen asleep easily, he was still lethargic. Upon turning on his side, he was startled when he did not immediately see the unremarkable clock with its red, glowing numbers. No, it was a more pleasant sight that met his gaze.

Lying next to him was Jubilee.

A myriad of emotions floated through his entire being. Astonishment, happiness, concern, confusion… It was hard to remain committed to one state for very long. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he continued to stare at her. Her sapphire eyes sparkled as she peered back him. Though she was underneath the sheets with him, he could already tell she was naked from the way the material clung to her willowy form. The sunlight that streamed in through the windows created a halo around her head, bringing out the midnight blue highlights in her thick, raven hair.

When he finally composed himself, putting together a rational front, Bobby managed to ask in a hushed and disbelieving whisper, "Are you really here? How?..."

Jubilee didn't answer him. Instead, she propped herself up on an elbow and flashed him a coy smile. Then she gave him one of those 'come hither' looks she seemed so good at.

Bobby's forehead wrinkled as he frowned. His head attempted to wrap around this delightful, yet illogical vision that was before him. Happy as he was to have her here with him, several questions raced through his mind. The first one being, how on earth did she know where to find him? With the exception of the Professor and Scott, no one from Westchester knew where his team was. Moreover, divulging such information was prohibited by Warren and Logan, who insisted that their operation remain covert.

Before he could mull over the peculiarities of the situation, she leaned in towards him and brought her lips over his. Bobby moaned as she ran her tongue over his lower lip, nipping at it with her teeth until he opened his mouth. He could feel her small hands raking through his sandy hair. Desperate not to allow any more space between them, he pulled her closer to him so that she was pressed up against him.

Drawing back, he brushed tendrils of hair that curled along her cheek. "Not that I'm complaining, Jubes, but how did you find me?" he asked huskily.

"I'm pretty resourceful," Jubilee replied, her voice so sweet and so clear it made him smile. "I know how to get my man if I wanted to. Besides, I'm your girlfriend. Of course I'm going to find a way to track you down."

Bobby's brows furrowed together, startled. He recalled his mother saying something similar when he talked with her on the phone. Had they been plotting and scheming since his one day out of the country? He certainly would not put it past his mother, who adored Jubilee, or Jubilee, who thought his mother was so genuinely kind. Suspiciously, he asked, "Have you been talking with Maddy?"

"What? No! Why do you ask?"

"Well, never mind… OK, if you're going to be cryptic in response to my first question, then maybe you can directly answer this next one."

"We'll see…"

"Come on, Jubes, how did you get here?"

Her thick, black lashes lowered in a mock demure fashion as she gave him an enigmatic smile. "Does it matter?"

He was truly perplexed at this point. Having known Jubilee for quite some time, he was certainly used to her cheeky nature. In fact, it was one of the aspects of her personality that attracted him to her in the first place. However, her playfulness was only serve to rouse confusion from him. He needed to temper his elation in order to figure out what was going on.

Clearing his throat, Bobby chose his words sagely and spoke them slowly. "I'd like to know so that when Scott calls me, frantic because he has no idea where you are, I can be prepared to make a statement."

"Don't worry about him." Jubilee nuzzled his ear.

Bobby forced himself to remain focus on the conversation, not on the wonderful sensation of his girlfriend's mouth on his earlobe. "Uh, I kinda have to," he managed weakly. He tried not to fixate on how right her body felt against his as she nestled herself in his arms. "I-I mean he's going to look at me as the first person who would know, and when he finds out you're here with me, he's going to freak out. Not the kind of freak out that involves him looking constipated, but really freaking out."

She drew back from him slightly and pouted. "You're really killing the mood with all this talk about Scott. Besides, I thought you'd like this surprise." Needless to say, she looked quite adorable at that moment—tousled hair, freshly scrubbed face, and sulky expression. It was hard for him to resist her, especially when she stuck out her lower lip even farther.

Suddenly, he laughed and realized how neurotic and out of character he sounded. Much as the rational side of his brain pestered him to pursue the issue further, it was placed on the backburner by another part that encouraged him to enjoy having her here with him. The consequences, if any, would simply have to be dealt with later. Bobby found that he quite liked this argument and embraced it willingly. Who cared how she arrived here or knew how to find him? The only thing that mattered was that there was no more separation between them.

His gray twinkled as they looked down at her ethereal face. "I do," he replied thickly and slid on top of her, placing all his weight on his elbows.

She kissed him lightly on the mouth. "So, you missed me?"

He stroked her hair tenderly. "You have no idea," he murmured.

Jubilee smiled shakily, clearly enjoying his touch. "I just wanted to know that you were safe," she said softly.

Bobby pressed his lips against her forehead. "I'm always safe when I'm with you," he told her quietly and stared deeply into her eyes. Conviction reverberated in his voice and in his gaze as he declared, "You're the one thing in this world that makes me feel right. There's no way I would ever let anything happen to me, to us."

Her sapphire eyes widened, his words clearly stirring and poignant. "Promise?" she whispered.

He nodded earnestly. It was a sentiment he had always felt but never really verbalized until now. As he expressed his thoughts, he could not help but feel just as touched. Never had a promise meant so much to him. When he saw that she trusted him so completely, he almost lost himself again. It was as if he was falling in love with her all over again at that moment.

As he held her, Bobby was growing more aware of how much he had missed being close to her like this. Both his heart and the rest of his body were responding to the situation with equal fervor. Following this brief exchange of dialogue, there was nothing except for the sound of their combined breathing—harsh and quickening.

"Why don't I show you how sincere I am?" he finally inquired, wagging his brows rakishly.

Jubilee bit her lower lip, trying to mask her anticipation. "If you really want to," she said in the most nonchalant tone she could muster.

Taking her response as a challenge, he grinned. "How am I doing?"

She moaned encouragingly. "Pretty good…"

"Well, I guess I'll have to strive to improve, huh?" He planted kisses along her throat.

She sighed. "Bobby…"

Grinning, he kissed her forehead and clasped her close to him. "I've missed you so much."

As he began to make love to her, he could not help but notice that her voice was beginning to sound quite different. It became deeper, taking on an almost masculine quality. There were times when he thought she developed a German accent and then an American one as she said his name over and over again. The tone of her voice also took on a more urgent quality.

"Bobby! Bobby!"

Confused and concerned, Bobby turned his face to peer down at her again. He was alarmed to see that she was no longer lying underneath him. Staring blankly at his hotel pillow, he felt his heart racing with panic. Where did she go? What happened? Bobby jerked to his side, racking his brain and attempting to shake off the cloud of weariness and puzzlement that disoriented him.

As soon as he moved, a startled scream escaped from his lips when he saw two faces that did not belong to Jubilee. One was blue with demon-like features and gold eyes, while the other was tanned with perfectly sculpted features and blue eyes, framed by thick, wavy blond hair. Both were smiling broadly with a great deal of amusement.

Kurt and Warren.

Bastards.

Immediately, Bobby sat up and pushed himself towards the other corner of the king-sized bed. Mortification, outrage, and bewilderment pulsed through every fiber of his being as he watched his friends/teammates burst into merry laughter. He prayed that he did not do or say anything embarrassing in his sleep. To say that he would never be able to live the fallout down was the understatement of the year. He could only imagine the teasing he would have to endure as a result.

Breathing harshly, he struggled to compose himself. "What the hell are you doing in my bed?" he demanded.

Warren sat up, still chuckling and giving Kurt a look that said, "You were right. That was funny." Smoothing out the creases in his light blue polo shirt that he paired with a pair of khakis and brown loafers, he replied, "Well, the first bed was too hard."

"And, the second bed vas too soft," Kurt added, golden eyes matching the color of his T-shirt with green trim.

Then the two of them chirped in unison, "But this bed was just right!"

Bobby scowled as his friends erupted into laughter once again. _And they call me immature, _he griped inwardly. Narrowing his gray eyes into razor-thin slits, he mocked their amusement. "Oh ha ha," he grumbled. "You two are hilarious. If trying to give a man a heart attack is your idea of comedy, then I don't want to know you guys."

Kurt hopped off the bed and to his feet, fiddling with his imaging inducer but not turning it on. "Ve vere simply concerned," he explained with a benign smile. "Ven you did not answer your phone, Varren and I vanted to see vat vas vong."

"You didn't get the door, so I got a key from downstairs to your room," Warren said as Bobby leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve his T-shirt that had been carelessly tossed on the floor last night. "It was then that we discovered Sleeping Beauty was happily snoring away."

"Sleeping Beauty!" Kurt choked out, doubling over in laughter once again.

Bobby pulled the gray T-shirt on and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Still annoyed with his friends, he said crossly, "Why didn't you shake me or something? Was it really necessary to climb into my bed and scare the hell outta me?"

For his part, Kurt looked apologetic. "Ve tried," he said. "For five minutes straight. Shaking you and yelling your name. You vouldn't vake up."

"Yeah," Warren echoed, crossing his arms over his chest. Then he and Kurt glanced at one another conspiratorially and grinned. "There was also the added bonus of watching your reaction."

"Ja," Kurt agreed with a twinkle in his golden eyes. "I'm only sorry ve did not have a video camera to capture the moment."

Bobby grimaced, standing up and ambling towards his hotel bathroom. As much as he was irritated with the antics of Warren and Kurt (he was already planning to exact his revenge on both at a later time), he was experiencing something else. Disappointment that his encounter with Jubilee was some kind of dream began to set in. It had all been so vivid to him, from the feel of her skin to the sparkle in those hypnotic sapphire depths.

He knew he missed her terribly, but perhaps he underestimated the extent to which he did. His mind even created the illusion, a powerful one, that she was here. Needing to be with her had grown to be, for him, a necessity to exist just like eating, breathing, or sleeping.

His musings were interrupted when Warren cleared his throat. "We'd better head downstairs. Logan and Cain are already in the restaurant." He began to saunter towards the door, motioning for Kurt to follow him.

Kurt paused when Warren turned the knob. He turned to Bobby and said, "Ve're really sorry about vaking you like that. Especially after that dream…"

The boyishly handsome young man's eyes widened in panic. "What?"

"Ve saw your amorous vays vit your pillow." Kurt made kissing faces and gave him a thumbs-up sign. "Jubilee is one lucky woman."

Bobby rolled his eyes, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut.

"I thought Nightcrawler said we were gonna meet at eight," Cain said, checking his Cartier watch and noticing that it was almost eight-thirty. Thanks to his stepbrother's generosity and some wise investing advice, he was able to live off of a trust fund that allowed him financial freedom to pursue his interests. In the past, this would have meant indulging in some of his anti-social tendencies, such as stealing or terrorizing people for sport. But now, he was devoted himself, albeit reluctantly, to Charles's dream. Sure, the premise sounded trite to him, but deep down he had to admit it was something that he cared deeply about, given his friendship with Sammy.

Logan leaned back in his chair and gulped down his coffee. He and the Juggernaut were sitting in the hotel restaurant, which offered picturesque views of the tropical gardens and large, aquamarine laguna pools. They took the liberty of ordering breakfast for everyone while they waited. When the food arrived sooner than their teammates, they decided to forge ahead. The two men were in the midst of devouring a traditional Genoshan meal. There were plates of beignets, which were dipped in a sticky, sugary liquid derived from maize. Along with this was a platter of omelets, which were prepared with beans, spaghetti noodles, and sardines. Finally, there were pots of herbal tea and black coffee.

"He'll be down," the gruff Canadian assured his former enemy as he refilled his cup. "Didn't know you were so hot-to-trot to get to work."

Cain snorted. In spite of his reformed ways, there was still a part of him that was not completely ready to play the hero. To him, it was safer to hide behind a mask of self-serving arrogance than to strive for some unreachable ideal. "Not me," he replied, sprinkling salt and pepper over his omelette. "I just wanna get everything done so I can enjoy the scenery." His brown eyes glittered when their waitress, an Amazon-like woman with green eyes and orange skin, passed their table and brought an order to another table.

Logan followed the other man's gaze. Not quite his taste, but he could see the attraction. Besides, he had a weather goddess waiting back for him at Westchester who made other women look plain by comparison. Quickly, he turned away.

"Keep it in your pants for now," he said flatly, raising his coffee mug to his mouth once again. "We've got business to deal with."

Cain reluctantly tore his attention away from the waitress and focused on the less attractive Wolverine. His brown eyes were curious as he speared a piece of omelet and shoveled it into his mouth. "What are we supposed to do today?" he asked. "Interview a bunch of people from the community and ask 'em what they think is going on?"

"Yeah." Logan shook his head. "Ain't gonna do us any good."

"And vhy not?" Kurt inquired in greeting with Warren and Bobby in tow. He smiled cheerily at his good friend, Logan, and Cain, a member of the team he was now beginning to trust. Seating himself next to Logan and Warren, he eagerly poured himself a cup of tea.

Bobby noted the surly expression on the Canadian's face. He chuckled, not at all surprised that Wolverine was this grumpy in the morning. "Kill anyone yet today, Logan?" he cracked.

"Day's still young, Popsicle." The laconic loner took a forceful bite of his beignet and quirked a brow. He was quite pleased with his clever retort and came close to smiling for the first time that day.

Bobby tried not to flinch and quickly sat next to Warren and Cain.

Warren unfolded his napkin and dropped it into his lap. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the T-shirt Bobby was wearing with his red Hawaiian shirt with white lotus flowers and khaki cargo shorts. In black printed letters, the offending shirt read, 'I DO MY OWN NUDE SCENES'. Rolling his eyes, he hissed to his friend, "You're buttoning up as soon as we go outside."

"So, Herr Logan, you're disagreeing vit my plan of action for today?" Kurt asked, not at all threatened. Unlike other squad leaders, he had an easy patience and willingness to listen to other people's perspectives. Needless to say, it made him quite popular and easy to get along with.

The laconic loner put his coffee mug down. "I don't think the locals are gonna be all that honest when you talk to them," he remarked, his tone blunt as usual when he was providing feedback. "From what Xavier said, this stuff has been going on for a while and no one's spoke out about it."

Bobby frowned quizzically. "You think they know, but they're too scared to talk about it?" He served himself a donut-like pastry.

"Could be," Logan said, glancing around to make sure other people were not eavesdropping. When he noticed that other patrons were involved in their own conversations, he continued. "Or they could be the reason why there aren't any kids here."

Warren nodded in agreement. "Economic circumstances for that side of the city aren't that pleasant," he observed. "Unemployment is high. Those who have jobs barely make enough above the poverty line. Having children would only add to the worries these people have to deal with already. They're financially strapped and probably socially ostracized from their well-to-do peers who live in this part of the city."

"So we're talking about abortion?" Cain inquired.

Warren shook his head as he added cream and sugar to his coffee. "From the research I was doing before we got here, I don't think that's a possibility. Many of these mutant women can't access healthcare. By the time they realize they're pregnant, it's too late."

"Wait a minute," Bobby interjected, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "Doesn't Amelia Voigt have a clinic there? At least, that's what I heard after she graduated from med school."

Amelia Voigt was a former girlfriend of Professor Xavier, who was his nurse when he was paralyzed. A mutant, she was reluctant to declare his cause her own. When she saw that her lover did not share his sentiment, the two parted ways but continued to stay in touch. Eventually, she went to Muir Island to work alongside Moira MacTaggart, who encouraged her to get a medical degree. After much prompting, Amelia did so and graduated with top honors. Following this, she traveled to Genosha in order to start a private practice. She intentionally chose the poorer part of the major city because in her words, "Everyone deserves good healthcare."

Cain shook his head. "Not anymore. Charles was tryin' to get in touch with her, but he got nothin'. Seems like she's avoiding him. Maybe she knows something, too."

"I don't believe that," Bobby objected. While he did not know the woman all that well, it seemed unlikely that she would be involved in any sort of conspiracy. "Listen, I have her contact info in my cell phone. When we go into the city, we can look for her. Could be she and the Professor had some personal differences. Wouldn't be the first time."

Logan pressed his lips together and then spoke. "Whatever's going on, it'd be good if we could find her. Depending on what's happening to these kids, we might need a doctor." His voice took a darker, more ominous tone at the conclusion of his sentence.

Kurt shook his head in dismay. Having been viewed as dispensable by his birth mother, the possibilities of what might have happened raced through his brain. "As much as I do not vant to agree vit you, ve do have to acknowledge that infanticide is a probable explanation."

There was silence all around the table. A solemn pall fell over the teammates. No one even took a bite of their food or a sip of their drinks. The voices from other customers filled the air.

Cain was the first to break the quiet stillness. "No way," he muttered with narrowing brown eyes. As a survivor of child abuse, he knew what it was like to live with a parent who inflicted great pain—emotionally and physically. Much of his anger control problems and resentment towards Charles stemmed from this trauma. Even now, he was still unable to forgive his long-dead father. But a parent who was all too willing to murder their own child? It was too unseemly for even him to comprehend.

"Unfortunately, it's not all that uncommon," Warren sighed, his Adonis-like features arranged in a troubled expression. "There are villages in China where the parents toss female babies in baskets and let them go in the river. Just last week, I saw an expose by Trish about families in parts of Africa, who leave their children in the desert."

Bobby, recovering from the shock elicited by Kurt's inference, leaned back in his chair. Perhaps he was still naïve to these aspects of the world. "But still…" He lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. "Killing children?"

"Why not?" The cynical Logan pursed his lips. He was the only one who had not been shocked by Kurt's theory. During all his years of living, he had witnessed and experienced horrors that continued to haunt his dreams at night. "Desperate people do some crazy things. They can't raise 'em and there's no chance in hell these kids are going to be adopted. I wouldn't rule it out."

Cain growled, clenching his fists fiercely. "Then we should go and—"

"No," Kurt said firmly, cutting him off. "Ve do not know if this is happening in the first place."

"Oh yeah? What do you suggest?"

"Ve need to be subtle in our approach so that ve can get the best and most accurate information. Logan is right in that ve vill probably not get a straight answer from community contacts, but ve need to make them as part of our cover. Remember, they think ve're investing in real estate in that part of the city. That vay, ve have a reason for being there vile ve take the time to do some unofficial investigating. Ve can try to talk to residents, ingratiate ourselves in the local gossip pipeline."

Logan said nothing, but growled his displeasure with the proposed strategy.

"That sounds like it's going to eat a lot of time," Bobby pointed out. He was uncomfortable with the idea of being idle while children might be in danger. "Isn't there something else we can do?"

"Not without blowing our cover," Warren replied, but equally distressed as his younger friend. "As painful as it sounds, this might be the best approach. I don't think we should act until we have a complete picture of what's going on. I mean, if there's someone or something powerful enough to block the Professor and Cerebro from finding any kids, then we should tread lightly."

"This is bullshit," Cain snapped. "Why don't we just shake down some people? It's faster and we could save these kids if somethin's happenin' to 'em."

Logan peered over at him, studying the other man's furious face with interest. It was amazing how much they shared in common. Yet, the voice of reason prevailed. "Normally, I'd be with you, bub," he informed him flatly. "But these two are right. We don't know what the hell is going on. If we move in, we might make things worse or never find out what's happening at all."

Cain allowed his words to sink in. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Wolverine was right. "Then let's get started."

The group quickly ate their meal with Warren settling the table on his platinum card. Afterwards, he and Kurt made a series of calls to confirm meetings with the community representatives while Cain made arrangements for their rental cars to be driven over to the hotel. Within minutes, the team hopped into two black SUVs with tinted windows, and proceeded to travel to what was known as 'Low Town'.

It was no surprise to note that the inner city did live up to his nickname. Equal to the number of run-down, boarded up buildings was the number of trash dumps. Almost on every street corner were homeless men and women, passed out on top of the sidewalk. In front of businesses that were operating (Laundromats, convenience stores, and check-cashing places), stood clusters of young mutant men, loitering about and staring at the SUVs that pulled into their section of town. Down the road, they saw what was probably the only park, which was littered with empty bottles, discarded clothing, and tires, that had a stream dividing its two sections. An elderly woman with thinning hair and yellow scales was bathing herself in what was clearly dirty water. Meanwhile, another woman was gathering water in plastic jugs several yards away, possibly to bring back to her home to drink.

When the car Bobby was riding in stopped at a traffic light, a horse-like man wearing a stained loincloth, jumped in front of their car. He did not say anything, but pointed to a pack of cigarettes he was holding to indicate he was selling them. Warren, who was driving, shook his head in pity and debated whether or not he should obliged given that they were running late. By the time he made a decision, Bobby had already rolled down his window. Ecstatic, the man scurried to the passenger side where Bobby was sitting, and wildly gestured that he wanted ten Genoshan dollars for the cigarettes.

Bobby gave him a twenty.

When they finally arrived at the community development center, a plump, pink-faced woman with woolly blond hair and black eyes greeted them enthusiastically. She led them inside the building, walking alongside Warren and Cain and babbling about her center's mission statement. For the next two hours, the team met with the woman and her colleagues who presented their plans for gentrification and revitalization of Low Town. There was a slide show to illustrate which sections were already being worked upon, as well as the passing around of letters of support from government officials. While most of their endeavors were admirable in attempting to address the economic problems by providing jobs in construction, the practical day-to-day issues, such as making the shelters for homeless mutants safer or empowering some of the social service agencies in operation, were not dealt with. To Logan, it appeared that only superficial, easier to remedy problems were being examined. He exchanged a look with Kurt, who seemed all too aware of what he was thinking.

There was also something that was not touched upon during the presentation that Bobby noticed. He raised his hand and asked, "What about education? I mean, I don't see anything in your plans for schools."

A man with a thick unibrow and white eyes nodded. "Of course, we'll be making connections with the local universities to establish scholarships for our residents."

Bobby shook his head. Either the man was being dense or very evasive. "No, I meant for children," he explained bluntly. When he received a blank, but perplexed look from the presenters, he pressed on. "It's a normal question to ask, right? I mean, if my wife and I were moving here, we'd want to know what the quality of the schools for our children."

Logan raised a brow at Bobby as if to ask, "_Your wife _?"

Bobby was blushing, realizing what he had said. It was too late to back track. He knew he had some explaining to do later on.

Warren resisted the urge to express his own surprise. Quickly recovering, he reinforced his friend's point. "Education for the future is a major concern for the charities my company support," he said.

The pink-faced woman, whose name was Glynnis, nodded emphatically as if she was completely on board with both men. "Of course, of course." Then she paused and clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "But you see, Mr. Worthington, at the moment, the population under the age of sixteen is almost non-existent. According to our latest census estimates, there has been a significant decrease. And we don't know why."

Following this exchange, the committee members decided to take the team on a walking tour of the this section of the city. As the Professor's primary liaisons, Cain and Warren, listened attentively to Glynnis as she babbled on about future investors' interest in the development. Kurt and Logan walked alongside the other members, asking questions about what kinds of things the residents faced in their lives. Logan made a point to scan his surroundings, particularly the watering holes that were already entertaining customers this afternoon.

As for Bobby, he hung back several steps and did not engage himself in the conversation or the tour all that much. When he called Jubilee his wife, it sounded so natural. He had not thought twice about it. The words simply fell out of his mouth. Then there was talk about _their children_ . It was not until Logan gave him that funny look did he realize the peculiarities of his statement.

He could always rationalize to the others that he was merely talking in hypothetical terms. After all, he was illustrating a point to justify his question. So, then it wasn't a completely strange thing to say. Wasn't it?

But there was something else. Since the conversation with his mother, where he basically informed her that Jubilee might be "The One", he had been mulling over the relationship. They had been going out for over a year now, sharing experiences that brought them closer together as a couple. Bobby could not remember the last time being this happy with anyone. It was as if things he never dreamed possible became a part of his reality. With her, he found complete acceptance, understanding, and love no matter what. To him, it was a refreshing experience to be someone who offered that. Needless to say, he strove to do what was necessary not to jeopardize anything in spite of repeated assurances from her.

While the talk of marriage had not come up in their conversations, Bobby had been thinking about the future and made some mention of it at Ellie's christening. Before dating Jubilee, he believed that family life was something he would observe through other people. Now, it was not out of the realm of possibility. Granted, he was the first to admit that he did not have the readiness or the maturity to be a parent, but it was appealing nonetheless. Seeing Jubilee with the baby and with other children around the mansion told him that she was not adverse to the idea, either.

Bobby was contemplating whether or not he would tell Jubilee of his slip when he heard a rustling sound from behind some trash cans in front of an abandoned row house. Curious, he paused and began to saunter around the other side of the trash cans. His gray eyes widened when he saw what was making the noises.

Crouched next to one of the cans was a little girl who could not be more than nine years old. Her cherubic face was smudged with dirt and her blonde hair was matted closely to her head in tangles. She wore a stained, white pinafore that was frayed on the edges. Wearing no shoes or socks, her feet were black from dirt and the skin was dry. While she was not emaciated, it was evident that she was desperately hungry from the ravenous look she had in her wide, hazel eyes and the restless swinging of her tail.

Instinctively, Bobby hunched down towards her. When she jerked away, he smiled kindly at her. "It's OK," he assured her quietly. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Bobby. What's yours?"

She looked warily up at him. "Isabella."

Sensing that sustenance might help ease her fears, he pulled out a Powerbar from the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt and held it out to her. He always carried one for the bottomless pit otherwise known as his stomach. "I've got something here you might like. You want it?"

She nodded and reached out to take the offered Powerbar.

He watched her tear the wrapper off with fervor and take a bite. She closed her eyes, as if relishing the food she was consuming. Her limbs began to shake from the sugar that was now entering her body. Every now and then, she would make small noises as she ate—a grunt or an "Mmmm".

After a few seconds, Bobby began to talk again when he thought he established a connection. "Isabella. That's a pretty name."

She smiled shyly at him and then savored another bite.

"Looks like you were really hungry," he mused lightly. "When was the last time you ate, kiddo?"

Isabella swallowed, uncurling her body. "I don't know," she said earnestly. "It's hard to find food."

He tried to mask his puzzlement. She was searching for meals from trashcans? What was going on? "Hard to find food? Doesn't your mom and dad bring food home?"

Her eyes became wet. "I don't have a mom or a dad," she whispered, lower lip trembling. "I don't have anyone."

"How long have you been by yourself?"

"A long time. Since… Since I can remember."

Bobby felt twinge a sympathy upon hearing her words. "Do you have anywhere you can go? Where do you stay?"

She shook her head solemnly and finished the last of the Powerbar. "No. None of us do."

"None of you? There's more of you? Kids, I mean." He tried not to sound too excited. "Where?"

The little girl appeared quite frightened. "I-I can't tell you," she stammered. She stood up and began to back away from him.

Bobby, still kneeling, shook his head. "No, it's OK. I won't hurt you or any of your friends," he said quickly to placate her. "I just want to help you."

Isabella shook her head. "You're a nice man, but you can't help me," she said softly, tears creeping into her voice once again. "No one can."

Bobby rose and approached her, taking great care not to look threatening as he did so. "Isabella, I swear I won't let anything bad happen to you, but you have to tell me what's going on. Please. Let me help you."

BAMF! A thick cloud of sulfur and brimstone smoke suddenly surrounded him. Kurt's concerned face emerged from the smoke as Bobby coughed. "Mein freund, vat are you doing here?" he inquired. "Are you alright?"

Bobby fanned his hand in front of his face to disperse the odor. He was about to explain the situation and what he had found out when he remembered Isabella. Frantically, he peered around, searching for her through the clearing smoke. To his dismay, she was gone.


	46. Chapter 46

Back with another chapter. Since this one has a Thanksgiving Day theme, I thought I'd post this one. Please note that there is NO alternate version. Still, there's a lot going on...

Thanks for the reviews. Please keep them coming. I love hearing from you, and I'd like to get some comments about this particular chapter.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Forty-Six: Open Arms **

"Last pit stop before we make the home stretch," Sam Guthrie announced, pulling in front of a rest stop that boasted a Starbucks, McDonald's, Sbarro, and a Kentucky Fried Chicken. "So, if ya gotta use the bathroom or need a snack, now's the time."

"Yes!" His younger sister, Melody, exclaimed as she unbuckled her seat belt. Then she opened the door and climbed out of the back seat of Sam's black GMC truck followed by her brother, Jay. Together, the two younger Guthries dashed through the double doors of the rest stop.

Sam exhaled loudly and peered over at Jubilee, who looked rather amused as she sat next to him in the passenger's side seat. "Kids, huh?" he said, watching other families convene towards the entrance of the rest stop.

She grinned back at him, crystalline eyes twinkling. "Is that frustration I hear in your voice?" she asked teasingly.

"Nah, not afta five and a half hours on the road with two teenagers wired on soda and Cook's homemade caramel popcorn," he replied dryly, taking his keys out of the ignition. He grimaced as he recalled his sister's incessant need to sing along with the radio at the top of her lungs. It would not have been so painful had she had a decent singing voice, or if it wasn't a station that incessantly played boy-band faire.

Jubilee unbuckled her seatbelt. "Well, they've calmed down since we left this morning," she pointed out, referring to the fact that they departed from Westchester rather early in order to beat the holiday traffic. Fortunately, they managed to avoid a great bulk of it thanks to Sam's knowledge of the back roads. "Maybe they'll crash by the time we get to your mom's house."

The Southern gentleman shrugged his shoulders. "Ah hope so," he sighed. Then he began to open the car door and asked, "Why don't we step out and walk around for a bit? Ah don't know about you, but my legs could use some stretchin'."

"Sure, but I think I'd rather go in that little store down the street," she said, already hopping out of the car and gesturing to a structure at the end of the road. Slamming the door closed, she added, "I want to get something for your mom. You know, for letting me stay with you guys."

Sam followed her, shaking his head. "That ain't necessary," he told her, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his brown, hooded puffer jacket he wore over his long-sleeved, olive shirt and jeans. "It's our pleasure havin' ya with us."

She did not notice the blush that stained his cheeks. Instead, she pulled her shearling toggle coat closely around her slim body to shield it from the brisk, late autumn winds. "I still feel like I'm totally intruding," she said quietly and pausing to peer up at him. "Don't worry. It won't be something outrageous or anything. Just let me do this. I'd feel better if I did, really."

It was hard to resist her when she looked up at him with those hypnotic, sapphire eyes. He felt like putty in her hands simply by staring at her. Relenting, Sam finally nodded. "OK."

"Great." She flashed him a brilliant smile, one that lit up her entire face and making her look even more stunning. Then she linked her arm through his and guided him towards the store. "Come on, I'll even let you help."

As much as he wanted to maintain his mask of cool composure, he could not help smiling. Being the recipient of her attentions made his heart skip a beat. Granted, he was aware that nothing more could be implied. But for a brief moment in time, he was with her.

When they finally reached the general store, both felt some apprehension upon entering inside. The sprawling building, possibly built in the 1850s, looked as if it had seen better days. A makeshift tin awning acted to shield the stained wood porch from the elements. As soon as they climbed on the porch, there was a loud creaking sound. It almost sounded as if structure would collapse and Sam braced himself to scoop Jubilee into his arms. Fortunately, the porch remained in tact.

Bravely, Jubilee led the way inside where the dilapidated theme continued. The floor sagged along with the shelves. Hand rubbed countertops and glass showcases were testaments to the store's history and age. Large spike nails in the ceiling, from which rolls of bologna hung in past years, were now used to hang herbs gathered from the gardens behind the store. On this cold day, the Warm Morning Model 521 wood/coal stove provided solace to chilly visitors.

In spite of this, the store carried novel items one could not find in a convenience store. There were jams and jellies, cast-iron skillets, oil lamps, embroidered table cloths and sheets, old-fashioned candy and toys, tiny tea sets, and cook books. The store also carried stone-ground cornmeal, grits and whole wheat flour made at the local mill. At the far end of the store were fresh flowers, arranged in colorful bouquets.

Jubilee inspected the contents of the shelves, clearly fascinated. Nothing in the malls compared to what she was seeing. She was used to mass-manufactured products, not handmade items. The prices were also modest, but she chalked that up to the location rather than the quality of the merchandise. Remembering that she and Sam had to meet up with his siblings, she quickly decided on a bouquet of sunflowers and brought them to the cash register.

The owner, a thin man with a white beard to match the hair around the sides of his head, nodded politely. "Ya find everythin' alright, young lady?" he asked, blue eyes focused on the keys he was tapping at the register.

"Sure did." Jubilee pulled her wallet out from her coat pocket.

Sam, who was standing next to her, shook his head. "Let me," he insisted, retrieving his own wallet from his back pocket.

"No, this is my gift to your mom," she protested, waving him off as he proceeded to count out the bills. "Put your money away, Sam."

He shook his head. "Ah still don't feel right about you payin', sweetie."

"_I want to,"_she said, already taking out the cash from her wallet and putting it on the counter. Nearly pouting, she then added, "You promised."

The Southern gentleman was firm in his stance. He tried not to look at her lest he become mesmerized by her once again. "Well, Ah changed mah mind, hon. Ah'll get this."

"But, Sam—" Jubilee began, struggling not to make a scene. Chivalrous as the gesture was, she was not about to allow him to forge ahead. It simply would not be right.

"Sweetie, Ah want ta do this."

"So do I."

"No, you don't haveta."

"Yes, I do."

"Jubes…"

Finally, the owner interjected in the discussion. "Y'all seem like a nice couple," he said, tying a decorative bow at the base of the flowers. "Maybe y'all can split it."

The two of them exchanged amused glances, but did not bother to correct him as they were running short on time. Jay and Melody were probably waiting inside the car, wondering where they were. Quickly, Sam and Jubilee paid for the flowers, wished the owner a happy Thanksgiving, and made their way out of the general store.

When they were nearing the parking lot, Jubilee grinned at Sam. "Can you believe he thought we were a couple? It's like so… I don't know."

"What?" Sam asked, brows furrowing together in puzzlement.

She shook her head in disbelief, holding the sunflowers close to her chest. "I mean, you and me together?" she said as the wind rumpled her long, dark hair. "We've known each other since I was twelve or thirteen. I'm almost like another little sister to you."

_You have no idea,_he said to himself. _You don't know how I lie awake at night thinking about you, wishing you were free to be with me. Even when I manage to sleep, you're there. This entire road trip has been a test for me, trying not to think how you're sitting next to me in the car, how you're going to be spending time with me for the whole weekend, or how much I want to kiss you at this very second. You have no idea. _

Painful and deceptive as it was, he forced himself to echo her sentiments. "Yeah," he said, pretending to find the humor in the idea of him and Jubilee as a couple. "What was he thinking?"

When they reached his black GMC truck, Jay was about to open the door to the backseats. Jubilee offered him shotgun, but the younger Guthrie brother politely declined and sat with his sister in the back. As soon as everyone was situated, they were on the road again. According to Sam, home was another thirty minutes away pending traffic. Melody pointed out that it was doubtful that there would be, any given the small town they lived in.

Then she leaned forward in her seat and placed her chin on Jubilee's headrest. She took Jubilee's hand and gazed admiringly at the Claddaugh ring on her finger. "You and Mr. Drake are gettin' married?" she chirped up.

Sam almost swerved off the one-way road, but managed to keep his concentration to avoid from doing so.

Jubilee laughed lightly, shaking her head. "No, we're not." She slipped off the band and placed it on Melody's ring finger. "Here, you try it on."

The younger Guthrie sighed and drew her freckled hand back to admire the piece of jewelry. "Ah can't believe he gave ya this," she gushed and then gave the ring back to Jubilee. "Me and mah roommates think he's dreamy. We can't wait ta have him for algebra."

"Oh, really?" Jubilee could not help but laugh again. Picturing her boyfriend as the object of a schoolgirl crush was quite entertaining. For a moment she considered telling him, but decided against it since she would probably tease him about to no end. Then again, that might be a good thing for her.

Meanwhile, Sam's knuckles suddenly turned white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

What seemed like eons later thanks to Melody chatting Jubilee up about having a boyfriend, Sam pulled his truck up a familiar sharp hill. They passed empty pastures along the way. Jay commented on how well-kept the land appeared, attributing it to Jeb, who left Xavier's late in the semester since he was homesick. Peering out the window, Melody clapped her hands in excitement when she saw her beloved beagle, Woofer, racing towards the house to meet them.

At last, Sam parked his car next to a brown 1999 Ford minivan with scratches on the sides. The Guthrie family home was a rambling, late 1890s Victorian style home with peeling gray paint and white trim. Square and symmetrical in form, the house had a low-pitched, pyramid shaped roof, a front gable with side wings, and a wraparound porch with slightly crooked spindle work. Privacy came in the form of a giant kiwi vine that grew around the perimeter of the porch. Several yards away was a weather-beaten barn, which was flanked with stacks of hay on both sides. The trees that surrounded the property were barren, their leaves long fallen away and their bark rough and black from the harsh winter winds.

"Here we are," he announced, setting the emergency brake. "Jay, when you're gettin' out, can ya pass me and Jubilee our bags?"

Jay nodded while his sister grabbed her travel bag, opened the car door, and raced outside to gather Woofer in her arms. She screeched out his name and showered him with loving hugs and kisses. The dog eagerly licked her face in return.

When the others had their belongings, Sam led his siblings and Jubilee towards the house. The large deck was furnished with casual, low-maintenance pieces that withstood the cold temperatures. Old garden furniture and recycled cast-offs were found in the sitting space. Nearby was a table with a mosaic top one of the children, presumably Paige, had made. Colorful accessories included old signs and hanging lights with Easter bonnet shades.

Sam opened the screen door. The front door swung open and the smell of his mother's bourbon balls and sweet potato casserole suddenly wafted by. He was home. "Momma!" he called out. "Joelle! Elisabeth! Jeb! Lewis! Caitlin! We're home!"

Jubilee followed the younger Guthries into the family room as the thudding of multiple footfalls signaled the approach of several family members arriving to greet them. Inside, the home exuded country charm. There were quilts as wall hangings. Subtle accessories such as old birdhouses, wooden spools, and sepia-toned, family photographs were constant fixtures of the décor. There was also drop lighting and Mason jars and punched-tin fixtures were used as lampshades.

"Sam?" a tall, wiry woman dressed in a red, checkered flannel shirt and faded jeans under a flour-stained apron emerged from the kitchen. Her dark-blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and was thinning in the front. She had strong, angular features that were surrounded by fine lines, and wore no make-up. As she smiled, her face took on a radiant glow that was almost blinding.

Immediately, she circled her arms around his neck and kissed his cheeks then proceeded to do the same with Jay and Melody. "Mah babies!" she cried, clearly ecstatic to see them. "Oh, Ah'm so happy to have y'all back home!"

They were soon joined by a curvy blonde with blue eyes and chin-length hair, and a reed-like girl with closely cropped brown hair and brown eyes. There were excited squeals, giggles, and rapid-fire questions as to how their trip was, where the others were, whether people were hungry yet, and what time dinner was scheduled to take place. The dog yipped excitedly, as if to be heard above the chatter.

During all of this, Jubilee hung back, watching the family reunion with some envy. Though she considered the X-Men as her family now, it did not completely erase the feelings of loneliness she experienced from time to time. Having long-standing relationships created a deeper connection that simply could not be explained. Being with a real family was simply different.

Sam turned his head towards where Jubilee was standing. She looked rather pensive and almost wistful. He attempted to extract himself from his family members, but to no avail given everyone's excitement to see one another. Then he gestured for her to come over to them.

Hesitating at first, Jubilee plastered on a bright smile and gradually made her way to where the Guthrie clan congregated. Sam finally managed to step away and placed a hand on her shoulder. Then he motioned for everyone to settle down, something he was quite used to growing up in this household.

"Momma, Elisabeth, Joelle, this is Jubilee," he said, addressing the expectant faces of his mother and two younger sisters. "Jubilee, this is my momma and next ta her is mah sister, Elisabeth." He paused to gesture to the blonde. "And this one here is Joelle." He nodded in the direction of the brunette.

The three Guthrie women focused their attention on Sam's guest. Right away, they noticed how striking this girl in comparison to the other women he had brought home. She had very blue, almost sapphire eyes, which were framed by thick, black lashes. Her delicate, Asian facial features were complimented by her creamy skin complexion. Long, black tresses with midnight-blue highlights tumbled down her graceful shoulders and back. Surely, when he said she was only a friend, he had to be kidding. How could he not want to be dating someone like this?

Lucinda and her daughters smiled warmly at her. "It's so good to see ya again, hon," she remarked, embracing Jubilee in a hug. She drew back to take a closer inspection of the young girl. "Almost didn't recognize ya there. Ah mean, last time Ah visited that school of yers, Paige and ya were livin' togethah. Now, ya've grown inta this beautiful lady."

Jubilee grinned sheepishly, her cheeks burning from the compliments. "Thank you, Mrs. Guthrie," she finally said. "It's good to see you and everyone again." Then she peered around, looking rather confused. "Um, this isn't everyone, is it?"

Elisabeth laughed. The size of the family was always a source of confusion for most people. At school, she often joked about finding another brother or sister under her bed. "The others are in town, helpin' out with settin' up the hall for tonight's dinner."

"Oh." Jubilee nodded, remembering Sam had told her that Thanksgiving dinner would be a potluck affair, involving various families from the community. He explained that many did not make enough to provide complete meals for their own families. After the coal mines were closed down last year, there was high unemployment given that their skills were fairly limited to specific jobs. While some lived on government assistance, others began to take on lower-paying jobs in the town. His mother, a long-time widow, was one of the few in the community who had a steady and sufficient income thanks to her two jobs. During the week, she worked as a secretary at the church office. Every other weekend, she worked as a cashier at the local Save 'N Shop. While he and Paige sent money home, their mother insisted on keeping her second job, insisting that she was fortunate to be able to work.

The young girl then held out the bouquet of sunflowers she and Sam purchased earlier. "These are for you, Mrs. Guthrie. Just to say thanks for letting me spend the holidays with you."

"Oh, these are beautiful, Jubilee. But really, hon, ya didn't haveta. We love havin' ya here." Lucinda beamed, inhaling the sweet fragrance from the flowers. Sunflowers were her favorite. If the soil around her home wasn't so dry, she would have planted a garden of them outside.

"Good call." Melody winked at Jubilee.

"Here, Momma, let me put 'em in some water." Joelle suggested, taking the lovely bouquet and traipsing to the kitchen with Elisabeth following close behind.

"Thanks, sweetie." Lucinda called after her. She returned her gaze to the group in the living room. "Now, Ah know y'all had a long trip, so are any of ya hungry? Ah just made some bourbon balls and sweet potato casserole."

Sam, Jay, Melody, and Jubilee shook their heads in unison. "We packed some food for the ride, so we can wait until dinner," Jay explained, raking a hand through his wavy, copper hair.

Melody's brown eyes were concerned when she saw her mother yawn. No doubt the Guthrie matriarch had been in the kitchen, slaving away for Thanksgiving dinner. "Is there anythin' we can help ya out with for tanight?"

His mother smiled, her pale-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. She peered at their weary faces and the travel bags they were carrying. "Why don't y'all get settled first? Just go on upstairs." Turning to Sam, she said, "Ah've even fixed your room, too. Moved everything in from the barn."

"Thanks, Momma." Sam grinned, playing with the strap to his blue duffel bag. Despite the luxurious surroundings at the mansion, there was always a part of him that longed for the bare-bones element of his country roots.

Then she turned to Jubilee and said, "Now, Ah've set ya up in Paige's bed with her sisters. Ah hope that's OK?"

Jubilee nodded. After her days at the Massachusetts Academy, she had gotten used to not having her own room. "That sounds good, Mrs. Guthrie. Thank you—"

Lucinda patted her shoulder gently. "Now, stop that. Ya don't haveta go on with that, hon. Ah plan on puttin' ya to work in the kitchen for tonight's dinner." Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.

Jay leaned towards Jubilee and loudly whispered, "You better put on some elastic pants."

Everyone laughed.

"OK." Still, Jubilee prayed that the extent of her help would not involve baking. The cookie fiasco with Bobby was still fresh in her mind.

Sam led the caravan of visitors up the creaking staircase to the second floor. Once upstairs, Jay opened the door to the room he had shared with Jeb and Lewis, while Sam entered his smaller bedroom that was directly across the hall. Meanwhile, Jubilee followed Melody into the room they would share with other Guthrie sisters for the next four days.

Like the rest of the house, the room was the epitome of country charm. There were two bunk beds, placed at opposite sides of the room and shoved against each wall. A lone twin bed with an iron bedstead stood between them. At the foot of this bed, was a cedar chest that was used to stack extra comforters. Each bed had its' own pieced quilt, pillow shams and toss pillows. To supplement the tiny closet in the room, there were two stained armoires with wood knobs for storage. Casually thrown by each bed were hooked, braided rugs. In the case of the single bed, there was on each side along with two mismatched, wooden night tables that held simple, wrought-iron lamps which provided additional lighting. The walls were adorned with wallpaper with small floral prints. Dressing the two windows in the room were plain curtains made of eyelet.

Tossing her travel bag on one of the bunks, Melody informed Jubilee that the single bed, which belonged to Paige, was hers for the weekend. As Jubilee settled her small luggage next to the bed, she was quickly reminded of her best friend and former roommate. Hanging over the bed was a grapevine wreath. On one of the nightstands was a small, wicker basket filled with animal figurines, along with framed photographs of Paige and her sisters, as well as of Paige and Jubilee during their younger days. Jubilee almost snorted when she saw how dated the latter picture was—Paige was still wearing her pink, tortoise-shell glasses while Jubilee had teased her then short hair into gravity-defying spikes.

"Ah'm gonna head downstairs and call some friends," Melody announced with a welcoming grin, bounding towards the door. She was already halfway down the hall when she called out, "If ya need anythin', just holler."

Jubilee tucked a lock of hair behind a delicate ear. "Thanks." She slipped off her coat and draped it across the bed. This left her in a lavender, button-down shirt, boot-cut, stonewashed jeans, and a pair of black, embroidered shearling lug boots.

Sitting on the bed to collect her head and prepare herself for the festivities later on, her mind began to wander. Last year, she had been in a completely different situation. She had gone to the Drakes as the new girlfriend in Bobby's life. While she had been embraced warmly by Maddy Drake, she received a cold reception from Bill. Dinner had been something to dread on her part, which was later confirmed. Overall, the visit made her tense and feeling like she had to walk on eggshells whenever she was around the elder Drake. Granted, they had come to some sort of understanding, but the experience left her wary.

Now, here she was, visiting someone else's home for the holidays not as the girlfriend, but as a friend. Instead of Long Island, she was now in bluegrass country. Genteel Maddy was replaced by-salt-of-the-earth Lucinda and her children, who were not concerned that they did not have a great deal of money but were happy to open their home anyway. The most obvious difference in regards to this situation was the fact that there was no pressure. She did not have to worry about impressing anyone, or playing the role of the perfect girlfriend. During this visit, she could just relax.

Speaking of relaxing, Jubilee noticed that Sam was less wound-up than he had been previously. He did not avoid her as he did before, nor did he appear tense when he was around her. The Southern gentleman smiled easily now and laughed a great deal more. Yes, there was some initial awkwardness since that night in the Med-Lab. However, this soon dissipated thanks to Jubilee's teasing whenever he blushed or refused to look her in the eye.

While it was a great relief to see that he was no longer acting strange, Jubilee was troubled because she still had no idea as to what was the source of the unease between them. There were times when she was on the verge of confronting him about it. Was it something she had done or said? Was it something Bobby might have done or said? But when she came close to bringing the topic up with Sam, the Southern gentleman was evasive, constantly finding ways to extricate himself from any such discussion.

Her musings were interrupted by rap at the door. She rose from the bed and saw Sam standing in the doorway. The tall, lean young man grinned at her in greeting as she walked towards him.

"How are ya settlin' in?" he inquired, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

She nodded, dark hair cascading down her shoulders. "I'm good. What about you? You drove the entire way. Surprised you're not conked out."

He laughed. "Ah'll feel it later, Ah'm sure." Truth be told, he was too excited to even consider sleep. It was all beginning to hit him—being in his beloved home, surrounded by his family, and Jubilee spending the weekend with him. The euphoria he was feeling at that moment clouded his mind of the circumstances surrounding her visit. For this brief moment, he could pretend there was no Bobby.

She gave him a teasing smile. "Pace yourself, dude. There's no way any of us are going to carry you out of that dinner if you pass out."

"C'mon, Jubes. You've been workin' out." Sam commented wryly, earning a light slap on the arm from her.

Jubilee shook her head and then realized this was a good time to talk to him about her concerns. The rest of the Guthries were downstairs, chattering away with their voices floating upstairs. "So, you're good now?" she asked quietly.

His blond brows were raised, alarmed as to where the conversation was heading. "Yeah. Why?"

She took a deep breath, wanting to choose her words carefully. "It's just that before, you weren't." When she saw his pale eyes widen in surprise, she pressed on hurriedly before he could open his mouth to placate her or find a reason to leave. "Up until that night you asked me to come home with you, it's like you've been avoiding me like the plague. I see you walking down the hall, you walk in the opposite direction and you don't even look at me. I tried to come by your room to see what was going on, you never answered the door. Any time I've tried to talk to you, I've been shot down.

"So what I would like to know is, what was it?" Her sapphire eyes stared deeply into his face.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Sweetie—"

"Did I say something to offend you? Was it something I did? If so, I'm sorry. I know I'm not the most tactful person in the world—"

Finally, he cut in. He wanted to disappear from this room, to flee what was transpiring. Knowing that he was causing her to feel the way she did was killing him. "Sweetie, that ain't it."

"Was it Bobby?" she asked, her voice taking on a more desperate tone to discover the answer. "Listen, some of the stuff he says as a joke can be kind of stupid sometimes, but he never means to—"

"No," Sam said firmly, shaking his head. _At least not in the way you think._

Jubilee was at a loss, swallowing hard. She had gone through what she believed were plausible theories. If what was bothering Sam was not related to any of the possibilities she brought forth, then what was it?

"I don't understand," she said quietly, frowning quizzically up at him. "If Bobby and I didn't do anything, then why? What gives?"

The Southern gentleman inhaled sharply, becoming acutely aware that there was no way to gracefully to back out here. He felt trapped. To attempt to discount her astute observations of his behavior would be futile. She had hit the proverbial nail on the head. He had done all those things. There was no way to deny the evidence she presented.

Gazing deeply into those old-soul blue eyes and her lovely face, he could tell she worried about him. There was pain in her voice as she implored him to tell her what was wrong. She went as far as to blame herself for how he was acting. Upon hearing this, he immediately hated himself for causing her that angst, that concern for his well-being.

Because, quite frankly, he did not deserve any of it.

But to be honest and confess what compelled him to act in such a way in the first place? He was apprehensive about this option. In a way, that might things worse for both of them. She would have to deal with the knowledge of his feelings for her and the guaranteed discomfort that result from this. As for Sam, he faced the prospect of sure rejection---something he had managed to avoid thanks to her ignorance. No longer would there be the casual ease that existed between them currently. All of that would be gone with his admission.

So, the Southern gentleman did what he believed would remedy things.

"What was going on—it had nothin' ta do with ya," he said, trying his best to maintain eye-contact with her in spite of the lies. "Ah'm sorry ya think that. It's just that Ah didn't wanna get ya down with what Ah was dealin' with, ya know?"

Jubilee stared at him. Paige had always talked about how her brother sometimes shut down to cope with his problems. It was something he had learned to do as the eldest child in the family. After the death of their father, the worries of the adult world were thrust upon him at an early age. As the pillar of support to his mother and the rest of his children, he often masked his own feelings and denied his own needs.

Given this information, what he was saying made sense. At least, that was what she believed. He looked so earnest as he answered her. Yet, a nagging voice in the back of her head told her to press on. Finally, she asked in low voice, "What were you dealing with?"

He swallowed hard and shook his head, peering around the room. "Ah was homesick. Don't get me wrong, Ah love being an X-Man and traveling all over. But there's somethin' about here that makes it the only place Ah wanna call home. Comin' back after bein' away for so long, it's… Ah don't know." Managing a sheepish smile to conceal the nervousness he was experiencing as he continued to lie. "Sounds dumb, huh?"

She shook her head emphatically. "No, not at all. I can see why you'd feel homesick. Your family seems awesome, and this place has it own hayseed charm." Her crystalline eyes sparkled when he smiled upon hearing her teasing remark. Then she paused, chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully. "Sometimes, I feel that way about California. I miss stuff like the beaches, the malls, and being able to wear shorts all year round. I also miss…"

Sam watched her blink rapidly, as if attempting to force the memories of her parents into the dark recesses of her mind. He knew it was a subject she rarely broached with anyone. Always one to put a bright smile and crack a smart line, one would often be fooled into thinking that the pain and traumatic loss were things she put behind her. But for those who knew her, they were not easily deceived. Just looking at her now, he knew how this part of her life continued to deeply affect her.

At the same time, he was feeling increasingly guilty over his deception. What started out as a means to dodge the truth turned into something that elicited sadness for her. Needless to say, the Southern gentleman cursed himself for what he had done. _What is wrong with me?_ his mind screamed inwardly. _I can't even be around her without doing something dumb. _

"Ah'm sorry," he blurted out, his pale-blue eyes reflecting his sincerity. "Sweetie, Ah didn't mean ta upset ya."

To her credit, Jubilee did not cry. Granted, she had dealt with the loss of them years ago, but their deaths were a constantly reminder of the stability that was taken from her early in life. Forced to grow up quickly, she learned what loneliness was like, and how cold the world could be at times. Over the years, she learned to deal with her feelings about this period in her life privately and only with people she trusted deeply.

Peering over a remorseful Sam, she surmised he felt responsible for making her dwell on her situation. Reaching over to place a hand on his arm, she made an effort to reassure him. "I'm OK, Sam. You didn't do anything. I swear."

"Didn't Ah?" He was confused. "Ah mean, all this talk about bein' homesick…"

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I'm not upset," she insisted. "I haven't thought about certain things for a long time, which have nothing to do with you."

It was hard for him not to be skeptical. He knew she was trying to be persuasive, but he was reluctant to completely believe her. "Ah'm still sorry," he said with his head bent down, raking a calloused hand through his straw-colored hair.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she told him firmly. "Honestly. You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, I'm glad you talked about it."

His blond brows shot upwards. "You are?" he asked, bewildered. Her assertion went against all logic. Why would she be pleased for him to bring up a topic that made her sad?

She nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I am. I finally know why you were acting so weird."

He exhaled and placed his hand over his mouth. Forcing himself to nod in agreement, he finally said, "Ah'm glad ya understand, sweetie."

Jubilee patted his shoulder and then drew her hand back. She took a deep breath. "I do, but I need for you to do something for me."

Sam's first instinct was to tell he yes right away, that he would promise her anything she asked of him. Somehow, he tampered this urge with his curiosity. "What's that?" he inquired.

"Next time, you get kind of angsty, just don't shut people out." Her sapphire eyes were wide as she continued speaking. "You've got lots of friends and family who care about you. When you get all antisocial, it's scary not to know what we can do to help. I know we haven't been all that close because you probably think I'm still thirteen, but I'd like to be better friends with you."

The Southern gentleman almost winced when she said the word 'friends', but managed to refrain himself from doing so. As he gazed into those hypnotic, sapphire depths, he was all too aware that she meant every word she said and that she did care about him. For some reason, this awareness seemed to make things all the more painful for him. However, he knew that it meant a great deal to her for him to make this promise, not to let her down. After tearing his eyes away from hers, he nodded. "Of course, Ah promise."

The rest of the afternoon into early evening was spent assisting Lucinda with preparing her dessert contributions in the cramped Guthrie children. In addition to bourbon balls and sweet potato casserole, there was Woodford pudding and pecan pie with chocolate chips. The older girls acted as sous chefs to their mother, chopping, measuring, stirring, sifting, and checking on the clock and oven. Melody was in charge of washing the many bowls and utensils that were being used over the course of the day.

Meanwhile, Lucinda helped an apprehensive Jubilee with baking her first pie from scratch. The Guthrie matriarch patiently demonstrated how to prepare a homemade pie shell before moving onto the filling. A careful Jubilee followed attentively, hoping that she would not ruin another dessert. She expressed some of her doubts to Lucinda, who laughed and told her that "it don't take a genius to bake a pecan pie". Nervously, Jubilee waited by the piping hot oven to keep watch over her project despite the Guthrie women's assurances that it would turn out fine. It finally took Sam to pry her away, dragging her into the living room under the guise of showing some embarrassing baby pictures of Paige.

When everything had been baked and cooled, Sam and Jay began packing the offerings in plastic containers. This allowed Lucinda and the girls to hurry upstairs to shower and change out of their flour-stained clothes. Jubilee, having avoided such a predicament, remained downstairs with the boys to help them finish packing the food. The trio then went outside to transport everything into Lucinda's minivan.

As they were about to return to the house, Lucinda and the girls were already on the porch. The Guthrie matriarch was glowing, her blond hair pulled back from her lightly made up face. She wore a rose-colored, V-neck sweater, a brown down jacket, with khakis and brown loafers. The older girls, Joelle and Elisabeth, were wearing sweater sets (Joelle in blue, Elisabeth in lavender) with denim skirts under their hooded wool coats. Melody had chosen to wear a white sweater with rainbow-colored heart in middle of the chest and pink corduroy pants.

Compliments were expressed before Lucinda took charge. She told Sam that he would have to take his truck since she would have just enough room for the girls and the children who were already at the community center. Sam agreed, and informed her that he would be driving Jubilee and Jay with him. His mother quickly gave him the directions, but said that she would pull out in front of him so he could follow her. Soon after this, they were off.

The community center was a short drive from the Guthrie home. By the time they arrived there, the parking lot was nearly full. Fortunately, both Sam and his mother found spots that were reasonably close. People were already converging to the center, but stopped outside to chat with friends. The air was alive with the tempting scents of offerings for the potluck dinner and boisterous voices, welcoming each other. Lucinda and the girls were greeted by a group people just outside the doors leading inside, pausing to exchange hellos and kind pleasantries.

Jubilee was amazed by the acceptance she observed as she, Sam, and Jay made their way through the crowds. There was no fear, no gaping stares. This was in spite of the fact that Jay's mutation, his pale-red wings, was in plain sight. Instead, both young men were warmly embraced by former teachers and friends of the family they had not seen in some time. She then found herself swallowed into the friendly fold, exchanging handshakes and hugs with new acquaintances. It was a stark contrast to Bobby's neighbors, who, during their visit to Long Island last year, often seemed to be wary in approaching him.

Dated, but well-kept, the community center had a full-sized gymnasium that easily accommodates a six-hoop basketball court, a volleyball court, and shuffleboard court. There were also several multipurpose meeting and activity rooms to host receptions, meetings, parties, and classes. At the back of the building was the main hall, which was bigger than all the other rooms combined and was where Thanksgiving dinner was being held.

Upon entering the main hall, one was immediately greeted with near sensory overload. Enticing smells from potluck offerings, such as ham biscuits, roasted turkey, pinto beans and ham hock, and grits with red-eyed gravy, hung in the air, providing people what was to come. Music, accompanied by the boisterous chatter of many who were busy placing their dishes at the buffet tables set up, came in the form of a string band ensemble that included a fiddle, banjo, guitar, and bass. The musicians played Tin Pan Alley ditties along with Victorian parlor songs. Tables were festively decorated with silk plants arranged with sprigs of preserved fall foliage between the leaves, colorful plastic plates that featured apples and pumpkins, napkins rings made with leaves, and patterned table linens.

Sam smiled as he watched Jubilee soak the ambiance in. It was probably nothing she had ever experienced before as a city girl. Her head kept turning to catch the sights, sounds, and smells that surrounded her. Gently, he guided her towards a vacant table with the rest of the Guthrie clan in tow.

"It's like a real Thanksgiving," Jubilee whispered as the Southern gentleman pulled out a chair for her to sit. "All these people come out this every year?"

He nodded, slipping off his jacket and then seating himself next to her. "Yeah," he said. "It's kinda crazy, but everyone always has a good time."

Jay pulled out chairs for his mother and sisters, folding in his wings slightly. Then he turned his chair around so that the back was facing his chest as he sat down. "After eating, people get on the dance floor to burn off what they ate."

"So, are we gonna to be treated to a performance, hon?" Lucinda asked, raising her brows suggestively.

Her son blushed as Jeb, Lewis, and Caitlin joined them at their table. "I don't know about that." He doubted that his music would be well-received by this particular crowd. Angst-ridden pop did not have that rural twang many liked.

Sam quickly introduced the younger children to Jubilee. "Guys, this is Jubilee. She'll be staying with us for the weekend. Jubes, this is Lewis and Caitlin." He nodded at the blond twins. "And you know Jeb."

The children politely shook her hand and then proceeded to brag about how they helped to decorate the community center. Jubilee complimented their handiwork, telling them she was impressed, much to their delight.

The din began to die down and the musician ended their number, as a tall, reed-like man wearing an orange-and-yellow baseball cap approached the microphone. Introducing himself as a town board member, he welcomed everyone to the dinner. He graciously singled out the efforts of those responsible for organizing the event, as well as all who brought dishes to share. Then he bowed his head to lead the gathering in a Thanksgiving prayer.

Though not an especially religious man, Sam found certain parts resonated with him. He was grateful for being reunited with his family. He was grateful for the shared contentment that seemed to permeate throughout the room.

Glancing at Jubilee, who had her head bowed as well, he knew he was very grateful for her. Yes, the circumstances were not ideal. The commitment to reinforcing a friendship and her obliviousness in regards to his feelings made him uneasy inside.

But at least, she was here with him.

Following this, people gathered into four lines, which corresponded to the four buffet tables in the room. For the most part, families and friends were cheery and were only happy to share a bit of gossip while serving. Surprisingly, the lines moved rather efficiently and many were able to return to their seats with sumptuous plates of food within minutes.

Jubilee settled down at the table with her own plate. Fortunately, she had managed to avoid the fried squirrel and gravy, and the baked possum, and stuck to the more traditional fare. However, she was dismayed when she noticed that she did not have a drink. She peered over at Joelle, Elisabeth, and Lewis, who were already diving in. "I'm going back up to get a soda," she announced, rising from her chair. "Does anyone else need anything?"

Meanwhile, Sam was helping himself to some ham biscuits when he heard a man cough behind. He turned around to ask if the man was all right. His eyes narrowed when he saw who it was. Craig Snowden.

"Why, look who came back," Craig drawled in his usual condescending tone, stroking his sparse goatee. "If ain't Sam Guthrie. Sure haven't seen ya around in these parts. Still tryin' ta be a superhero?"

Sam tried not to scowl. The two of them attended school together, where Craig tormented Sam and his siblings incessantly. As the son of the civil engineer who worked with the coal mines, Craig thought of himself as better than the Guthrie children. In fact, he made it his mission to make their lives hell. He would stick gum in Paige's hair, trip Sam while he was walking down the hall, make jokes about Elisabeth's weight in her chubbier days, pretend to ask Joelle out on dates or would force his friends to only to laugh in her face, and hold Jeb's face to his rear so he could pass wind in it. Facing him now only reminded Sam of those days. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to deck him right then and there.

"Hello, Craig." His pale-blue eyes swept over the smirking face of the other man. Not much had changed about him other than the noticeable gut that was hanging over his belt. Had been less of a gentleman, he might have made a comment about it.

"This the only way you and your family can eat?" Craig sneered and then taking a gulp of his soda. He licked his fleshy lips with relish.

Sam's mouth formed a thin, taut line. He found it rather humorous that Craig said that given that his family was in a similar situation. After the coal mining industry left Cumberland, Craig's family also fell on hard times and never returned to their prosperous times. As much as he wanted to point out this fact, he was more determined not to stoop to the other man's level.

"Just a way for us to see everyone again," he replied calmly. "Ya know how Thanksgivin's about togetherness and all."

This did not dissuade Craig from his persistent taunting. He watched as Sam placed the tongs for the biscuits on the serving platter. "Sounds like y'all were gonna go hungry this year," he observed sharply. Then he said, "Ah bet ya wanna know what's goin' on with me."

_Not really._ Sam began to move down the line and picked up a napkin. "Ah'm sure things are good with ya," he said warily and put his plate down on the buffet table. He was searching for an escape route from this situation. Unfortunately, all possible exits were blocked at the moment. All of a sudden, it became more crowded. There were several families gathered, either filling their plates or talking with friends whom they had seen in a while.

"They are," Craig said smugly. "Ah'm the sports editor for the paper here. Also voted one of Cumberland's forty most eligible bachelors. Got all the ladies linin' up for miles just to go out with me."

_Maybe they're all deaf and blind,_ Sam mused to himself, suppressing a grin. After all, that had to be the only explanation. "Ya don't say," he remarked facetiously.

Craig snickered. "Don't think ya know all that much about that kinda thing, do ya, Guthrie?" he asked and nodded in the direction where his family was sitting. "From what Ah remember you people like ta keep things in the family. Ah mean, who'd wanna be involved with trash like y'all?" He punctuated his assertion with a scornful laugh.

That did it. Sam could feel his cheeks burning with rage and he turned to Craig with a glowering look in his pale-blue eyes. He opened his mouth to let this pompous, asinine son of a bitch what he thought of him. However, he was stopped when he felt a hand on his back. Turning around, he was surprised to see who it was.

Jubilee.

The young girl peered up at him with a concerned expression on her face. She had managed to hear quite a bit of the verbal abuse that was taking place, and did not like it one bit. As much as she condoned Sam responding to them with some choice curse words or even a punch, she knew that this was not the venue to do so. For a brief second, she considered sticking up for her friend and his family, but realized that had the potential to make matters worse.

"Well, hello." Craig almost fell forwards, spilling his soda as he leered at Jubilee. "Who do we have here? Haven't seen a pretty gal like you before, and Ah know all the pretty ones."

_Ewww. _She raised a brow at him before turning to Sam. "Hey, I've been wondering what's taking you so long," she said, draping an arm around him. "I really miss you."

Sam's mouth suddenly went dry as he stared at her in disbelief. _What is she doing?_ "Um, Ah was just gettin' some food, sweetie…"

Craig scowled. "You're with _him?_ " he asked, stunned that Sam was able to make the acquaintance of someone as lovely as this girl.

Jubilee smiled sweetly. "Well, he is _my boyfriend._ " she replied in a syrupy voice, resting her head on Sam's shoulder. Then she added, "And I just adore his family. They're such wonderful people, you know."

The Southern gentleman peered down at her. Confused at first, he wanted to ask her what she was talking about. However, when he saw the twinkling in her sapphire eyes, he caught on with her plan. Nodding firmly and holding Jubilee close to his side, he beamed. "Looks like ya don't know _all_ the pretty ones, Craig."

Jubilee flashed him a dazzling smile. "You're so sweet," she cooed, standing on her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck. She almost laughed when she saw that the other man was gaping at them in shock.

Sam felt a little giddy himself. The expression on Craig's face was priceless. He wished he had a camera to record the moment. But even more gratifying was holding the object of his unrequited affections like this in his arms. Yes, it was part of some rouse, but for a brief, amazing moment, he could pretend.

All of a sudden, Jubilee pressed her mouth against his. The Southern gentleman's tall, lean body went rigid in surprise. However, his shock soon melted into sheer euphoria. While there was a part of him that reminded him this was probably part of the act, this was quelled by the other part that told him to enjoy what was happening.

Sam soon responded in kind, his tongue deepening the kiss and relishing every moment. Her mouth felt even better than anything he dreamed of late at night. Never did he taste anything so sweet in his entire life. It was the kind of kiss that spread warmth from your chest and through the rest of your body. He could even feel his toes curl inside his shoes from the excitement and joy of the embrace. In the back of his mind, he was telling himself that this might be one of the happiest times of his young life. Nothing else could compare.

Meanwhile, Jubilee felt light-headed, her body tingling at his touch. She would have fallen if it weren't for Sam's arms pulling her closer. Her fingers stroked his hair, his ears, and the back of his neck with feathery caresses. When his hands slid up her back, she shifted slightly, falling deeper into the kiss. It was just enough so that she was feeling a very new, very different sensation.

Out of breath, Jubilee finally broke the kiss. Her cheeks were bright red and her sapphire eyes were dazed. Gasping, she peered around to see that Craig was gone. "Looks like our little show worked," she whispered, drawing back and stepping away from him.

Brought back to reality, Sam felt his heart sink a little. "Yeah."


	47. Chapter 47

Back with another chapter. Just in time for the holidays.

This is the darkest entry I've written. It's scary, gritty, and refers to the bleakness that most people don't want to think about. However, my beta and I agreed that as it is, it meets the M-rating and therefore, there is no explicit version.

I'd love to hear back from you guys about this particular chapter.

**Chapter Forty-Seven: Helter Skelter **

Christmastime in Genosha. It was a rather strange idea given the conditions of the tiny island nation. Like its neighbors, Genosha enjoyed mild, temperate conditions where the low temperatures dipped into the sixties at night. Instead of bulky overcoats and scarves, people walked about in shorts and T-shirts as they bought gifts and decorations. Palm trees were used as Christmas trees since pines were nearly impossible to find. Even Santa Claus figurines were dressed in more summery attire than their counterparts in other parts of the world. Street vendors were more likely to peddle ice-cream than roasted chestnuts. The only white substance on the ground were grains of sand from the country's many pristine beaches.

In spite of the idyllic surroundings and the approach of the holiday season, the team led by Kurt and Warren were focused on things less festive and light. For Bobby, this was particularly true. Following his encounter with Isabella, Bobby was insistent that they find her. As far as he was concerned, the child needed their help. Her small, hungry face haunted him as he attempted to convince Kurt that they leave the tour and search for her.

Though Bobby's demonic-faced friend was rather ambivalent about this proposition, he listened intently. While he wanted to do so, he explained to Bobby that they would not know where to look. Furthermore, they were still unfamiliar as to the customs of this place. There was the possibility that their investigation would make exacerbate things for the child.

Crestfallen, Bobby's rational side agreed with the field team leader. But this did not lessen his worry for the frightened child he had met. As they hurried to rejoin the others, there was a part of him that wanted to recruit Logan in the search. No child should ever experience what Isabella was going through.

Reports back to Westchester were few and far between. After all, much of the ground work was still being laid. For the last several weeks, the group had been immersed in their cover as an investor group in 'Low Town', an impoverished part of the capital center. In doing so, it became rather evident that their community contacts were genuinely ignorant of what was the cause of the dwindling child population. They were, of course, concerned with getting their development project off the ground so they could help the residents of the city. Warren, because of his expertise in this area, and Cain, because of his position as Xavier's emissary, worked closely with the group as a part of their guise. When they were not meeting with the contacts, Warren would isolate himself, attempting to locate an old friend.

Meanwhile, Bobby sought out some of the social service agencies to get their input as to what was happening. Financially-strapped and overworked, the dedicated social workers and counselors were at a loss, but acknowledged they had suspicions that things were amiss. According to one of them, it was as if by overnight all of their client caseloads were adults. There were no children in any of the families they were dealing with. Bobby asked if the social workers and counselors inquired about any children these individuals might have had, both groups stated that they did. One counselor described what he could only believe was apprehension in the face of a woman he had in therapy, but she refused to say anything more.

Kurt was in communication with a priest from the local church and nearby mission. The two men talked about the rampant poverty in this part of the city. Then Kurt asked the priest about his parishioners. The priest informed him that these people often take advantage of the mission's services, such as meals and shelter. The German followed up his question with another one about whether or not there were small children in the families the priest had seen. Shaking his head, the priest replied no. However, he did note that many of his parishioners appeared constantly on edge, but never revealed what vexed them. He explained to Kurt that many of these people were not acquainted with hope and the drudgery of their everyday lives was more hellish than anything he could comprehend.

Logan began to make contacts of his own at some of the local bars. Tempted as he was to sniff something out right away, the loner maintained his cover and ingratiated himself into the fold. Many of the men he met were filled with despair. The prospect of jobs completely escaped them. Some talked of their resignation to live out their wretched existence in this city. Their eyes were dead, refusing talk of any hope or the future. Alcohol was the only source of solace for these men and they were happy to indulge. Many of them went a little far with their indulgence, resulting in poor memory and lack of attention spans. Trying to obtain information given these circumstances made Logan want to scream in frustration.

As the holidays were quickly approaching, Kurt was feeling the pressure from within his own group to be more aggressive in their mission. Both Logan and Cain expressed their disagreement with the covert nature of their actions, believing that directly getting to the root of the problem would be more effective. Warren, his co-leader, had not been much help as he was becoming involved in his own side-project, and was being very secretive about it.

His golden eyes were pensive as he sat in an overstuffed armchair inside Cain's hotel room. The team was gathered there for a briefing from him after his meeting with the community contacts earlier that day. Cain went through various maps of the city, pointing out where the poorest slums were located. As he presented, it was becoming clear that the Juggernaut was coming down with a cold. His booming voice took on a more subdued, nasal-like sound and he was quite pale. He also began to sniffle. There were times when he looked as if he might collapse, but somehow, he managed to remain composed.

When the briefing was completed, Kurt took the laptop from Cain and handed him a box of Kleenex. Grateful, the larger man made his way to his bed and blew his nose loudly. Startled, Bobby shrieked from where he was standing by the window.

Kurt jumped, alarmed. "Vat's wrong, mein freund?" he asked.

"I thought a moose got in here, but it was just Juggy blowing his nose." Bobby laughed.

Cain narrowed his eyes and growled at Bobby, who lapsed into silence.

Kurt shook his head and placed the laptop on the room's mahogany desk. Then he took a deep breath. "Vell, ve have been here for several veeks now, and most of that time ve have collected some background information, vich has not panned out as ve vould have liked." He stood up and shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts that he wore with an orange polo shirt. "At this point, I move that ve continue our search without bringing any attention to ourselves."

Logan chewed on his cigar crossly and crossed his arms over his chest in displeasure.

"But," Kurt went on, sensing his friend's disagreement and hoping to quell it, "ve vill start conducting our investigation at night. From what all of us have observed, these people are not happy to share during the daytime. Things might be different once night falls."

"What makes you say that?" Bobby inquired, slipping off his purple-tinted sunglasses. Granted, Kurt was right about people being guarded as they made their way about town during the day, but could the disappearance of the sun really change all that?

Logan's dog tags gleamed underneath the track lighting of the hotel room. "People are different then," he said in his gravelly voice. "Bars can up the amount of drinks served, dealers come out with their drugs, and hookers walk the streets. All of 'em guaranteed to make talkers out of these people."

Warren rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Are we ready for this?"

Cain frowned at him. "What? You sound like we're gonna go out and attack somebody. We're still posin' as tourists. Nightcrawler said we're just talkin' to people."

"I know," the blond Adonis chided haughtily. "It's just that we need to tread carefully. There's a lot we still don't know."

"Agreed." Kurt nodded. Turning to Logan, he said, "Ve'll start off at one of the bars you've been going to, Logan. Perhaps the men vill be more villing to share tonight."

Logan said nothing, but the twinkling of the golden flecks in his green eyes relayed his approval.

Then Kurt peered over at Cain, who was already halfway through the box of tissues. "Maybe you should stay here," he suggested lightly. "You can monitor our progress and let us know through our communicators of any issues that might arise."

Their former nemesis blew his nose again, shaking his head. "Nothin' doin'," he protested. The first hint of action and they were expecting him to sit out? Who did they think they were talking to? "I'm not lettin' some cold sideline me. I wanna get to the bottom of this."

Before Kurt or Logan could argue, Warren waved his hand. "I'll stay," he volunteered, picking a piece of fuzz from his crisp, blue button-down shirt. "It might be better, really. I doubt people would open up with me around."

Logan hid a smile. He was quite surprised that Worthington was the first to point this out. While it dubious that many of the Low Town residents would recognize the millionaire playboy, his angelic appearance would certainly make the lesser elements apprehensive to share. They might feel as if they were being judged.

Kurt exhaled loudly. "Alright, Varren," he agreed, his face weary. "You vill oversee things from back here. The rest of us—ve vill meet downstairs to head into town in three hours. Remember to bring your communicators."

Bobby watched the others nod in agreement as they shuffled out of the room. He felt anticipation in the wake of Kurt's new directives. While he was eager about this development, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the young girl he met weeks ago. He asked the outreach workers about her, but was stunned to hear that they did not know of any child fitting her description or of any other children within the city. During his spare time, he attempted to search for her in the same area, coming up empty every time. Now, as he followed Warren out of the hotel room, he hoped that he would see her again and keep the promise he made to her.

As Logan had predicted, Low Town was a different place in the evening. It was definitely more alive, compared to the bleakness it took on during daylight. Neon lights from signs radiated with a seedy glow, advertising various watering holes to strip clubs to adult movie theatres. The homeless made themselves comfortable on street corners, in the public parks, and in very narrow alleys that did not allow vehicles to pass. Many were passed out, clutching botttles of liquor or beer close to them. Riding in the back of the cab, the group also had a chance to see the community's informal economy at work. There were some elderly people huddled around dumpsters, collecting cans to later recycle for income.

Nearing one of the bars Logan frequented, the streets became more crowded. Street vendors competed with drug dealers for the attention and money of passerbyers. Haggard-looking female and male prostitutes leaned against the lamp posts or stood outside of bars, waiting to turn a trick and get something to fill the void. The stench of stale cigarettes, alcohol, and body odor lingered in the air like a thick cloud.

Cursing under his breath, the cab driver rolled up his windows and locked his doors. He hated this place. Seeing all of this despair made his stomach turn and made him grateful for the modest one-bedroom apartment he shared with his wife and baby on the other side of the city. "Are you sure you guys want be here?" he asked, sweat beading at his bushy, gray brows. "There are plenty of other places to find a good time."

Kurt swallowed hard, uncertain himself as he sat on the passenger's side. Never had he seen anything like this in all his travels as an X-Man. Even when he was studying to be a priest in the south side of Chicago, he had not seen such hellish conditions. It was an eye-opening experience for the German, who had, until now, considered himself not as naïve as he used to be.

Logan peered out the window, quickly recognizing the area as being close to one of the haunts he made contacts at. Not wanting to draw too much attention with the cab, which already looked out of place with its well-maintained appearance, he tapped the driver's head rest. "Stop here," he commanded gruffly, pulling out some bills from his wallet.

The driver took the money and unlocked the doors as Logan shoved back into his pocket. "Have a nice night," he said sarcastically, watching the party file out of his cab. When the last man, a good-looking man with sandy hair and gray eyes, climbed out and closed the door, the driver said under his breath, "It might be your last."

Bobby peered around, trying to mask his wariness. Like Kurt, he thought he had seen his share of rough areas, but this had to take the cake. Nothing in his Long Island upbringing prepared him for facing this kind of environment. It was so empty, so devoid of any hope for anything better. Initially, he felt himself reeling from it all.

However, his deep reflections were soon interrupted. Almost immediately, an obese prostiute with white skin and wearing turquoise jumpsuit three sizes too small made her way towards him. She was followed by a reed-like man, clad in stained, track shorts and sucking on lollipop.

"Hi, baby," she slurred, the smell of alcohol reeking her breath. She looked him up and down. He was much more attractive than any of her regular customers with that boyish face and rumpled sandy hair. Underneath his navy Hawaiian shirt with lotus flowers and chino shorts, this guy seemed to have quite a body. "How about you and your friends join us for a party? Me and Danny don't disappoint."

Danny smiled at Bobby, suckling on the lollipop suggestively with loud smacks.

_Oh, man,_ Bobby said inwardly, bristling. Much to his annoyance, Logan, Kurt, and Cain were making their way into the bar, and leaving him to his own devices. They were probably laughing at him inside.

"Guess it's just you then," Danny observed, tilting his head to the side. The light from the streetlamp fell upon his arms, which were riddled with track marks and abcesses.

Desperately, Bobby searched his brain for a tactful way to decline the offer. "Uh, I'm good," he said, holding his hands up and beginning to edge away from them and towards the bar's entrance.

"Oh come on," the woman whined. "We'll show ya a real good time. Won't cost more than fifty."

_I'd pay you two fifty to stay away from me,_ Bobby thought and nearly considered it. Shaking his head firmly, he replied, "Sorry… I'm not into that kind of thing tonight. I'm with someone." As soon as he referred to her, he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Invoking Jubilee's existence into this situation seemed almost dirty.

The woman laughed, a deep, rasping sound that could only be achieved by smoking cheap cigarettes for a long time. "Aw, that's okay, baby. We won't tell her."

"Or _him_." Danny added slyly, winking at Bobby.

_Why does he think I'm… Never mind, I have to get out of this._ Bobby sighed. He was about to issue a firm rejection when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. It was a small girl with a cherubic face with wide, hazel eyes and blonde hair. She wore a light-blue, cotton sundress that shifted slightly in the back to accommodate her swinging tail. Standing on the other side of the street, she looked despondent and scared.

Isabella.

"Hey!" Bobby called out, pushing Danny aside to run to where the girl was standing. He weaved in between other people, who were suddenly flooding the once-empty street. Struggling to keep her within his sights, Bobby began to shove some of the individuals impatiently. He ignored their curses and indignant cries. All he could focus on was Isabella and his promise.

Unfortuately, by the time he reached where she was standing, she was gone. Bobby peered around frantically. His gray eyes darted rapidly, searching for any possible escape routes she might have used to elude him. What met his gaze were vacant stares of some panhandlers and boarded-up windows. He stifled a groan, frustration and anger threatening to overwhelm him.

The obese woman bounded up next to him with Danny in tow. She was breathing heavily from the exertion of the short walk. "So, you're into that." Her narrow, pink eyes glittered. So much for his pretense of being normal.

Bobby opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself. While he could care less what she and her companion thought of him, there was something else to be gained by not correcting her. Perhaps he could use the rouse to his advantage. It would certainly make finding Isabella easier. "Yeah," he lied, feeling disgusted with what he was about to own up to. "I like that kind of action." Instinctively, he wanted to vomit.

She snorted, pulling the fabric of her jumpsuit over her sagging breasts. "Hell, if you want kiddies…" Not bothering to finish her sentence, she waddled down the street in search of another potential client, one that wasn't a child molester.

Crestfallen, Bobby stared after her and wondered if squandered an opportunity, if made a mistake by telling that lie. He then remembered that her friend, Danny, had not followed her. When he turned to him, Danny was smiling. "I can help you," he told Bobby slyly. "What's it worth to you, honey?"

Bobby pulled out his wallet and took out twenty dollars. "This enough?" he asked, masking the nervousness in his voice.

Danny took the bill from him, smirking. Then he slipped the cash down the front of his shorts. "Follow me."

Inside the bar did not provide any refuge from the grungy wretchedness that seemed to permeate the air outside. The souls inside the watering hole were equally indulgent of less-savory vices, where drugs were dealt and consumed openly, and people drowned their troubles in cheap drinks. A few prostitutes were keeping to themselves at the bar for the time being, waiting for customers take them up on their services.

As for the interior, it seemed to mirror the clientele being served. The watering hole resembled a beaten-down malt shop from the '50s, with pictures of Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe and James Dean and other icons of an era before most of its patrons were even born. Thrift-store furniture was well-worn and smelled of stale cigarettes. At one corner of the room, a jukebox was playing a not-so-diverse soundtrack of rockabilly music. Meanwhile, at the other end of the room were two pool tables, where some of the patrons were playing with curved cue sticks.

Logan had managed to commandeer a semiprivate converted grain silo, which housed thrift-store couches and tables. The self-professed loner was never one to care for ambiance, unlike Kurt who often yearned for Munich beer halls. To him, if there was decent selection of draft beer and cold bottles, then nothing else mattered. Fancy microbrews and Chilean merlots were never his scene anyway.

Rather than wait for a harried, overworked waitress to take their order, Kurt made his way to the bar to grab a pitcher of beer and several glasses. The slender, blue German slipped into a crowd of drunken men, who were yelling about the city's latest soccer match and how they were cheated of a call. Meanwhile, Cain and Logan sank their bodies into the lump-ridden couches to wait for their teammate. When Kurt returned, he immediately served, making sure not to pour too much foam.

"Think Iceman's gotten away yet?" Cain asked, snickering with his glass. He winced slightly, his laughter irritating his dried and congested nasal passages.

The corners of Logan's mouth quirked. Seeing Drake in his little predicament was entertaining. The expression on the younger man's face was priceless. There was a little fear, a little embarrassment, and a great deal of desire to flee. Obviously, Bobby had never been picked up by the likes of those prostitutes.

"He'll be fine," Logan said flatly, taking a gulp of beer. In fact, he was confident that Bobby could handle himself, witnessing his abilities at work time and time again.

Kurt's golden eyes were concerned in spite of his friend's assessment. "Are you sure?" he inquired, trying to ignore the stare of a toothless, fish-faced female prostitute sitting across the room. Like Bobby, he was rather uncomfortable with the idea of people checking him out like a piece of meat. He focused his gaze on the pale gold liquid in his dirty glass.

"After facin' off with Magneto and Sentinels, you really think he's gonna have problems?" Cain snorted, finishing off his beer. He leaned over the table and poured himself a second glass.

Logan nodded in agreement, green eyes stony beneath his thick brows.

Kurt said nothing, but still appeared deeply troubled. He agreed that Bobby did not need looking after like some inexperienced member. But the environment left much to be desired. There was no telling what might happen. As field leader for this mission, he felt accountable for his teammates' safety and well-being. Not knowing what Bobby was up to, vexed him.

"You might be right," he finally said, a crease forming at his forehead. "But I vould feel better if he joined us now. He's been out there for a long time." His hand moved towards his shirt pocket, where he had attached his communicator.

Before Kurt could activate the device, Logan knocked his hand away. "Don't," he grunted. "We don't know what he's doin'. He might be gettin' some information from those two hookers. You could be blowin' his cover."

"What about calling Varren?"

"If Drake was in trouble, Worthington would know and would have contacted us already."

The other man frowned at him, surprised. Allowing this scenario to be played out in his mind, he quickly realized the validity of what his old friend was saying. Finally, he sat back and sighed wearily. "I suppose you are right again."

Logan raised a brow at Kurt. He knew that the German wasn't being difficult or overly concerned about Drake. He was simply being a good leader. Being accountable for the safety of his teammates was a priority for him.

While Logan shared this ideal, there was something else that suddenly compelled him to be invested in Drake's well-being. Jubilee's old-soul blue eyes suddenly flashed in his mind. He could imagine her response should anything happened to her boyfriend. After returning from his self-imposed exile, he swore to himself that he would never let her down again. He would never see her with that hurt expression that dug into his heart like the sharpest of blades. It was one of those things that got to him.

Downing the remaining beer in his glass, he sat back. "Tell you what," he drawled, his gravelly voice taking on a more serious tone. "Let's wait five minutes. If Popsicle isn't in here after that, we'll head out and look for him."

Kurt looked relieved, clearly pleased with the compromise.

For the next five minutes, Logan scanned the bar for any signs of Bobby. He made his way to the bar after he, Kurt, and Cain emptied their pitcher. There was no doubt that some of the guys he met at this dive were here tonight. The promise of alcohol to numb their minds of their personal hells brought them back night after night. Not that Logan was judging. At several points of his life, he was in a similar position, battling his own demons.

He saw one of them, Pierce, smoking and nursing a shot of whiskey. His craggy, striped face lit up in recognition as Logan ambled over to where he sat at the corner of the bar. "Hey," he slurred, revealing a set of toothless gums with his lopsided smile. "You wanna drink?"

Logan shook his head. "Not now." From the alcohol present on Pierce's breath, it was clear that the other man was drunk. Still, there was no harm in asking him for help. Perhaps, the others he was sitting with might have seen Drake. "I'm lookin' for someone—a guy. Brown hair, gray eyes, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and shorts."

"He owe ya a drink, Logan?" Pierce and his comrades laughed—deep, rasping sounds that shook their chests and surely signaled the onset of lung disease.

Using his heightened senses after that failed endeavor, he searched again. He was able to separate the background sounds of other people—their voices, their scents, and their faces. Much to his disappointment, his efforts turned up nothing. Drake was not here. In fact, he had never followed them inside.

Dammit.

Grunting, he stood at the bar, behind a gathering of slovenly, dead-eyed men who were consuming several bottles of beer. Then he turned in the direction of where Kurt and Cain were sitting. With a brisk shaking of his head, he relayed his finding to them and gestured for them to follow him out the door. The wiry, demonic-looking German quickly darted from his seat, followed by a slower-moving Cain, who was still plagued with a rumbling cough.

Once outside, Logan continued his senses-guided investigation. "He didn't come in," he said flatly, walking away from the front doors.

"What?" Cain demanded, clearing his throat as he struggled to keep up with him. "He's was just behind us!"

"Yeah, well seems like he got distracted." Logan narrowed his eyes, contemplating strangling Bobby when they found him. This was the last thing they needed to do.

Kurt activated his communicator. Ducking his head to his chest in a discreet attempt to make contact, he lowered his voice in a hushed whisper. His brows shot upwards, nearly reaching the roots of his wavy, black hair. "Bobby's not answering," he informed his teammates. "His communicator's off."

Logan pressed his lips together in an austere line. He was about to suggest approaching some prostitutes standing at the corner when his nostrils were filled with a familiar scent. His head turned in the direction of the source. Quickly, he gestured for the others to follow him again.

The obese prostitute was leaning against the side of an abandoned car dealership building. She was finishing the last of a joint she stole earlier that evening, scratching her mammoth belly. Her eyes suddenly took on a more aware quality as the trio made their way towards her. In the haze of the marijuana she had just ingested, her mind quickly recognized them as the men who were with that good-looking john she missed.

"Hi," she greeted in a breathy voice. "Lookin' for some action? Wouldn't cost ya much." Her eyes roved over Kurt as if he were a bunch of grapes being dangled in front of her mouth by an Egyptian slave. "I'd do you for free."

Kurt muffled an 'eep'. He contemplated contacting Warren at the hotel, who was monitoring everyone's movements back at the hotel. Anything would have been more attractive than dealing with the likes of this creature.

Cain resisted the urge to smirk. Instead, he said, "We're lookin' for a friend of ours. He was comin' in with us when you and your buddy decided to talk to him."

"Oh." She snorted. "The one who likes to do it with kids."

Kurt stared at her incredulously. Surely, they were not talking about the same person. "Vat are you talking about, fraulein?"

"Maybe we're not talkin' about the same person," Logan cut in, masking his own disbelief with her statement. "Our friend's wearing a Hawaiian shirt and—"

She nodded, her face dull as she picked at a scab on her cheek. "Yeah, Hawaiian shirt and shorts. He likes doin' kids. That's why he ain't with me."

_That's not the only reason,_Logan mused inwardly. Rather than dwell on this incongruous information, he was able to discern she was not lying. Perhaps Drake had a plan of his own, and was executing it. "You see where he went?"

The prostitute nodded, but then sniffed. "Yeah," she replied, removing her hand from her face. "But it'll cost you."

The three men exchanged wary looks. Finally, Cain dug into the front pocket of his jeans and retrieved his wallet. "Twenty?"

"Another twenty, and I'll tell ya who he left with." She laughed.

The larger man pursed his lips. He was not one to surrender money so easily, but in this case, he was hard-pressed to say no. Shoving the cash into her meaty paw, he rolled his eyes. "Talk."

"He left with Danny, one of the hookers from the south side. Danny knows where all the kiddies work."

"Where would that be?"

"Three blocks east of here. All them rugrats come out at night to pick up our business. That's where your friend went."

Excitement over this new development mingled with disgust over the discovery of what was happening. It was a truth none of them entertained as a possibility. Children being used and abused in ways, exploited for the sick pleasures of adults who knew better. The idea was too dark, too foul to even stomach.

Somehow, they managed to conceal their feelings about the matter. After all, this was a promising lead for the mission. Without another word, the group departed in the continued search for their teammate.

The prostitute called after them as they walked away. "He didn't look a freak!"

"They never do." Logan muttered, his face grim.

The south side of the city was even more dreary and run-down, much to the collective surprise of the three men. There were buildings that were crumbling, marred with graffiti and shattered windows. Yet, many were still inhabited, lit up from within. A few cars were parked on the littered streets. The windows were covered from inside with old newspaper, keeping out prying eyes from the debaucheries transpiring in the vehicles. There were a few adult prostitutes lingering outside of a liquor store, drinking from bottles in paper bags. However, there were no signs of any children.

Logan's nostrils flared. At first, he thought they had been deceived, but he caught a whiff of something familiar. Drake was here, but his scent was faint now. His green eyes darted around under the dim street lights. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of that loud shirt, or hear the younger man crack a joke—anything to further the search. A frown creased his brow when none such clues materialized.

"Now what?" Cain asked, scowling. There were two snake-like men standing in front of a rust-covered Chevy Nova. Both were eyeing him carefully, as if they were sizing him up. After assessing his height and muscle mass, they turned away and decided not to instigate anything.

Kurt walked alongside Logan and Cain, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He was about to suggest trying his communicator again when he heard some hushed voices in alley, located between a condemned three-story apartment building and a Chinese restaurant that was closed. Pausing outside of the alley, he motioned for his teammates to do the same.

Logan narrowed his eyes in concentration. He was able to determine that there were two people in the alley—one with a deep, male voice and one with a high-pitched voice. While he did not recognize either party being Drake, he was able to tell that one of them was a small child. As he began to creep into the alley with the others in tow, the voices disappeared.

"Hello?" Kurt called out into the darkness. It was difficult to make much of anything in the black of the narrow space. "Hello?"

Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet was gone. The three men found themselves falling, their shouts of surprise echoing all around them. Disorientation enveloped them, making them feel as if they were falling for a long period of time. Kurt wanted to teleport back to where they were before, but he was unable to grab Logan or Cain. Logan attempted to locate a wall or something to latch onto to help brace himself, but could not see anything in the darkness that was swallowing them.

After what seemed like eons, Cain finally landed with a resounding THUD on his back. Blinking, he lifted his head. He felt a wave of dizziness as he did so. It was unclear to him if this could be attributed to the fall, or his cold.

Groaning, he rubbed his head. "Okay, how do we get outta this one?" he muttered. Opening his mouth to call out to Wolverine and Nightcrawler, he suddenly felt something wriggle underneath him. This was followed by a muffled yell.

Meanwhile, Logan found himself in a rather uncomfortable position. Due to Cain's elbow being on top of his head, his face was lodged in the crack of the other man's bum. As a result, his struggles for air and speech were restricted. "Mmrphuhguh!"

It was then that Juggernaut recognized the voice. "What?" he asked, moving his elbow.

Logan's head jerked up, coughing. "I said, 'Mothafucka!'" he growled.

Cain peered around, his eyes only vaguely making out certain shapes in the darkness. "Where's Kurt?" he asked.

"Look under your ass."

"You're under my ass."

"No, there's something pointy jabbing into me, so I know it ain't you!"

There was a muffled squeak. Gingerly, Cain rolled over. Sure enough, Kurt had been sandwiched between the two larger men. On the verge of suffocation, he was unable to teleport himself from between the two men. As a result, he was the middle of an X-Men sandwich.

There was a rush of air as oxygen finally filled Kurt's lungs. "Mein Gott!" he choked out.

Quickly, he climbed off of Logan. On his hands and knees, he summoned the strength to pull himself to his feet. However, he was overwhelmed by the stench that permeated the air. It was powerful, but indescribable. Gagging, he made another effort to rise. Again, he found himself pausing but for a different reason. This time, he noticed that the space was aglow, which brought his attention to a pair of small, bare feet.

"Are you monsters?"

Kurt's head snapped up, his golden eyes widening. Standing in front of him was a little boy, about four years old. Smudges of dirt stained his otherwise porcelain skin, providing a contrast to his wide, brown eyes and short, brown hair. Wearing tatters of what might have been a T-shirt and shorts, the boy looked reasonably well-fed and strong. But this belied the wary expression on his cherubic face.

The demon-faced German swallowed hard. He was already accustomed to similar questions from the younger children at the mansion. "No, child," he replied gently. "Ve are not monsters."

"Then what are you doing here?" another voice asked sharply. Stepping forward was a taller figure, cloaked in a long, black robe with a cowl over its head. In its gloved hand was a lantern, which provided enough illumination for the men to discover they were in the sewers.

Logan narrowed his eyes, recognizing the voice belonging to an older child. "Might ask you the same question," he remarked flatly. "This ain't a place for kids."

A young girl stepped in front of the cloaked figure. Her face was entirely tattooed with the visage of a tiger, and her eyes were yellow with oblong pupils. "It's the only safe place for us," she pointed out quietly.

"From what?" Cain demanded, his tone unintentionally gruff. He flinched when the small boy jumped.

"From people like you," the cloaked figure snapped. "People who should know better."

A teenaged girl emerged from the shadows to gather the young boy in her arms. "People who want us to do…things." She wore a black eye patch and had a front tooth capped in gold. Her other eye was made up with heavy mascara and blue eyeliner, which was complemented by her full mouth that shone with red lipstick.

Kurt shook his head emphatically. "Ve're not like them," he assured her, his golden eyes peering up at the guarded, young faces that surrounded him and his team. He blinked when he observed that there were many more children in the tunnel. It was as if they materialized from the cracks and crevices of the sewers. "Ve would never hurt you—any of you. In fact, ve vant to help you."

"We've heard that before," the cloaked figure said sarcastically. "Adults come looking for us, telling us that we will be taken care of, fed, and housed. Just lies."

Logan raised a brow at the figure. "Those people are monsters, but we're not." Impatient as he was, he knew it was important to obtain their trust. Any impulsive behavior was tempered as a result. "We're X-Men."

"X-Men?" the tiger-faced girl asked. "What are X-Men?"

"They're superheroes," the little boy whispered. "Maybe they can help us…"

"Do you know what it's like to be on the street, not knowing who to trust?" the figure asked. "Do you what it's like to be hunted down only to be humiliated over and over again?"

Before any of the three men could respond, the figure continued speaking. "I know. After my mom dumped me on the streets, that's when I learned what you adults were capable of."

The cowl was pulled back to reveal the figure's face. It was hard not to recoil at the sight. There was a lack of lips and a nose. With no soft tissue, the visage was all teeth, resembling a creature of a deep, bottomless ocean. A single brown eye peered out from a monocle with a tube that kept it damp. This was primarily because there was no eyelid to do so anymore. Strands of black hair barely clung to the bony, pale skull.

"I was twelve years old when this happened to me," the child said, voice filled with pain. "This man came up to me when I was looking for scraps in the garbage. He looked scary, but said that he could find help me get some money. I said okay and I followed him to this side of town. When we got to his place, he told me that I was going to be working as one of his girls, that I would have to give all the money I earned to him and there would be nothing anyone could do about it. Then he raped me. He even let some of his friends watch before they joined in. Finally, I found a way to free myself. But he wasn't going to let me leave easy. So he did this."

Cain shook his head, rendered speechless.

"Sometimes, I can still hear him laughing as he sucks the life out of me. Sometimes, I wish he finished the job."

Logan felt his chest tighten in sympathy and rage. There was nothing more that he wanted than to hunt down the son of a bitch who did this and give him a taste of his own medicine. The idea of someone so young being tortured in such a way made left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. His nostrils flared as he wondered where the help was for this child, as well as for the rest of them.

Kurt was equally troubled, but less inclined to seek act out his own disgust with the perpetrator at this time. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "I am so very, very sorry."

The child pulled the cowl back over her face. "He is a monster. He hunts for children and peddles them like cheap trinkets. That's why we hide. That's why we don't trust you."

"Who is he?" Logan asked, frowning. What mutant could be powerful and evil enough to compel these children to seek refuge in this odious environment?

Just then, a pink mist began to surround them. Gradually, it drifted between the huddled children and pausing in front of the men sitting on the sewer floor. The mist then thickened before fading completely, leaving in its wake a petite, middle-aged woman with a structured chin, deep green eyes, a delicate nose, and thick, auburn hair. She wore a pair of khaki, cargo pants, black boots, and a black T-shirt that revealed a firm set of freckled, muscular arms.

Logan pressed his lips together. "Amelia."

Bobby never thought of himself as a person who was easily sickened. He was able to watch horror movies with Jubilee while consuming copious amounts of junk food. In his high school biology class, he used to eat ham sandwiches while dissecting fetal pigs just to get a rise from his lab partner.

But nothing prepared him for what he was about to see.

True to his word, Danny led him to where the underage sex workers were. Unlike the adults several blocks away, the children were not on display in the open. Rather, they were hidden in shops and brothels, which populated the district. It was a nightmarish trek they made, entering these buildings where children were herded out like cattle to be picked out to service some repulsive person's search for pleasure. Their wide, frightened eyes seared into his soul, forever imprinting themselves in Bobby's mind.

He clenched his fists in his pockets, desperately trying to hide his true feelings over what was transpiring. Much as he wanted to ice up and whisk them all away, he realized that this was not an option. Largely ignorant of what he was facing and who was responsible for all of this, Bobby considered the possibility that he might do more harm than good.

Moreover, he was alone. Immediately, he regretted his decision go things alone. Should he be in any trouble, there was no one to help him. The police seemed to have avoided this side of town. His teammates were probably at that bar, unaware that he had left. There had been no opportunity to switch on his communicator to speak with them, or with Warren. He only hoped that Kurt and the others would check in with Warren, who was supposed to be tracking everyone's movements.

As he followed Danny into another cramped, putrid-smelling building, Bobby was becoming cognizant of the fact that he truly had no plan. Once he figured out where she was, then what? He had been consumed with finding Isabella and keeping his promise to her that he would not allow anyone to harm her. However, he was largely unprepared for the idea that she would be involved in this world. No wonder she believed no one could possibly help, especially someone like him. After all, it was people like him—adults—who betrayed her.

This reluctance to trust him could possibly be a factor. Once he found her, what would stop her from believing that he was not going to inflict pain? Would she even agree to leave with him? His mind was at a loss to answer these questions. He could only hope that his sincerity would break through all her fears and doubts. Inwardly, he repeated a mantra to provide him with the reason as to why he was doing this.

_I'm on my way, Isabella. I won't let you down. _

He could still see her sweet face in his mind. She was shaking her head in that somber way that no child should ever do. "You're a nice man, but you can't help me," she had said softly, tears creeping into her voice. "No one can."

_I'm on my way, Isabella. I won't let you down. _

Bobby had given his sketchy guide the specifics as to what he was looking for in his good time. The lies that spewed from his mouth made his voice crack, but somehow he managed to maintained the façade. He told Danny that he wanted a girl, younger than twelve years old. She had to be blonde. Extra money would be doled out if she had a tail. The description came close to what Bobby remembered of Isabella the day he met her.

_I'm on my way, Isabella. I won't let you down. _

Danny, too happy to obliged in the hopes of gaining some additional commission money, was fastidious in the search. He went through at least four brothels, but was unable to turn up anything. At first, he did not believe that the boyishly handsome man walking behind him was into anything so deviant. The guy looked like he would prefer nice, vanilla sex with his girlfriend. But then again, it was always the seemingly normal ones who liked something a little more illicit. Besides, it wasn't his place to judge or ask.

Ambling inside the fifth bordello, the two men made their way past several cardboard boxes that were stacked all around. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke, marijuana, and alcohol. It was difficult to see very well since there was little lighting. Most of the light bulbs were burned out or on the verge of burning out. Seventies rock was playing from a cheap radio in the front hall. As loud as the music was, it did little to mask the groans and laughter that floated from upstairs.

Together, they climbed the winding staircase, which creaked loudly under their feet. Bobby tried to focus his mind on the task at hand, and not on the increasing amount of unease that pulsated through his entire body. The sounds of sex were getting louder and louder. Every once in a while, there were faint cries and wails. This was followed by a deep, menacing laughter that Bobby's skin crawl.

Danny paused outside of the second door on the right. He peeked inside and thought there was something promising. He motioned for Bobby to poke his head through the doorway. "This what you were thinking?"

Bobby leaned forward and was horrified with what he saw. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to get the hell out of this place. But he forced himself to remain indifferent.

There was a large, slump-shouldered man with a protruding stomach and a mop of greasy, gray hair, who was standing naked under the dim lights. Crouched over at his feet was a small girl, who was sobbing. Her long, blonde hair rippled down her shoulders as she cried. She wore a light-blue, cotton sundress that shifted slightly in the back to accommodate her swinging tail.

Isabella.

The man tore off her dress with vicious abandon and yanked her over the wooden rail of a twin bed. Shoving her face into the mattress, he was breathing heavily as he bent down over the side to retrieve a belt. He staggered back as he doubled the belt over and wound the end around his hand, admiring the view of her quivering bottom. Running the belt down her spine, he then pulled it back and gave her a lash. It came down with a loud crack and she bucked against the bed and cried out.

Snickering, the man loosened his grasp enough to let her struggle. He frowned and struck her again, a little harder this time. Again, she cried out but didn't move away. It was as if she had resigned herself to this kind of treatment.

He pulled her up by her wrists and spun her around to face him. She was breathing heavily. Letting out a primal scream, he began to bring down the belt across her chest. Isabella shrieked in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks.

In a swift move, he bound her wrists to the wooden bed railing with the belt. Then the man pressed his mouth against hers, plunging his tongue between her lips. His hand wandered across her chest and tweaked her nipples, already dark red from the belt. With his other hand, he reached down and pried her legs open.

"I'm gonna make you feel this tomorrow," he snarled as he licked her face with his thick, foul-smelling tongue.

Bobby had enough. He was not about to allow the situation to progress any further. Plan or no plan, he could not live with himself if he kept silent. I Fuck this/I he thought, icing his hands.

_I'm on my way, Isabella. I won't let you down. _

Turning to Danny, he extended his hand out and said, "This was exactly what I was thinking. But I'm going to take her to go."

Danny gave him a quizzical look. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm doing take-out tonight." With that, Bobby encased the other man in a block of solid ice.

Danny struggled, but to no avail. Unfortunately, his abilities did not afford him the chance to escape his very cold restraints. He opened his mouth and began yelling. "Tom! Tom!" he screamed. "Tom, get down here! Someone's taking one of your girls!"

Meanwhile, Bobby darted into the bedroom. "She won't be feeling anything from you," he called out, shoving the man away from the bed and against the wall. "Time's up."

The man was surprised, his fleshy lips trembling in fear and from the chilly air that permeated from Bobby's skin. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "What the hell is it to you?"

"Someone who doesn't like the fact that you get your jollies off of smacking little girls." Bobby said and then held out his palm to release a stream of ice that pinned the other man's body against the wall.

Then he made his way to the bed, where Isabella lay. He stripped off his Hawaiian shirt and wrapped it around her shivering form. "Isabella, it's Bobby," he said, wondering if he should surrender his T-shirt as well. He stroked her hair gently before continuing. "Listen, I'm going to get you out of here, but you're going to have to keep my shirt around you. It's going to get a little cold."

Isabella managed to sit up, face wet with tears. "I… I can't."

"Yes, you can." Bobby told her firmly. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I promise."

With shaking hands, she buttoned the shirt up. "I'm scared… He's going to get me. He said he would kill me if I left. He said—"

Bobby iced up his body. "I won't let that happen," he said, his gray eyes steely with determination. Then he gathered her into his arms, feeling a pang of guilt when she shivered. "I'd _die_ first."

Instead of pulling away, she clung to him for dear life and believed every word he said.

Her customer was furious as he struggled to free himself by using his girth. "You can't do this!" he shouted over Danny's continued screams outside of the room. "He'll get you! Tom will get you! Tom! Tom!"

Annoyed, Bobby froze his lips closed. He then turned his attention to the cracked bedroom window. Raising his foot, he kicked the glass out. It was enough for him to climb out and form an ice-slide. He peered down, assessing the situation outside. Fortunately, the streets were empty. However, he was not sure how long that condition would apply given the commotion that was happening. Whoever this Tom was, Bobby was in no mood to deal with him alone.

He climbed out on the ledge and onto the slide. "Hold on to me, Isabella," he whispered, feeling her pressed her cheek against his neck. "Just hold on."

She tightened her arm around his neck and nodded.

"I suppose," Amelia said, folding her hands together. "You're wondering why I'm here and what I'm doing."

Kurt nodded slowly as he took a sip of the hot black tea she served, seasoned Tibetan style with butter and salt. After her appearance in the tunnel, it became evident that she knew the children and that they were comfortable around her. Cursory introductions were made with her reassurances to the wary children that these men were not out to hurt them.

Rather than exchange explanations on the spot, she and the children led the team further into the sewers. Amelia provided a guided tour of the many networks of camps that populated the tunnels. There were makeshift tents set up at every turn. Light was provided by lanterns that hung from sturdy nails on the concrete walls. While the smell was unpleasant, it was subdued to the point where it was bearable. Upon seeing strangers in their home, many hid in their tents, but peered through the flaps to watch.

Amelia informed Kurt, Logan, and Cain that most of the children had retreated into the sewers beginning last year. With no help from social services and no adults to care for them, they found life on the streets harsh and unforgiving. Living down here seemed to be a better alternative to the surface. Gradually, a community of children formed, where the older ones cared for the younger children or those who were new.

As for her own role, she said she was playing a surrogate mother of sorts, ensuring that they were protected. She made trips to the surface, stealing food and medical supplies by using her abilities. At times, she would keep watch over the sewer entrances to keep possible intruders out. But she did not elaborate beyond that.

Logan could tell she was hesitant to talk much in front of the children. From what he was able to tell, they had been through a great deal. There was no need to dredge up anything that would be deemed as traumatic. Answers could wait.

They finally stopped in front of an entrance that was closed off by a red, beaded curtain. Amelia informed the group of kids that she wanted to talk to the men in private, but that everything would be fine. Then she motioned for the X-Men to follow her inside.

The room, presumably where she was staying, was small with sea-green walls that reminded one of ocean swells. Books on biochemistry, physiology, and anatomy were piled on the floor. There was a large map of Tibet next to the entrance with all the Buddhist monasteries marked with red triangles. A lumpy mattress acted as both a bed and as a place to sit. On the other side of the room were several crates of bottled water and a battery-operated hot plate.

Kurt had seated himself on the mattress while Logan and Cain made themselves at home on the floor. As they waited for Amelia to brew the tea, he responded to her inquiries as to how Charles was doing. While they were no longer a couple, she still cared for him. With a wistful smile, she said that it was his idea for her to go to medical school.

She studied the curious stares of the men before her, picking up her cup gingerly. "I used to have my own practice here," she began. "It wasn't much , but enough to supply care for those mutants who couldn't afford it otherwise. Then things around here changed. Once desegregation happened, all of the affluent mutants moved to one side of the city while others got left behind. Jobs disappeared, public money dried up, and people got desperate. Pretty soon, they do things that they wouldn't normally do, like give up their children.

"At first, the issue was just sad, but in no way were they in danger," Amelia continued, taking a sip of her tea. "That didn't last long. They started disappearing. I noticed this and got worried, so I start making some noise to the authorities and government officials. No one listened. Then I tried to stir things up myself. My practice was destroyed—the building and all my files and equipment. All of my employees quit after that. I tried to practice from my home only to have death threats show up at my doorstep, warning me that if I didn't clear out I was going to be sorry. At that point, I knew I wasn't going to be much help for the people who were still seeing me if I was dead. That's when I went into hiding down here."

Logan did not touch his tea, but leaned forward to pose a question. "You were down here first?"

She nodded. "The kids heard I was laying low and managed to find me. They've been with me ever since."

"What about the others? The ones who just vanished?" Logan rubbed his stubble-ridden chin.

She sighed wearily, green eyes dull. "If I had to guess, they might have been taken to work as child prostitutes," she surmised. "Unfortunately, there seems to be a market here. Especially from tourists. I've tried to reach out to them, but it's hard. A lot of them are scared and ashamed. Then there's this Tom person. From what I've been able to gather, he's the one who's been taking and selling these kids. He also scares the shit out of everyone. Do you remember that girl with the lantern? Her face is a result of his handiwork."

"Why didn't you ask Charles for help?" Cain asked, frowning. "When he found out about these kids disappearin', he tried to contact you. I mean, that's why we're here. To find out what's happening with these kids and how we can help."

Amelia shook her head. "I couldn't call him," she said ruefully, chewing on her lower lip. "Not without placing the kids with me at risk. That's why I put up some plates Magneto used for his helmet down here. I needed to shield myself."

"But ve're here now," Kurt said, sipping his tea. "Ve can help you. I can teleport all of you out of here back with us to our hotel. Then ve can figure out where you can be permanently. But you cannot stay here. It is too dangerous."

She nodded in agreement. "If you were able to find us by simply falling in, then what's to stop someone who's really looking?" She laughed bitterly. Rubbing her temples, she exhaled loudly. "Can I ask you why you're in this area? Not exactly a tourist-location, or were you looking for the children?"

"We found the kids on accident," Cain admitted, wondering how many trips it would take to get everyone back. He thought about suggesting that they call Warren to drive down in one of the rental cars. "We were actually lookin' for Drake. He came with us on the mission, and we got separated tonight."

She looked confused. "Bobby? What's he doing here?"

"He's probably looking for a small child," Kurt explained, his face lined with concern. "He met her several veeks ago, and vas very vorried about her. She might have been forced into prostitution."

Amelia finished her tea and swallowed hard. "Oh." Her forehead wrinkled with a frown. "Then he's definitely in the right area. There are a bunch of brothels that specialize in offering young meat. The thing is, this Tom character runs all of them. I don't need to tell you how dangerous he is."

SNIKT! Logan extended his adamantium claws and scowled. The thought of confronting the scumbag who was responsible for the terror made his blood rush with excitement. "He's gonna be in for a rude awakening then."

Cain grinned, cracking his knuckles loudly with flourish.

"Vhere should ve look exactly?" Kurt inquired. He pulled his communicator out to contact Warren about the new plans. It was looking that they would look for Bobby first and then transport Amelia and the children.

Amelia took out a pad of paper and pen, and began to write. "Here's where you need to go…"

Bobby reached the bottom of the slide. He could still hear the screams from inside the house. There was now a commotion from inside the house with lights flickering on. His ears picked up on some additional voices from within, which exacerbated the melee being played out. Convinced he had to make a quick exit, he held out his hand to form another ice slide.

BAMF!

A cloud of a yellow, sulfur-and-brimstone smoke suddenly swirled about him. It was thick and acrid, almost bringing tears to his eyes. He held Isabella closer to him in order to shield her, rubbing circles into her back as she coughed.

"Bobby?" Kurt drawled, peering quizzically at his friend. He noticed that he was holding a small child in his very cold arms.

"Oh man, I've never been so glad to see your blue, tattooed face!" When the smoke cleared, he saw Logan and Cain were with him. "Um, you, too."

Logan grunted. "I see you've found a friend," he mused flatly.

"Yeah," Bobby nodded. He jerked his head in front of the house behind him. "There are more of them inside, and they're—"

"Save it," Logan cut him off abruptly. "We already know."

"Then you know we have to go back and get them." Bobby insisted. "We can't just leave them in there."

Cain snorted. "Why the hell do ya think we came?" he said, staring at the boarded up house. Like Logan, he was looking forward to giving those responsible a taste of their own medicine.

"Great." Bobby tilted Isabella's chin so that she was looking up at him. His voice became low and gentle. "Hey, you've been really brave, but I need to leave you for a little bit. I'm going to leave with a friend of mine. He might look a little scary, but he isn't really. I just have to go in and get the rest of your friends, okay?"

Isabella nodded. "Okay."

"Good girl." Bobby handed her over to Cain, who looked both surprised and annoyed. Then he motioned for Kurt and Logan to follow him back inside the house.

"What are we facing?" Logan demanded as they made their way through the front door, which was already ajar. His nostrils flared, taking in any scents that might give something away. There was a loud din coming from upstairs—children crying, footsteps thudding, and men yelling.

"There's some guy named Tom," Bobby said, nodding towards the staircase. "He runs this place."

Kurt nodded. "Ja, he's supposed to be a piece of vork." He glanced at Bobby. "The kinder are up on the second floor?"

Bobby nodded. "Scumbags, too. I iced one of them."

Logan leaned against the wall, brandishing his adamantum claws. "Good."

Kurt put his palm up. "No, Herr Logan. Ve are here to get the children. That is all."

His old friend narrowed his eyes. "Well, collateral damage can't be helped," he muttered, climbing the stairs stealthily with Kurt and Bobby following close behind.

As they were about to turn a corner, two armed men rushed at them. Logan's claws quickly disposed of their weapons before he grabbed them by their shirts and slammed their heads against a nearby wall. Coolly, he stepped over their slumped bodies.

Kurt shook his head in disbelief. He had served on many missions with Logan, but could never get used to his efficient and violent manner in getting things done. But rather than dwell on it, he concentrated on searching. Room after room turned up nothing but rumpled beds and the smell of body odor and sex.

The German was walking closely behind his friend down the hallway when he saw a thin, reed-like man encased in ice out of the corner of his eye. Turning to Bobby, he gave him a knowing smile. Then he paused in front of the prisoner with Logan.

"What do we have here?" the self-professed loner drawled. "I might have an itchin' for some shaved ice."

Danny gulped, but was defiant. "I ain't afraid of you," he said. "Tom's gonna make you pay."

Logan ran his blades over a corner of the ice block. "I'd like to see that, punk."

This time, Danny was terrified. He peered over at Kurt and Bobby. "You gotta put a leash on this guy!" he cried.

Bobby smirked. "We tried, but he keeps chewing through it."

"Tell us where the rest of the kids are," Logan snarled, positioning the tips of his claws under Danny's chin.

"I-I don't know."

"Not good enough, bub."

"I don't."

"You're lying. I can tell. So, you've got until the count of three or you can say good-bye to your nose."

Danny began crying, realizing that he was dealing with a psychopath. The wolf-like man had that crazy look in his eyes. "Alright, alright!" he wailed. "They're probably in the back room at the end of the hall!"

"How many are there?" Bobby demanded as Logan's claws continued to hover over Danny's face.

"Ten."

"You're sure?"

"Yes! Oh please don't let him—"

"Where's Tom?"

"I don't know. He was here, but I don't know now… Please don't let him hurt me!"

Logan retracted his hand from his face, evoking a sigh of relief from Danny. He began to follow Kurt and Bobby down the hall. "You're not worth it."

When they reached the door in question, Logan kicked it down. This was immediately greeted by a chorus of frightened screams and sobs. Scanning the room, he saw several boys and girls, ranging in ages from three to thirteen, huddled together in the corner of the room. There were ten in all. Most of them were nude with a few of the boys wearing loincloths. Their faces reflected the fear they were experiencing as they stared at the three men at the doorway.

Kurt and Bobby were the first to approach while Logan kept guard outside. In the most calm tone he could muster, Bobby explained to the children that they were here to get them out of this place. He acknowledged that they were afraid, but that they needed to come with them now. Kurt added that they would be taken somewhere far from here that was safe.

With most of the children expressing their trust in their words, Kurt called out to Logan and asked him if that exit was clear. Logan replied that it was and volunteered to take a few of the children with him. The older boys volunteered and were quickly herded to the doorway with Logan, who led them out of the house. Meanwhile Kurt took several to teleport. This left Bobby with the remaining three.

Opening the window, he held his palm out and summoned an ice-slide. Turning to the two boys and one girl, he told them that they were going to go down this fun slide but that it would be rather cold. Then he gathered them into his arms and made the trip down to where his teammates and the other kids were standing.

Kurt was already teleporting the children in groups, taking Cain with him on the first trip as well. While they were gone, Logan was contemplating running back inside the brothel to hunt down this Tom person. He remembered smelling something familiar, but was unable to put his finger on it. The scent was too faint and compounded by other smells in the air.

Suddenly, he heard a thunderous crash from behind. "Miss me, X-Men?"

Logan turned around, claws still extended. His green eyes widened with what he saw. For a moment, he wondered if his keen senses were deceiving him.

Black Tom.

At least, Logan thought it was him. Though his form resembled a human body, the criminally-inclined Cassidy now appeared to be completely composed of plant matter. His fingers were long extensions that looked like vines and tree branches. Instead of hair, there was dead foilage on his head and around his face. His beady eyes were crazed and glowed a pale amber.

The children who were left waiting for Kurt were now whimpering, cowering behind Bobby. He stood in front of them protectively. "The years haven't been kind, Tom," he remarked. "Guess that's why you've stooped to selling kids?"

Black Tom edged towards him. "Gotta make a livin' some way," he replied. He sneered in the direction of the children. "Speaking of which, I'll take my employees back."

"Think again, bub." Logan growled and sprinted towards him with his claws still out. He was hungry for a fight and now he was about to get it. The sensation of his claws tearing this son of a bitch apart would certainly be satisfying.

Black Tom laughed, extending one of his vines and snaring it around Logan's ankles. He yanked the other man off his feet and then flung him in the air like a rag doll. Then he released Logan's body, throwing it onto a car across the street.

Stunned, Bobby almost missed Kurt's return. It was only the smell of sulfur and brimstone that oriented him to his teammate's presence. Quickly, he escorted the last of the children to where Kurt was. "You've got to get them out of here," he told Kurt urgently. "Now."

The other man peered over Bobby's shoulder. His brows furrowed together in confusion when he saw a plant-like creature gliding towards them. "Vat is that?"

"Black Tom," his friend replied gravely. "He's the one behind all of this. He just tossed Logan on that car over there. Listen, I have to go and—"

THWACK!

Bobby staggered backward. He felt a sharp, searing pain shoot through his chest and back. Dazed, he peered down, his gaze resting just above his sternum. His gray eyes widened when he saw one of Black Tom's vines impaling him. Choking on air, he did not hear Tom's deep-throated laughter or Kurt screaming his name. The only thing he was cognizant of was this plant-like extension inside of him, and how much it hurt.

Then everything went black.


	48. Chapter 48

Sorry for the delay. I've been suffering from writer's block and had some family issues to attend to. Here's the latest chapter. Please let me know what you think!

Thanks for the comments and feedback. It's nice to know people are still following this saga. :)

**Chapter Forty-Eight: The Way You Want It **

"I think you know why you're here, Noriko," Jubilee sighed, sapphire eyes peering at the petulant face of the young woman sitting across from her. "I'm not going to tiptoe around it."

Noriko's almond-shaped, dark eyes narrowed. A recent entry into the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, the former runaway was still becoming accustomed to living under strict rules. Having been away from school for quite some time and living on her own, the rigors of studying and doing homework were still a chore. "So, this is like an intervention for me, the loser student?" she asked sarcastically as she twirled a lock of electric-blue hair around her finger.

Jubilee resisted the urge to come back with a retort of her own. It was the day before Christmas Eve. Normally, she would have been out at the mall, simply taking in the ambiance of the holiday season. Instead, she was sitting in her office at the mansion, where she served as a counselor. Just before leaving for another mission with his team, Scott had asked Jubilee to talk with Noriko, whom he was worried about in terms of her adjustment to being at the school. Specifically, he cited her poor grades, her apathetic attitude towards her training, and her flaunting of the breaking rules.

Upon hearing this request, Jubilee had stifled a groan. For the most part, she liked listening to the kids and acting as a mentor of sorts. However, what Scott had asked her to do involved some lecturing—something she equated with being "the man". As far as Jubilation Lee was concerned, it would be a cold day in hell before she played that part. However, after discussing the matter with Scott, she found herself agreeing with him that she was the right person to provide such guidance, especially when he pointed out that she used to have a lot in common with the troubled girl.

_"So, I'm supposed to show her how to turn things around?" Jubilee had teased Scott and Jean on the morning of their departure. The three of them were eating breakfast together in their bright kitchen._

_Scott smiled wryly at her, helping himself to a cherry-apricot scone to devour with his black coffee. "You can give her hope," he had replied. "Someday, she can be a mature, responsible young lady like you."_

"_Is that supposed to stroke my ego and butter me up?" _

"_You got it." _

So here she was, sitting in the office she shared with Paige, who had just left for home about a week ago. The space reflected Emma's latest endeavor to redesign the common rooms in the mansion. It was a savvy mix of neoclassical furnishings and classical English upholstery, which was infused with a modern energy that drew upon Deco glamour to contemporary art. There were rich tartans and paisley, exotic zebra prints and crocodile skins that were layered with etched crystal and whimsical silver. It was a little ostentatious for Jubilee's taste, but she was hardly surprised given the White Queen's propensities.

Jubilee opened the file folder in front of her. "Your grades from this semester haven't reflected the improvement your teachers have been hoping for," she said, trying not to sound judgmental. As someone who experienced a similar disdain for anything academically related, she knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a conversation like this. Needless to say, a root canal would have been more enjoyable than being the one doing the lecturing.

"Let's take your recent English quiz for Miss Guthrie's class," she continued, casting a glance at the piece of paper in front of her, which was marred with comments in red ink. "One question was, 'Who wrote Hamlet?' You answered, 'The Pope's cousin, Count Popeula, a magical dragon with pencils for arms.'"

"I just made that up."

"Really? Because I couldn't tell."

Noriko heaved a sigh. For a moment, she cursed her naïveté when she believed that Jubilee would be more sympathetic. From what she understood, the former member of Generation X shared a similar past with her. In her younger days, Jubilee had been known to be just as rebellious and just as disdainful of school. However, none of this was reflected in the woman sitting across from her, a college co-ed who was attending one of the nearby universities on a scholarship.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for this place," she finally said, sounding rather defeated. "Everything is such a drag. When I was living on the streets, I was my own boss."

Jubilee listened to her words intently, quickly thinking of herself when she was around Noriko's age. It was not too long ago when she would have shared similar sentiments. But much had happened since those days, informing her that such a view was not a valid one. She had the emotional scars as evidence to prove it.

"So being alone on the streets, not knowing where to go or where your next meal is coming from is better than living in a place where you don't have to worry about your personal safety?" Jubilee inquired, closing the folder. She flicked her crystalline eyes to the heavy gauntlets the teenager was wearing. "So you'd rather have your freedom at the expense of learning how to control your powers, too?"

Noriko swallowed hard. "No, it's just that I was used to being out there. I guess part of me misses knowing that I was in control and that I didn't have to answer to anyone."

"You are in control," Jubilee pointed out quietly. "You're the one who determines how you do well here. Not me or anyone else. Yeah, there are rules you have to follow and that includes keeping your grades up. But doing homework and studying is really a small part of being here. You might not think so now, but consider it in the bigger schemes of things."

The teenager pressed her lips together and shrugged her shoulders. As much as she hated to admit it, Jubilee had a point. "Maybe I'll think about a change," she finally announced, Jubilee's words making their mark with her. When she saw the beginnings of a pleased smile on the pretty young woman's face, she added, "But after the holidays."

"Of course," Jubilee said wryly, watching Noriko stand up and tossing her backpack over her shoulder. It was almost eerie as to how much she saw herself in the edgy girl leaving her office. "I wouldn't expect anything else, you know."

"Right." Noriko paused at the door before exiting completely, fiddling with the strap of her backpack. "Hey, Miss Lee?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for not being a hard-ass."

"No problem. And, Nori?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for not being a punk." With a cheeky smile, Jubilee winked.

Noriko snorted as she left, closing the door behind her.

Jubilee put Noriko's file away, sighing in relief as to smoothly the encounter went. She locked up her file cabinet and leaned back in her chair. _I'm glad I didn't have to play the man,_ she thought to herself. She wondered if she was lucky or if she was gifted when it came to this peer mentoring. Perhaps Scott was not just humoring her when he said she had a talent as a counselor.

Sitting alone in her office, she found herself lost in her own thoughts. Instead of being consumed by the levity of the season, her mood was characterized by a pensiveness that preoccupied her mind these days. A frown wrinkled her smooth forehead as she sighed. If only other problems were as simple and straightforward to handle as the one she had just dealt with.

In fact, she had never been so anxious, so on edge about anything in her young life. She found herself unable to sleep for long during the rest of her stay with the Guthrie clan, or since her return to Westchester for that matter. Though her jumpiness lessened in intensity following the Thanksgiving holiday, there were certain times when it flared up, nearly overwhelming her. It made mundane things like carrying conversations an uphill struggle, especially when it came to attempting to maintain a façade of normality. In the end, the source of this stress could be trace to one and only one event.

The kiss.

Her mouth began tingling as she recalled the events that transpired on that Thanksgiving night. Even now, several weeks later, everything about that moment still reverberated in her head vividly, playing itself out over and over again. She could still hear the chatter of the townspeople and the bluegrass tunes fading into the background, eclipsed by the beating of her own heart. Sam's aftershave, which smelled of evergreen trees, remained imprinted in her memory. His strong, lean arms pulling her close to him were also ever present in her mind. She remembered how the softness of his hair between her fingers provided a stark contrast against the feel of his calloused, coal miner's hands on her back.

But most of all, she could still feel his lips over hers. His tongue had explored her mouth in such a way that she could have sworn seeing stars explode before her eyes. It was the kind of kiss that made her knees buckle. For that moment, time stood still and the rest of the world's existence retreated into the recesses of their minds. All that was left was just the two of them.

For Jubilee, the kiss had been part of the plan to give that bully tormenting Sam his comeuppance. It was supposed to embellish the ruse. In her mind, kissing the Southern gentleman was simply going to make that other think twice about the caustic things he said about the Guthrie clan.

What it ended up doing was making things so very complicated.

She would be lying if she said she was unaffected by what transpired between them. It was hard not to be. Sam was definitely a good kisser. The way he embraced her conveyed a passion that belied his low-keyed, shy country boy demeanor. His touch filled her with an excitement that made her weak in the knees, her pulse race, and leaving her completely breathless. Basically, it was an incredible kiss. However, there was one problem.

She was with someone.

Jubilee had pulled away from Sam as the rational part of her mind reminded her of Bobby. Had she not done so, she might have allowed herself to fall deeper and deeper into Sam's arms. While she knew she had done the right thing, there was a part that longed to prolong the sensation of Sam's gentle mouth on hers. In an attempt to save face, she mumbled something about her plan working and that they should make their way back to the table. Sam agreed, following her towards where his mother and siblings were sitting. Much to her relief, no one had noticed their kiss and thus, there was no need to provide an awkward explanation. However, during the rest of dinner, there was a forced distance between herself and Sam.

This soon carried over into the days that followed. Both avoided being alone with one another. Fortunately, the rest of the Guthrie clan were so absorbed in the merriment of the upcoming holiday season to notice. But the change in what existed before that kiss was palpable to Sam and Jubilee. There was no longer the easy, carefree repartee between them. All of the jokes, the smiles, and the casual brushes of hands to the arms were replaced with a thick cloud of tension that followed them back to Westchester. As a result of the forced distance, Jubilee was filled with a myriad of feelings, often competing with one another in terms of prominence. The most obvious one was guilt. While sweet Bobby was away saving the world, she did a most unforgivable thing. Despite her intentions at the time, it was still the wrong thing to do. She could attempt to rationalize it all until she was blue in the face; nothing would change the truth. Exacerbating things was the fact that she was unable to talk to Bobby given the clandestine nature of his latest mission.

Somewhat related to her guilt was a sense of confusion. Instead of being cool and having the ability to simply it shrug it off as part of her machinations to get under the bully's skin, Jubilee was left yearning for more. Even days after the incident, she found herself playing the scene over and over again in her mind. Tried as she did, there was little she could do to refrain from doing so. Each time she thought about what happened, she pondered why she was obsessing. After all, this was Sam, her best friend's older brother who extended his protective tendencies towards her. He was the guy who played in the outfield with her during the school's softball games and the guy who sometimes chided her for rollerblading inside the mansion. Granted, he was good-looking, kind, and at times, funny, but he was still Sam.

Compounding things further was a cloud of gloom that perpetually hung over Jubilee's head. Some of it could be traced back to her disappointment with herself and how she had let Bobby down. He had been hurt so many times before by women who never realized what a wonderful person they were with. The very thought of her contributing to that history of pain filled her with an overwhelming sense of self-loathing that kept her awake at night.

Yet, there was another source of this angst that took her completely by surprise. She found herself mourning the loss of the way things had been with Sam prior to Thanksgiving. While they had not always been close, a relaxed rapport had developed between the two of them that Jubilee missed. He was approachable with his earnest, country-boy ways. Now, that sense of comfort she had come to associate with him was gone, replaced by an empty void that left her longing for days when things were less complicated.

Sighing, Jubilee rose from her desk and sauntered out of her office, locking the door. She blindly hoped that a night of wrapping presents would distract her. However, she knew otherwise. _I'm a mess,_ she declared, her footsteps heavy as she made her way down the hall.

As one who became easily absorbed in the holiday spirit, Sam Guthrie knew that the ritual of selecting the perfect Christmas tree was as coveted a holiday tradition as the tree itself. Every year, he took it upon himself to drive to the precut forest in downtown Westchester, carefully examining dozens of freshly fallen evergreens and choosing which ones to strap to the car roof to bring home and decorate. He considered himself a connoisseur of sorts, his tastes refined as a result of having to pick trees for his family and for the community center back in Kentucky. For instance, he knew that a Balsam fir produces a pleasing fragrance for a relatively long period of time, and that an Eastern White Pine produces aromatic pinecones and does not cause allergies.

It should have been no surprise that his expertise caught the attention of Amara, who wanted to celebrate a proper Christmas in her new apartment. However, his friend's decision to immerse herself in the season came only the day before Christmas. Try as he might to persuade her to take in the spirit at the mansion (which was already decorated), the Southern gentleman found himself spending most of the morning to the mid-afternoon with Amara in the precut forest, sorting through the trees that remained. She was disappointed to learn that the grand, majestic Douglas firs were all gone. Begrudgingly, she purchased a smaller tree, a Fraser fir, whose strong branches curved upwards giving the tree a compact appearance.

Despite the futility of the mission and the hassle of finding parking in downtown Westchester, Sam did not mind making the trek in search of the perfect tree for Amara. She was one of his oldest friends, back when they were part of the original New Mutants. Even though their lives had diverged since those days, the two of them were able to reconnect well. Unlike Sam, Amara was reticent to embrace the life of an X-Man, especially after what happened to her at the hands of the Church of Humanity. She wanted to live her own life first before dedicating it to a cause.

The excursion also provided the Southern gentleman with a distraction from things that were weighing him down. He could focus on other things happening in the world, escaping what tormented him during every moment of his existence. For a while, he did not have to think about the pang left in chest every time he thought about one pivotal moment this past Thanksgiving or the constant reminders that haunted him since then. No, he had a chance to dwell on something else.

Much to his dismay, he was unable to completely flee the complexities that plagued him as of late. His preoccupation over events that transpired weeks ago continued to affect him, causing an somber expression to be permanently etched to his face. When asked by his friends and siblings about his gloomy disposition, the Southern gentleman was quick to come up with an excuse. To share what was troubling him would have exacerbated matters. As far as he was concerned, his existence was already torturous. There was no need to bring unneeded attention to it.

He supposed in the end, that it was difficult to even fathom a normal existence, especially when running into the reminder of his angst was unavoidable. Though Jubilee was not under the same roof, she always seemed to be close. Some days, it was impossible not to pass her in the hallway or to see her at the far end of a room. These encounters always left him, cursing his misery and wishing for a way out of his predicament.

Even when she was not around, Jubilee continued to be a presence in his private moments. Instead finding solace in slumber, Sam spent his lonely nights ruminating about her. He saw her lovely face when he closed his eyes, smelled her perfume of bubble-gum and cinnamon, tasted her kiss on his mouth, and felt the softness of her hair and skin. While a myriad of thoughts often raced through his brain about his situation, there was one that resonated at all times.

How did such a perfect moment, one that he had played out in his dreams, lead to such disaster?

It was a question he was unable to answer. At the time, Sam felt as if he had everything he wanted--Jubilee in his arms and kissing her. Yes, he was aware that the embrace was part of a ruse to get back at Craig. But for a little while, Sam could pretend that it was for him and that she was his. He lost himself in the softness of her lips, the sensation that ran to the depths of his body as his mouth continued its exploration of hers. The feeling of her lips and tongue imprinted a tingling, excited feeling that Sam never fathomed was possible. His arms cradled her against him, and he was taken aback as to how perfectly her body fit with his. Urgency and desperation pulsed through his veins.

However, as the kiss progressed and intensified, it was becoming more and more evident that Jubilee might not be acting. The Southern gentleman remembered feeling her tumble into his arms, deepening the embrace. She tangled her fingers in his straw-colored hair. Her breath was rapid, mingling with his as her tongue slid against his. Then her head tilted back, granting him deeper access. For that moment, Sam thought he knew what heaven was like.

Regrettably, reality and rational thought set in. When she pulled back, he felt empty. Touching Jubilee was like experimenting with a drug known for his addictive quality. While his mind comprehended why the kiss had to end, Sam was powerless to stop the pain of wanting her. Now that he kissed her, it was not going to be enough. Inside, his mind was crazed, screaming for him to take her into his arms again and spirit her away. As he reeled from touching her, he was consumed by a hot, pitiless desire.

Caught in a struggle between what he wanted and what he knew was right, Sam allowed her to leave. He simply had to. Otherwise, he would have never let her go. With a heavy heart, he was helpless while his time of great joy faded. His blood chilled in his veins as despair began welling up from the thousand vacant spaces in his soul. This feeling of desolation lingered for the rest of their stay in Kentucky. Knowing that the woman he loved was just down the hall from him drove him to the edge of sanity. In spite of his best efforts not to, his mind continued to replay the kiss over and over again. It took every ounce of self-restraint he had not to take her aside and admit the truth.

The Southern gentleman felt as if he were living in his own private hell. He had a glimpse of his wildest fantasy coming true, and then it was taken away from him. It was more than he could bear. While his first instinct was to flee the situation, he knew he could not. Logistically, it would be awkward. Back in Kentucky, this would have raised all sorts of questions—ones he was not willing to face. Meanwhile at the mansion, he had obligations that tied him down. This Christmas, he was supposed to serve on the home team, maintaining the property's defenses while most of the other members were either on vacation or on various missions.

But there was something else that compelled Sam Guthrie to stay in Westchester. It was a truth he was unable to deny. For the Southern gentleman, it was this: even more painful than seeing the object of his unrequited affections was missing her. Catching a glimpse of her, however brief and heart-breaking for him, was enough to sustain him.

Then there was Jubilee's response in the aftermath of what transpired between them. Like Sam, the kiss affected her as well but much to his dismay, it was not as positive. To see her face, that beautiful face filled with such confusion and bewilderment, made his chest ache. Her dazzling, hypnotic eyes gazed at him as if she did not know him anymore. She was skittish, nervous and out of sorts in the days that followed that night.

This compounded Sam's feelings of self-loathing. Never did he want to trouble Jubilee, to be the cause of her tension. It was one thing for him to live every single day of his life in such torment, but that was not what he wanted for her. He would rather die than allow her to endure that.

So, he did what he honestly believed was the proper thing to do in the days that followed. He gave her some distance and left her alone. Gone were those casual, easy moments where they could talk, laugh, and smile. Now, Sam's days were filled with making plans to have as little contact with her as possible. As much as he hated to do so, he found himself avoiding her gaze, rushing past her in the hallways so that he would not have to talk to her, and barricading himself in his room when he was not on security detail.

In his mind, his decision should have made life easier for both of them. Perhaps, they could forget the Thanksgiving incident. Things could return to some semblance of normalcy.

But they did not.

And he hated himself for it.

Sam was roused from his desolate musings when he felt a hand on his arm. Startled, he peered down to see Amara with quizzical frown on her face as they stood in the spacious kitchen. He quickly composed himself with a sheepish smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "What's up?"

The young woman otherwise known as Magma raised a brow at the tall, lean man from Kentucky. During their outing for their quest to find the perfect tree for her apartment, she had noticed that the usually laid-back Sam Guthrie was tense. A preoccupied furrow creased his forehead as they went through the trees that remained at the lot. Initially, she had interpreted this as annoyance on his part for being pulled into the middle of the hustle and bustle of holiday shopping. For that, she could not blame him. Last-minute shopping on Christmas Eve was taxing, physically and psychologically.

However, when they had brought the tree back to the railroad-style apartment she shared with Tabitha, his mood had not changed. Sam continued to be uncharacteristically laconic as he set up the Fraser fir in the corner of her living room. She had first thought it was the fact that Tabitha was her roommate. But she had quickly dismissed this theory given that the blonde was currently out of town and had hardly contributed much to the décor to even indicate she lived in the apartment.

Though they had never been all that close as New Mutants, she knew when something was troubling him. At a loss, she finally inquired as to what was troubling him. The Southern gentleman had been evasive, which was evident when he tried to feign ignorance in response to her question. Not one to give up easily, Amara had pressed him further, her concern for his well-being fueled her continued questioning. This time, Sam became flustered. After some coaxing and cajoling on Amara's part, he sheepishly confessed that he was disappointed in being named to the home team for the Christmas break. He had told her that he missed spending the holidays with his family back home in Kentucky.

Sympathetic to her friend's predicament, Amara insisted that they drive back to the mansion. If anything was going to guarantee a lift in Sam's disposition, it was going to be a plateful of Cook's holiday treats. Just before leaving for her native England, Cook always prepared a plethora of food--cookies, candies, pies, cakes, stews, roasts, and breads. It was as if she feared the residents would starve and wither away during the two weeks she was away. Her peppermint crème brownies, caramel-covered marshmallows, and toffee cookies were specialties that both filled and satisfied.

But when they arrived at the mansion, the eldest Guthrie lapsed into complete silence. As they made their way inside, he appeared deep in thought, his handsome face drawn in an anxious expression. Sauntering into the kitchen, it was evident that the prospects of indulging in Cook's desserts did little to change his mood.

Undaunted, Amara slipped off her puffy black down jacket and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, revealing a lavender satin shirt with puffed sleeves, a black miniskirt, and matching knee-high boots. Perhaps once he took his first bite of a cookie or some other sweet might do some good, she decided. "What do you want?" she asked, lifting the tops to several platters on the counter and tossing her long, wavy, dishwater-blonde hair over her shoulder.

It took Sam a second to register the fact that his friend's inquiry was limited to food. He blinked, taking a moment so that he could collect himself mentally. To blurt out his first choice would have been disastrous. "Um, anythin's fine," he mumbled, raking a calloused hand through his straw-colored hair.

Amara grabbed a plate for the two of them to share. When her ears picked up on his flat tone, she closed the cabinet door quietly. Her blue-gray eyes studied his reserved countenance with concern. "Are you OK, Sam?"

The Southern gentleman swallowed hard. Immediately, he wanted to kick himself. _Great,_ he groaned inwardly, feeling his guilt increase ten-fold. _Now, I've got Amara worrying about me when she shouldn't have to._ He racked his brain for an eloquent means to remedy the situation and save face.

After what seemed like eons, he forced a smile and said, "Ah'm fine, really. It's just been a long day, that's all."

She listened to his response carefully. There was a part of her that was ready and willing to believe him because she did not want to think that gentle, salt-of-the-earth Sam was in any kind of turmoil. If he was, that would certainly make things even more trying since she was not comfortable when it came to discussing emotionally-laced issues.

Taking what seemed like the easy option, she decided to take him at his word. "Ave, Sam," she chided gently. "You had me worried."

"Ah didn't mean ta." He looked apologetic, rubbing his stubble-ridden cheek with a calloused hand.

She dismissed his reply with a wave of her hand. "Sit down and I'll bring some of these sweets over to you. Would you like something to drink?"

He shook his head and settled his tall, lean frame in a chair at the kitchen table. As soon as he sat down, he could feel his chest and limbs relax. Maybe there was a part of him that bought into his lie. Or maybe, he was merely kidding himself.

Amara filled a glass with milk before joining Sam at the kitchen table with a plate piled high with chocolate-covered s'mores. "This is definitely a nice way to cap off shopping, no?" Her voluptuous lips formed a girlish smile as she bit into a brownie. "How can it get better than this?"

Sam was about to answer when he heard footsteps from the hallway that connected the garage to the kitchen. Curious, he and Amara turned their heads in the direction of the doorway on the other side of the room. What met their eyes brought surprise and then amusement.

"Hey, Roberto," Sam greeted warmly, the corners of his pale blue eyes crinkling as he struggled to keep from chuckling. "What have ya been up ta?"

Roberto da Costa narrowed his onyx eyes, knowing full well why his good friend was nearly falling off his chair. Grimacing, he peered down at the outfit he was currently wearing. Bright-green corduroy slacks were paired with an oversized sweater with red bows, Christmas trees, and reindeer, which had been knitted for him by his secretary. Adding to the kitschy nature of his attire was a floppy, Santa cap and a pair of cherry-red loafers. In short, he looked like a Christmas nightmare.

It was not as if he dressed like this normally. The dark Brazilian fancied himself as rather enlightened when it came to clothes. His wardrobe was a virtual who's-who in fashion—Ralph Lauren, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, and Kenneth Cole. As the young CEO of da Costa International, he had an image to portray to the media, his employees, and stockholders. Plus, attracting the attention of leggy supermodels did not hurt, either.

Much to his chagrin, he found himself in this dreadful ensemble thanks to the annual party his company held every Christmas Eve, which provided gifts to economically disadvantaged kids. Roberto joined his employees at the new flagship location in Brooklyn to meet and greet various individuals from children's charities and groups who work with underprivileged youth. This was followed by talking with the children, many of whom had been selected by the organizations to have their material wishes granted. They were taken around the auditorium, which had been converted into winter-themed party room with fake snow, artificial trees, and lower minions who worked in the mail room dressed as elves. In between helpings of cookies and juice, the children were surprised with toys and clothing, purchased by da Costa International.

While some of his peers in the business world might have genuinely enjoyed bringing some joy into the lives of these children, the young capitalist viewed such charitable endeavors as a necessary evil. Attempting to connect with children under the age of eight who smelled like juice and stale graham crackers did not rank high on his list of ways to spend the afternoon. It pretty much went against the shrewd business mentality he seemed to be in lately. Had it not been for the sizable tax write-off and good press, Roberto would have had second thoughts.

Grimacing at Sam and Amara, he decided to respond with a clever quip. "The Lord's work," he said as he sauntered towards the table. He pulled off the cap and leaned against the counter, feigning exhaustion. "I was doing the Lord's work."

"But you're Satan!" Amara exclaimed, almost choking on her brownie. She knew better than to buy into his assertion. Known as an extremely conservative Republican and somewhat obssessed with money, Roberto would rather attend a lecture on supply side economics than do charity work.

Roberto rolled his eyes and grabbed a shortbread cookie from her plate amid his friends' chortles of laughter. "Hilarious," he retorted, biting into the cookie. Then he sighed. "The worse part is that my ordeal isn't over."

"Oh, that's too bad," Sam said with mock sympathy. "What kind of travesties await a wealthy CEO?"

Roberto gave the Kentucky native a withering glare when he saw him grinning. "You don't understand," he insisted, not quite ready to relinquish his quest for compassion. "Running a company… It's not easy. I have a great deal of responsibility."

"It comes from great power." Amara teased. When he gave her a quizzical look, she explained, "You know, with great power, comes great responsibility…"

"Oh." Roberto made a face, recognizing the reference. Then he grabbed her glass of milk and proceeded to take a sip. "I hate Tobey Maguire. He's such a goody-goody."

Sam leaned back in his chair and relented. Part of him was relieved that he was not the only in the world who was having a miserable holiday. "OK, seriously. How come your day ain't over? What's behind the long face?"

"This whole charity crap has taken over my Christmas Eve," Roberto replied dryly, finishing his cookie and giving Amara back her glass.

She peered up at him and placed her chin in the palm of her hand. "You're handing out more toys, Santa da Costa?" Her eyes twinkled with mirth.

He snorted. "Not quite. I have to go to some black-tie galas as a representative of the company. Speaking of which, you're coming with me tonight."

"What?"

"I'm having my assistant come around with a dress and shoes from BCBG. You're a size 6, right?"

"Yeah, that's right, but—"

"Good. She'll be here in an hour."

Amara put her hand up, pleading with him to pause. The sudden news of having plans tonight left her head spinning. She was looking forward to going back to her apartment to decorate her new tree. "Wait, wait," she said, overwhelmed by the information. "Have you stopped to think that I might not able or want to come?"

The swarthy Brazilian looked pensive for a few moments, as if to humor her. "I've thought about it," he said finally. "But then I decided that you didn't have anything better to do than putting strands of popcorn on that new Christmas tree of yours, so in a way, I'm saving you."

She stuck her tongue out at him. It was annoying how well he knew her sometimes.

"You win."

"But what about that model you were seein'? What was her name?" Sam piped up, blond brows furrowing.

"You mean Lucinda?" Roberto pursed his lips. Lucinda was a tall, thin blonde runway model from England, who was as spoiled and self-centered as she was gorgeous. Needless to say, he had not been dating her for the last two weeks for her personality. As he recounted the phone conversation he had with her while driving back to Westchester, he snorted. "Turns out she didn't have the strength to make an appearance tonight after four hours at the spa."

"I wish I were her," Amara remarked, feeling somewhat panicked at the idea of having to prepare for a night out. Mentally, she made up a list of things to take care of for her evening out. While the attire had already been arranged (she trusted Roberto's exquisite taste), there was still the issue of her hair and make-up. She only hoped that the salon downtown would be able to book an appointment.

"The worst thing about this is that I had reservations at _A la Mode_ tonight," he groused and crossed his arms over his chest. _A la Mode_ was a new and exclusive French restaurant that had opened in Westchester to rave reviews. The chef had defected from a popular establishment in Manhattan to try his hand at running his own place. The result was haute cuisine that kept people clamoring for more. "I had to wait two months for something to open up. And, if you cancel, they charge a fifty-dollar fee. Isn't that crazy?"

Sam shook his head empathically. He knew his friend was more upset about the fee than anything else. "That's too bad, man."

"Yeah, it is," Roberto agreed glumly. Then his expression brightened as he turned to Sam. "Hey, you don't have any plans tonight, do you?"

The Southern gentleman was unsure if he liked that twinkling in the other man's eyes. "Why?"

"Listen, why don't you go in my place?" Roberto suggested, excited. "I've set up an account there that gets billed directly to my platinum card. Get anything you want. It's on me. Think of it as my Christmas present to you."

"Ah don't know... Ah mean, those kinds of places ain't mah style." Sam looked sheepish, masking the anxiety that penetrated through every fiber of his being. Like Amara, he had been looking forward to a night in with his thoughts. Then he added, "Besides, Ah don't like that kind of food. When Ah was in Paris, Ah was so thankful for Burger King."

"Oh come on," Roberto cajoled, onyx eyes pleading.

"Ave, Sam, it's a free meal," Amara chimed in. "Experiences something new."

Sam racked his brain, searching for another way out of this quandary. Finally, he pointed out, "The reservations are for two, right? There ain't anyone else here who would go, and Ah hate eatin' alone." _There,_ he thought smugly. _I'm saved. _

Roberto appeared crestfallen. Just as he was about to concede defeat, he discovered the remedy. "You won't be," he told Sam. Then he smiled broadly, peering past Sam and towards the hallway. He waved his hand excitedly and said, "Just the person I wanted to see."

Curious, Sam turned around. He wanted to see who his friend was addressing. His chest tightened as soon as he identified the other party.

Jubilee.

The young girl froze in her steps, confused and alarmed from the way Roberto was looking at her. When she saw that Sam Guthrie was also present, her cheeks became stained with pink. All she wanted to do was continue in her trek to the Summers' house on the other side of the property so that she could retreat to the comforting stillness of her room. However, since social mores dictated that she at least acknowledge Roberto, she stayed.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, eager to leave.

Roberto failed to detect the impatient tone in her voice. He was consumed with setting his plan into motion. "How would you like a free meal at the most popular place in town? I know Scott and Jean are gone on a mission, and no one should spend Christmas Eve alone… The thing is, I'm trying to get Sam to go out to this restaurant, but he needs some company. That's where you come in."

Jubilee's sapphire eyes widened. "I don't think…"

"It's a fine establishment. Best meal you're ever going to have."

Sam blanched, nervously raking a calloused hand through his hair. This was the last thing he needed. "Roberto, Ah don't think that's such a hot idea," he whispered.

Unfortunately, his protest was unheard, which was evident in Amara clapping her hands together and jumping out of her chair. She darted over to where a stunned Jubilee stood. Grabbing the young girl's arm, she grinned. "This will be so great," she enthused, guiding her out of the kitchen. "I can make an appointment at the salon for both of us."

Sam felt paralyzed, angry that his brain and tongue failed him. As Roberto rushed off to make a call to the restaurant, the Kentucky native was left reeling. He felt an overwhelming sense of dread as he rose to his feet to prepare for his night out.

Perhaps it was how rapidly the situation progressed or perhaps it was her distracted mind, but Jubilee found herself in a rather disconcerting position. Usually, she was not one to be persuaded so easily into doing something. She prided herself in being capable of not bending to the will of others. However, in this instance, she was rendered powerless to stop the events that had already gone into motion.

The afternoon appointment Amara had made for them at the local salon was like a blur to the young girl. There was no memory of the trip there. She felt rather odd, almost disconnected as her hair was being washed and styled. It was as if she were in a dream. Nothing felt real or right. Even as the aqua-haired make-up artist was attempting to consult with Jubilee about what she wanted, she was still not convinced that this was happening at all. This soon changed when Amara consulted with Roberto about what time they were to return to the mansion.

A worried frown marred Jubilee's otherwise flawless features during the ride home in Amara's red BMW roadster. As the other woman drove and rattled off the details for the arrangements for the evening, the young girl was nearly overwhelmed with her own trepidation. She was tempted to march up to Roberto, whom she found insanely pushy, and inform him that she would not be available. Granted, she had no plans for Christmas Eve, but that was her business.

Yet, she did not decline the invitation to dinner with Sam. Instead, Jubilee was determined to see things through. In her mind, going out with the Kentucky native would allow for the opportunity to clear the air between them. Yes, there was a part of her that was apprehensive about the situation, but what was even more disturbing was the tension that existed between herself and Sam. She hated the fact that they weren't speaking. She hated the fact that they never had a chance to talk about what happened on Thanksgiving. But most of all, she hated the emptiness she felt since that moment.

While she had the resolve to stay the course, Jubilee was at a loss regarding how to address the issue. How on earth was she going to broach the subject? In the back of her mind, she had a few funny ideas, but nothing that would really help. Agonizing over the appropriate choice of words, she began to wonder if this was a good idea after all.

Sam stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. The tall, lean young man frowned at his reflection as he straightened the silver tie he decided to wear with his black, three-button tuxedo jacket, matching flat-front slacks, and crisp, white shirt with black, patent leather shoes. He was not one to dress up often; the tuxedo had been a necessary purchase for some of the covert operations he had been involved in. It wasn't that he didn't look good. His straw-colored hair was carefully combed into place and his face was clean-shaven. No, the reason was that whenever he wore it, he always felt strange and out of place. He would have rather been in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

But there was something else behind the pained expression on his farm boy countenance. It filled him with a great sense of fear and anxiety that made him believe the traumatic experience in the Paris subway tunnel a few months back was nothing. For a moment, he considered climbing out his window and flying somewhere else to avoid what awaited him this evening.

Exhaling loudly, he shook his head in disgust. I _What the hell is wrong with me/I _he wondered. I _How did I get myself into this? _/I

After Jubilee left with Amara to get ready, Sam took Roberto aside in the hopes of getting out of dinner. The Southern gentleman attempted to plead his case to his friend. His mind raced with possible excuses—he was sick, he was allergic to frogs' legs, he needed to get some rest. But when he tried to verbalize each argument, his tongue froze. It was almost as if on an unconscious level, he wanted to go out with Jubilee.

So, instead of backing out of the engagement, Sam was preparing for a night he viewed with both anticipation and trepidation. He slipped his cell phone and wallet into his pockets before donning on his gray overcoat. From talking with Roberto earlier, the girls were on their way back. He informed Sam that he would be able to use da Costa International's car service to get to the restaurant. The driver was scheduled to pick them at the mansion within the next ten minutes.

Taking a deep breath, Sam summoned the inner strength to leave his room. As he did so, his legs felt wobbly. For a moment, he feared he might collapse while descending the spiral staircase that led to the foyer. Thankfully, he did not but his stomach continued to tie itself into knots. When he reached the bottom, the Southern gentleman was nearly overwhelmed again. But this time, it was for a different reason.

Standing by the door was Jubilee. She wore a silver-beaded tank top with a deep V-neck and a floor-length, champagne satin skirt and silver, high-heeled sandals. Adding a splash of color was a salmon-colored, cashmere wrap. Her long, thick raven locks were softly pulled back in a loose chignon, which brought attention to her graceful neck and shoulders. The young girl's face was lightly made-up, highlighting her delicate features and her brilliant eyes.

Sam swallowed hard. With her hair up, his eyes could trace a line from her neck down her spine—an indulgence he was allowed to consume. He marveled at the expanse of taut skin, fine muscles beneath the surface, the hint of movement beneath her top and skirt with each step. Much to his embarrassment, he suddenly realized he did not know what to do with his hands as he made his way to her. His palms were sweating profusely, which caused him to curse inwardly.

Meanwhile, Jubilee was in awe by what she was seeing. It was like she was seeing him in a new light. Now, he looked like a dashing hero. Her nostrils picked up the evergreen scent in Sam's aftershave. For some strange reason, her pulse was racing. She attempted slow, deep breaths to counteract her response. Still, her heart pounded inversely with the slowing of her breaths. Her skin tingled as every sense heightened.

"Hey," she greeted, biting her lower lip nervously and willing her body to function normally. Her mind raced as she tried to think of something else to say. Without thinking, she blurted out, "You clean up good."

He smiled sheepishly, lowering his gaze. "Thanks," he said and gazed back at her. "You look… You look…" He winced when he was unable to finish his compliment. Words would not have done any justice.

She nodded and gave him a small smile. There was no need for him to go any further. "Thanks."

"So, ya like French food?"

"Do fries count?"

"Ah guess. Ya know, they call 'em pommes des frites."

"Ooh la la."

Sam was about to ask if she had been to A la Mode before when he heard a car horn honk from outside. Jubilee turned to open the front door. She saw a sleek, black Lincoln town car parked outside.

"I guess it's time to go," she announced. Inwardly, she was praying that the fluttering in her chest and stomach would dissipate. Much to her disappointment, it did not.

He was equally tense, but furiously trying to mask it. "Guess so," he agreed in a low voice. Then he walked to her side and offered his arm to her. "Ready?"

Jubilee stared at the proffered arm. She thought about the last time she touched him and the consequences that followed. Using her better judgment, she made her way to the car. "Ready," she replied, her pace brisk.

Sam followed, hanging his head.

Located in the historic part of Westchester, A la Mode distinguished itself from surrounding buildings by its exterior. The low-pitched roof was off-set by large eave brackets underneath and dramatic cornice structures. There were windows with one or two panes and heavy surrounds, which were also tall and arched with hoods. On each side were rectangular towers with a great deal of cast-iron railings and facades. Adding to the charm of the architecture were balustrade balconies.

Inside, the ornamental feel continued. Modern design was mixed with 18th century, Art Deco, and Louis XIV. There were lavishly feminine, elegantly understated fabrics in subtle jewel tones fashioned with couture details. Tables were draped with silk organza, which complemented the plush dining chairs that were upholstered in sage velvet. Fresh, cream-colored roses acted as the centerpiece for each table. Bottled water was served in crystal goblets, which matched the wineglasses and champagne flutes.

The service was as formal and authentic as one would find in a French restaurant. Efficient, but polite and dressed to the nines were the wait staff. In addition, they spoke in lightly-accented English, but managed not to lapse into their native French. Sam could not help but be somewhat intimidated. He had to remind himself that he was the customer. Once the maitre-d found out that Sam and Jubilee were the guests of da Costa International, he seated them promptly.

Not too soon after that their waiter, a small, compact man with white hair and thick, black brows, arrived with golden pears in a silver bowl. With a cordial bow, he introduced himself as Ambrose and told them that he was looking forward to serving them. Sensing that the young couple were green when it came to enjoying French cuisine, he graciously provided his recommendations. To start, he suggested either the gâteau de crêpes au crabe (crêpe gateau with crab) or the escalopes de foie gras aux pommes (sautéed foie gras with apples). He went on with the chef's selections for entrées: cuisses de canard au chou, daube de boeuf aux cèpes et à l'orange (beef daube with porcini and orange), or coquilles St Jacques et bouquets à la Fleur de Sel (prawns and scallops with Fleur de Sel). His brown eyes twinkled as he recited the dessert menu for the evening, which included douillon Normand à la pomme (apple douillon), ganache au coulis de framboises (chocolate ganache with raspberry coulis), and glace au miel de sapin aux fruits des bois (honey ice cream with berries).

Thanks to Ambrose's expertise, Sam and Jubilee had a delectable meal which was also accompanied by red wine. Even though she was underage, Sam allowed her a glass—provided that she not tell Logan or Scott. She agreed and relished the sweetness of the grapes. As they ate, the two of them talked about how quiet it was around the mansion, and how strange the holidays were this year. They took in the opulent décor and the other customers, who appeared more accustomed to such treatment.

For the first time in weeks, Sam felt completely at ease. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or if it was something else, but his despair was a distant memory now. All that mattered was his doubts and fears about the night were never realized. Granted, they decided to discuss other things besides what happened on Thanksgiving. It was as if nothing happened.

Like the Southern gentleman, Jubilee was also experiencing a sense of complacency that had eluded her for some time. Her anxiety of facing him after weeks of avoidance faded. She found herself, enjoying his company once again. The smiles and laughs reappeared along with the easy banter. In spite of the conversations they had over the course of the evening, she was aware that they had not touched upon what transpired between them.

Suddenly, the two of them became quite conscious of this. Their eyes met from across the table. Staring deeply, they lapsed into silence.

Ambrose approached their table to inquire as to how their meal was, as he did since he served them. When he made his next stop, he smiled at them. Motioning for a younger waiter to gather the entrée plates, he inquired casually, "Would monsieur and mademoiselle like to dance before dessert? Such a good-looking couple should be out there as well."

Surprised, Sam and Jubilee peered past him. Though they had been at the restaurant for over an hour, this was the first time they noticed the dance floor. Well-dressed couples crowded the marble dance floor. They were waltzing to Largo from Xerxes by Handel, which was being played by the string ensemble at the other end of the room. Bunches of mistletoe hung from the ceiling and from the Waterford crystal chandeliers.

Before either one could say anything, Ambrose said, "I'll leave you to think about it for a moment." His smile broadened as he retreated with the younger waiter.

Sam blinked. He was reeling from the suggestion. His head was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. Groaning inwardly, he considered calling the car service to pick them up. The idea of dancing with Jubilee would only remind him of the miserable predicament he was in. There was also the distinct possibility that she would refuse him. After all, she had made a point not to take his arm when they were walking towards the car. In the end, he could not blame her. Things between them had not been resolved.

Yet, the tall, lean young man from Kentucky did not pull out his cell phone to make that call. Instead, he rose from his chair. Slowly, he walked to where she was sitting. All the while, his mind was screaming at him not to approach her, to show the restraint he had demonstrated for so long. However, his body refused to comply.

Jubilee watched him, her cerulean eyes wide. She swallowed hard. The rational and sane part of her told her what was about to happen, and why she had to tell him no. They still had to talk about what happened. Nothing about that night was right. She felt terrible and conflicted; for Bobby, for him. Sam had to know that.

But when she peered up at his face, she held herself back. There was something about his solemn face, the yearning in his pale-blue eyes that made her hesitate. Closing her eyes, she tried to summon the will to handle things properly. There were soft sounds of movement and she could tell he was in front of her. She could smell his aftershave and feel his stare fall upon her. Heart beating wildly, she opened her eyes again. Then she made her move.

She gave him her hand and rose to her feet.

Sam gently pulled her towards the couples slowly dancing. She followed. At that moment, the tension both had been experiencing melted away.

He drew her towards him, one hand on the small of her back, his other hand still holding hers. As they moved slowly to the music, he made sure to keep a safe distance. "Thank you."

Jubilee was surprised, intrigued to the soft quality of his voice and the wistfulness in his pale blue eyes. "For what?" she asked.

"For comin' out with me," he replied, genuinely surprised she was here on the floor in his arms.

Nervously, she forced a smile. She, too, was surprised by her decision. "What are friends for?"

He inhaled sharply, attempting to mask his disappointment with her choice in words. "Yeah," he finally said. Trying to make the pang in his chest go away, he decided to change the subject. "So, Ah guess we'll haveta tell Roberto that this place was pretty good."

"Guess we do," she agreed. The young girl saw a flash of sadness flicker across his face briefly. She chewed on her lower lip, obviously concerned for him. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Alarmed, he tried to think of a response that would not call attention to him. At a loss, he decided to distract her. He spun her and again pulled her to his body.

Unfortunately for Sam, Jubilee was no fool. She noticed that his smile did not quite reach his eyes. Moving along with him, she was determined to find out the truth."You never answered my question," she observed.

Sam drew back to look her in the eyes. He hated himself for causing her to be worried about him because frankly, he did not deserve it. Again, he attempted to be evasive. "Nothin', sweetie," he assured her in the calmest tone he could muster, which belied the panic he felt. "Ya don't haveta think about me."

"But I do." Immediately, the young girl blushed. It was the truth, but why was she fretting over it? She struggled to search for a way to gracefully recover.

The Southern gentleman's jaw nearly dropped from the wave of shock that hit him. Hearing her admission rendered him mute for a moment. To him, it seemed so improbable. Then he asked, "Ya do?"

She nodded in earnest. _Why does that shock him?_ she wondered, sable brows knitting together. "Yes," she replied in a low voice. "I mean, we are friends. Aren't we?"

He inhaled sharply. There was that damnable word again—friends. He despised that word with every fiber of his being. As he peered down at Jubilee, Sam knew he had to conceal his contempt and the truth. "Yeah," he lied, which left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Of course. That's what we are."

"Good." She smiled, but with a hesitancy that matched her tone. It was hard not to observe how tense the Southern gentleman was as they continued to dance. Even more troubling were her own responses during their first direct interaction since Thanksgiving. Her heart was racing and her limbs felt rather unsteady. She felt as if she might swoon though she had no idea why.

Sam, meanwhile, was becoming quite concerned. The strangeness in her demeanor was apparent. Perhaps this was not a good idea. "Wanna sit down, sweetie?" he asked quietly, his eyes casting their gaze over her lovely face.

She stared back up at him, still gliding along with him to the dulcet sounds of the strings. As she did so, her mind was needling her, reminding her that there were still unresolved issues that needed to be addressed. To simply brush the fact off since they were now comfortable with another again would be wrong. Both of them deserved better than that.

"No," she said finally, clearing her throat as if to summon the courage to press on. "I'm fine. Actually, I think we need to talk."

"About what?" the Southern gentleman inquired even though he knew full well where the conversation was heading. He could read it in the serious expression that fell over her lovely features. Desperately, he searched for a way to avoid what was about to follow, but came up empty. With a heavy heart, he resigned himself.

As she continued talking, she found that she was unable to look at him anymore. "About Thanksgiving," she answered, chewing on her lower lip. "Listen, I don't want you to think I'm some kind of cheating weirdo or something."

He swallowed hard. That was the last thing to come to mind. "Ah'd never think that," he told her in a low voice.

She was relieved to hear this. Her feet became steadier underneath her and she no longer felt that she might pass out. Yet, she remained wary since nothing explained his behavior after their encounter. "I felt like you did," she pointed out, peering up at him. "Honestly, it seemed like the whole thing freaked you out. Not that I would blame you. I was, too, because of…" Her voice suddenly trailed off. Even saying her boyfriend's name brought on guilt.

"Bobby." Sam pressed his lips together. Despite the fact that he was not here, the boyishly handsome man with the cheery disposition continued to be an obstacle. However, the Southern gentleman told himself that getting angry and riled up would be pointless. He had no such right to be.

She nodded. "Yeah. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I didn't mean for things to go as far as they did. I don't want to lose our friendship because of it."

He could feel his heart breaking when she made this assertion. There were so many things about her words that left him so forlorn. She hadn't meant to return the passion in the kiss. She still thought of him as a friend and that was all. She was and never would be his.

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky sensed his body becoming rigid at this conclusion. In an attempt to distract himself and the beautiful woman in his arms, he picked up the tempo of his steps. He had realized that if Jubilee noticed his response, she would inquire about it, making things even more hellish for him.

Suddenly, the string quartet ended the piece. Like the rest of the dancers, Sam and Jubilee drew back from one another to applaud their work. Unable to look at her, he concentrated his gaze elsewhere. He glanced up at the ceiling to admire the crystal chandelier they stood underneath. However, he found himself staring at something else as well. Suddenly, he felt his face grow warm.

Then he murmured, "We're under the mistletoe." There was no mistaking the smooth-edged, oval leaves and waxy, white berries in dense clusters.

She followed his gaze. "So we are," she mused, wishing Bobby were here.

Sam's first instinct was to pull her close to his body. He wanted to press his lips against hers. Bury his head in his arms, admit his feelings for her, and never let go. But he did not.

Instead, he forced a smile and said, "Merry Christmas, sweetie."


	49. Chapter 49

Sorry for the delay. I was on holiday in Costa Rica and had some issues with my computer when I got back. I'm ready to chuck my laptop right now since it's totally driving me crazy. Right now, I'm working off of my husband's computer until I buy a new one (hopefully soon!).

Thanks for the feedback. I'm glad to know people are still following this saga. Please keep the comments coming.

A shout-out to Jo the Phoenix for all her help on this one.

**Chapter Forty-Nine: Frozen**

_"I'd never let anything happen to me, to us." _

Floating in a void of vast darkness, heartfelt words from a promise made what seemed to be eons ago echoed. They were issued in an attempt to reassure, to placate whatever anxieties there were surrounding safety and well-being. Even as shadows surrounded and enveloped, the sincerity and sentiment were still evident. Never did Bobby Drake imagine there was a legitimate reason to issue them. He had been on many missions before. During those previous times, there was no reason for any concern or worry. Always, he had returned unscathed, reinforcing his belief that he was, in a way, invincible.

Until that night.

The events that led up to this sense of chaos were a blur. Faces, voices, and any semblance of a sequence in what transpired faded in and out. Any sensations or feelings of pain were, blissfully, blocked. All that remained was a tumbling in a fathomless space of uncertainty, where time and direction were foreign concepts.

Bobby was not sure how long he had been floating in this state. He simply knew he felt very frightened. The abyss-like nature of this place gave the impression of an ambiguity that only revealed that he was not conscious. Despite this, he was keenly aware that he was not dead. Though he was unable to provide a great deal of sufficient evidence of this assertion, he had one piece of information: it was not his time.

But this place, wherever it was, was cold.

So very, very cold.

Chilling and cutting through skin and bone.

So very, very cold.

He struggled to recall what transpired, what brought him here. Perhaps by doing so, he would be able escape out of this limbo. He feared that if he spent another minute here—wherever here was—he would surely lose his sanity.

Screams and the sound of harsh, malevolent laughter suddenly flooded his head. Bobby suddenly found himself reeling as the hellish images from that night overwhelmed him. He remembered confronting a plant-like version of Black Tom, who seemed consumed by madness and true darkness. The glow in the maniacal sociopath's yellow eyes and his calculating demand for the return of the child sex slaves or as he put it, 'his employees' made Bobby's stomach turn. Disgust and determination to protect the children surged through every fiber of the young man's body as he braced himself for a melee.

Confusion and fear draped the evening cityscape outside the brothel. Kurt was herding the children, who were crying and shrieking in fear of the monster who used and abused them. The normally laid-back and carefree German was clearly anxious as he attempted to comfort and reassure the young ones. He teleported as many as he could at a time, leaving a strong, pungent stench of sulfur in the air that only served to add to the nightmarish ambiance.

Meanwhile, a fierce and feral Logan had charged Black Tom with adamantium claws extended. An unparalleled master of combat who was all too willing to use lethal means to achieve an objective, the man known as Wolverine seemed adept at handling an old foe. However, nothing prepared the experienced X-Man for this new version of Black Tom. His body, toned and sleek with hard muscle, had been thrown into the air as if it were a bag of coins. Landing on top of a car with a resounding thud, Logan had been knocked out.

Realizing that he was the only person available to deal with Black Tom, Bobby steeled himself for what lay ahead. Apprehensive, he forced himself to brush aside his fears. There was no way Black Tom's reign of terror was to continue. Quickly, he prepared himself to race to Logan's aid.

However, there was still the matter of the children. He wanted to ensure that they would not be caught up in what was to follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kurt, who appeared from a thick cloud. The German peered over at Logan's limp body with its retracted claws and was instantly concerned. Shepherding the huddled and quaking bodies of the scared children towards his teammate, Bobby recalled explaining what just transpired to an incredulous Kurt.

"…It's Black Tom," Bobby had told his friend with a gravity that seemed to foreign to his own ears. "He's responsible for all of this…"

In the dizzying madness of what was going on around them, he failed to be alert. He did not maintain the awareness that was necessary during a situation. He lost focus. He was vulnerable.

He should have seen what was coming.

THWACK!

The searing pain that coursed through his chest was immediate. So was the shock that went through his mind when he saw the insidious vine that pierced him. He could feel it wriggling inside, pressing against his heart and spinal cord. The sound of Tom's laughter and Kurt's cries faded into the background. What dominated his consciousness was the white-hot hurt that emanated from his torso.

It was then that Bobby fell into darkness.

As he was reliving his ordeal, he noticed that there was light seeping in. The sounds from that night continued to fade, replaced by a muffled voice. Listening to it, Bobby realized it was a voice he was familiar with. He found himself drifting towards it.

The journey towards the source was a difficult one. He had to draw upon every ounce of strength he had in order to reach the voice and the light. Closer and closer, he noticed that the voice was clearer and the light was now giving way to images that were coming into focus. With a sense of relief, he was able to see. He also recognized the voice, which was now calling his name.

"Bobby… Bobby…"

Jubilee.

She was leaning over him, a worried expression marring her otherwise flawless features. His love was like some sort of ethereal angel—dark tresses rippling down her shoulders and framing her beautiful face like a halo, her creamy skin glowing with a light that seemed to emanate from within. For a moment, Bobby believed that he had in fact died and was now in heaven. As he gazed at her, he saw that those old-soul blue eyes were filled with such distress. Her lower lip was quivering, as if she were on the verge of tears. Almost immediately, he was able to surmise that he was responsible and cursed himself for it.

"Hey," he managed weakly, trying to move his head in order to reconnoiter his surroundings. From the sterile, steel-plated walls, fluorescent lighting, the starchy feel of the cotton hospital gown, the smell of disinfectant and antiseptic, and the stiff cot he was lying in, he figured he was in the Med-Lab in Sub-Basement One.

More importantly, he was home.

Jubilee's breath was sweet and warm at his cheek as she stroked his sandy hair tenderly. "Hey yourself," she replied with one of those smiles reserved just for him, which made her sapphire eyes sparkle and her face light up even more.

The nonchalant greetings exchanged represented the comfortable ease that was a hallmark of their relationship. It was enough to broaden the wide grin he was already wearing. He felt as if it were the first time he had done so in weeks.

"God, I missed you," he murmured huskily. There was no way he could ever get enough of staring at her. After weeks of being without her at his side, he was overwhelmed by a sense of feeling complete and whole again.

She nodded, nodding in agreement while continuing to stroke his hair. "Me, too." With a solemn expression, she took a deep breath before speaking again. "Bobby, you have to know something."

Alarmed, Bobby swallowed hard. He was unsure if he was going to like where the conversation was heading. Never had he observed her so serious and so tense. The way she was breathing forcefully led him to believe that she was preparing to disclose some severe news. He felt his heart sink and his stomach conduct a series of flip-flops.

Finally, he spoke up. "What is it?" His voice was low, matching hers in intensity. "What's wrong?"

She moved closer towards him. Her chin trembled violently and her cerulean eyes were shining. "Bobby…" Then she shuddered, unable to finish the thought.

He took her small hand in his and looked into her face intently. "It's OK, Jubes," he said reassuringly. "I'm here."

Jubilee inhaled deeply, slipping her hand away. She used it to rub her forehead anxiously. Then she peered back at him and said in a low voice, "If you ever come close to leaving me like that again, I'll make it my mission to revive just so I can kick your ass."

Bobby smiled and began to chuckle. The love that was in her tone and in her eyes was so unadulterated and pure. Words could not even begin to describe the feelings roused. Raising his head slightly and threading his hand through the softness of her silken tresses, he closed the distance between their lips. His mouth moved gently against hers at first, savoring the softness of her. Then he parted his lips parted slightly, deepening the kiss. As her mouth opened in response, he savored more of her. His fingers played with her hair and his other hand cupped her cheek.

Reluctantly, he drew back, pausing as their hot breaths intermingled. He was able to see the dilation of her pupils, darkening her eyes. "Consider that my personal guarantee that you don't have to worry."

A flush reddened her cheeks, making her even more beautiful in the dim light. "I thought you… I was afraid I was going to lose you." Her sweet face looked so earnest and relieved.

Abruptly, he buried his face in the nape of her neck, his arms tightly wrapping around her. The gesture was so raw and so genuinely tender. "Never," he whispered fiercely. "Never."

"Promise?"

_"I'd never let anything happen to me, to us." _

Suddenly, everything went dark again.

Deep creases lined Logan's somber face as he sat in an overstuffed armchair, hunched over with his hands clasped together under his stubble-ridden chin. As one of the longest serving X-Men, he had witnessed his teammates sustain injuries over the years. While most managed to recover, there were others who were not so fortunate. These individuals paid the ultimate price to pursue a dream.

His green eyes narrowed, roving over Bobby's unconscious body lying in a sterile hospital bed. The gruff Canadian loner had not moved from his spot by Bobby's bedside since confronting Black Tom two days ago. Though he often gave the impression that he regarded the younger man with a cool indifference or at times, even disdain, Logan was now fearful for his life. He had never been much of a praying man, but he found himself bargaining with God for Drake to awaken and to emerge no worse for wear.

Swallowing hard, Logan replayed the night's horrific events and the resulting aftermath in his head. Not that he could block them out or anything. They had left an imprint in his memory that was proving difficult to shake, especially when he was trying to sleep.

He remembered the complete and utter shock he experienced when he and the others faced Tom Cassidy, who had experienced physical changes that affected his psyche. More plant than man, the career criminal provided a demonstration of his new abilities. Logan had been taken aback when he was suddenly swept off his feet and tossed in the air. After he landed on top of a car parked nearby, he was out cold for a few fleeting moments.

However, he had been roused quickly when he heard Kurt yelling Bobby's name amid Tom's deep-throated laughter. Shaking off the haze, Logan had managed to sit up. He had searched in the chaos for his teammates, orienting himself as to what was happening. Kurt had used his wiry body to shield the children, his face terrified. Following the elf's stare, Logan had discovered the source of concern.

There was Drake, staggering backwards with a thick, black vine pierced through his chest. His face, encased in a layer of ice, was fixed in an expression of shock and disbelief. He had been blindly grabbing at the plant extension that was impaling him, as if to pull it out. However, Bobby appeared weak, staggering. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness, his body suspended by the vine.

Upon seeing this, Black Tom snickered malevolently. His glowing, yellow eyes took on a more deranged quality as he studied the seemingly lifeless body of his latest conquest. "This is too easy," he chortled smugly. "Now, two more—"

His taunting was suddenly cut off when he started to make a gurgling sound. In the warmth of the Genoshan evening, the air surrounding him grew cold. Frost began to cover the plant-like extensions and the rest of his body. He began to howl when the frost soon turned into ice, which covered every inch of him. Not so long after this, Black Tom was silent, trapped in a cold, thick prison.

Logan had jumped off of the car hood and darted to where Bobby was, still impaled upon a now frozen vine. His hands were still curled around it, clutching tightly. Somehow, Bobby had managed to find the strength to tap into the water inside Black Tom's plant-like body, using the moisture to nullify him. Apparently, this act had drained Bobby completely. The younger man had passed out, unresponsive to Logan's attempts to get his attention.

Undeterred, Logan had extended his adamantium claws and sliced through the vine to free Drake. Despite the fact that the other man was still in his ice-form, Logan was able to tell he was alive—barely. Draping Drake's body over his shoulder, the laconic veteran began to call out for Kurt. Once the German made his way over, he immediately questioned Logan regarding Bobby's status. Succinctly, the older man had ordered an anxious Kurt to teleport them back to the hotel.

Once there, they were greeted by a frazzled Warren, who had just assisted Amelia in settling the children with room service in the adjoining suite. Cain, still nursing a cold, was drinking a large of hot tea when he saw Bobby's limp body in Logan's arms. Before either could inquire as to what happened, Logan carried the younger man to Warren's king-sized bed and laid him down. He then explained the circumstances, informing them of Black Tom's transformation into a giant, crazed vegetable and how he had lashed out at Bobby.

Alarmed, Warren dashed out of the room to retrieve Amelia from next door. Within seconds, they returned and the redhead rushed to Bobby's side. While she was conducting a brief examination, Logan and the others were planning what to do at this point. It was becoming quite obvious that their teammate's injuries were quite severe and would require more sophisticated medical attention. Amelia commented that the wound to Bobby's chest went straight through, but she had no idea what kind of damage there was to his internal organs at this time. They needed to get him to a hospital.

Meanwhile, there was the issue of Black Tom and the chaos left behind in Low Town. At the moment, he was neutralized, but there was no telling how long this would this last. Logan remarked it would be irresponsible to allow him to go free after the havoc the monster had caused. Everyone else agreed with this assessment. Kurt suggested that they contact the authorities, and that he, Logan, and Cain return to the scene to ensure that Black Tom or any of his accomplices did not escape.

As for Bobby, Amelia announced that she was calling for an ambulance to transport herself and Bobby to the hospital. Warren began to insist that he accompany them as well, offering his blood to help heal his friend. She declined, informing him that the unknown nature of Bobby's injuries made it difficult to accept. Then she pointed out that someone had to stay with the children. They had been through a great deal tonight and did not need any more excitement. Reluctantly, Warren agreed.

Before leaving with Kurt and Cain, Logan approached the blond, winged playboy, whose handsome face was wrought with worry for his friend and the man he considered the closest thing to a brother. Taking Warren aside, the self-professed loner had said, "I'm sorry."

Warren had raked a tanned hand through his hair. "He's got to be okay." His voice sounded small, like a frightened child's. "He just has to be."

Logan remembered nodding, but saying nothing else.

The hours that followed were a whirlwind. After he and the others returned to Low Town and ensured that Tom was still imprisoned, they met up with the local authorities. The police commissioner was furious with them. In spite of Kurt's best efforts to placate him, the commissioner screamed at them and told them they had no right to play vigilantes. Moreover, he claimed the X-Men had no jurisdiction to press forward with an investigation, and that if they had any concerns, they should have gone to the police.

Normally, Logan would have shot back with a reply of his own, but he was simply too tired and had other pressing things on his mind. Dealing with a mealy-faced cop was the least of his concerns. However, Cain expressed no reservation about telling off the much smaller man. His face turned a strange shade of pink as he berated the commissioner and his men for not doing their job.

Kurt slipped in between the two men. "Please, we can work this out..."

Logan shrugged the fracas off, and wandered to the area where Black Tom was frozen. There were a group of officers around the thick, icy block that encased the monster. They were in the midst of figuring out how to transport him back to the prison. He had pushed past a young officer, who appeared completely bewildered by the situation. Then the Wolverine inched closer to the chilly prison that surrounded the plant-like creature.

His green eyes narrowed as they peered at the grotesque face that twisted in an expression of surprise and agony. Ignoring the request from the officer to back away, Logan scowled at Black Tom. There was a part of him that was dismayed that the bastard was immobilized. It denied him the pleasure of tearing him into pieces.

Leaning close to the ice barrier, Logan pursed his lips. "You're lucky you're in there, bub," he growled. "'Cause if you were out, you'd have me to deal with. Anything happens to Drake, I'm gonna hold you responsible. I can guarantee I ain't gonna be as nice to you as the cops here."

Then he turned on his heel to join his teammates, who were providing statements to the detectives on the scene. When they were cleared to leave, Kurt called Warren to obtain directions to the hospital. Soon, they were off, teleporting to the exact coordinates. Arriving at the waiting area outside of the emergency room, Kurt inquired about Bobby. A nurse with thin lips and golden streaks in her hair informed them that he had been in surgery, and was now resting in a room at the end of the hall.

On their way to see him, they met up with Amelia, who was dressed in surgeon scrubs, her red hair tied back. She quickly updated them on the situation. During surgery, Bobby had de-iced his body, which allowed the doctors to see that his wound was closing up. However, the area around the point of entry was covered in ice, making it impossible to assess what kind of damage was present. Fortunately, they were able to stabilize him in spite of this.

"I'm afraid he'll have to see someone back in the States for follow-up," Amelia had sighed as she walked with them to Bobby's room. "Even though this is the best hospital in the country, it's still limited. It's best to let either Charles or Hank to take a look."

Kurt chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "So, ve should transfer him now?" He was already thinking of how he was about to break the news to Warren, who seemed to be in shock that something had happened to Bobby.

She shook her head. "Not until he regains consciousness. Otherwise, it's too dangerous."

"When's that gonna be?" Cain asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know," Amelia replied, pausing outside of the doorway where Bobby lay. "All I do know is that he's lucky to be alive. Let's just hope that he wakes up soon."

The three of them were allowed to enter. None of them were prepared for the sight that met their eyes. Bobby Drake, so cheery, so full of life, so young, was lying unconscious in a hospital bed. His face was blanched with dark circles under his closed eyes. There were tubes in his arms and under his nostrils. The standard issue hospital gown was baggy enough to reveal the bandages that covered his chest. Under the track lighting, he looked smaller, as if he might shrink and disappear forever.

Kurt choked back a sob, making a sign of the cross as he made his way to Bobby's bedside. "Mein Gott," he whispered.

Cain stared for a minute and then turned away. Though he had not known Drake as well and as long as Kurt, he was still shaken. It was hard to fathom that this man was the same one who was cracking jokes during their trip to Genosha.

Kurt took a deep breath, patting Bobby's arm gently. "I need to find a chapel," he announced, finding calm and solace with this idea. There was nothing left for them to do. It was now out of their hands. "I vill pray for him. Vould anyone like to join me?"

Amelia, standing by the door, nodded. "I haven't been for a while," she confessed, embarrassed. "But I'll come."

"Good." The solemn German turned to the taller, imposing figure that belonged to Cain Marko. "And you?"

The larger man looked at him warily. "You want me to come with you?" he asked, a gruff tone sneaking into his voice. He shook his head, reflecting on his past. "I ain't welcomed in places like that."

"I velcome you, mein freund," Kurt said guilelessly. He managed a small, comforting smile. "Come. You can sit vit us."

After some deliberation, Cain reluctantly agreed to take Kurt up on his offer. It was difficult to decline such an invitation, especially from a man who had been a priest. "Yeah, maybe I'll get some thinkin' done," he muttered, shuffling his steps towards Amelia and the door.

Kurt was about to join them, but stopped when he saw Logan grabbed a chair and placed it by Bobby's bedside. "Logan?"

"You got the wrong guy," his friend responded flatly, seating himself. He shrugged nonchalantly and rubbed his forehead wearily. "Besides, someone should be here in case Drake wakes up."

"Alright." Kurt continued on his way, following the others who were already outside. Then he paused again in his steps. He turned to the grim-faced man who was hunched over in his chair. "It's not your fault."

Logan quirked a brow at him. "Never thought it was."

"It vas unfortunate."

"Yeah."

"So, you should not hold yourself responsible. _She_vill not, I am sure."

Logan grunted, not bothering to watch the German slip out of the room.

Two days later, the wizened Canadian wanted to believe what Kurt had told him. The rational part of his mind told him that Jubilee would never blame him for Drake sustaining his injuries. She was no longer a child, willing to strike out at anyone. In the past couple of years, she had grown beyond that into a mature adult. She was thoughtful, stronger, and able to reflect on the tragedy that had plagued her young life.

As Logan watched over Bobby, he came to realize that things might be different. This was the man she was in love with. According to her, Drake might be the one. The one.

Even though she never came to Logan, begging him to keep an eye on her boyfriend, he supposed there was an understanding that he would. It was a task he found himself rather reticent about given his ongoing sense of unease around the younger man, knowing that he and Jubilee were now a serious item and forever eradicating the image of her as his little girl. There was also Bobby's mastery over his abilities, allowing him to hold his own in battle. Thus, there had been no reason to worry.

Until now.

His green eyes narrowed under his stony brows. Granted, he was no medical professional or a psychic, but he knew that Drake was alive in spite of his deathly appearance. He could hear the other man's breathing and his heart beating. From the rapid rhythm, Logan was able to sense that Bobby was fighting. It was as if he knew his predicament. His enhanced olfactory senses were able to pick up the smell of Bobby's perspiration.

Exhaling, the loner found himself frustrated and genuinely concerned. He knew he had let Jubilee down so many times in the past with his frequent absences from the mansion, and his broken promises to visit her when she was at the Massachusetts Academy. He knew how disappointed she was, how torn apart she was as a result. The thought of her enduring any pain—especially pain that he caused was too much to bear. For her to experience that kind of suffering again made Logan's chest tighten fiercely.

_Never,_he swore, clenching a fist at his side. _I'll never let that happen again. _

Logan leaned over Drake, his face a mask of urgency. "Wake up, Icicle," he said, his gravelly voice taking on a tone of desperation that was foreign to his own ears. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's seein' the kid cry."

After making this futile plea, he sat back with his shoulders slumped in defeat. Peering over at the younger man, Logan noticed that he was still unresponsive. He shook his head, cursing his naiveté for even believing that begging would remedy things. So consumed in his own musings and self-directed anger, he had not noticed that Warren was standing next to him.

"No change?" The blond Adonis asked in greeting even though he was perfectly aware of his friend's condition. Like Logan, he had become a constant presence by Bobby's bedside. He sauntered closer towards where his friend lay, placing a hand on his arm.

Logan shook his head, not bothering to look at the other man. "You filed your report to Cyclops?" His voice had an even, placid quality which belied the tension that coiled inside his body.

"Kurt's taking care of that." Warren answered dully, drawing back from his friend's bedside and smoothing out an imaginary crease in his khaki, button-down jacket he wore over a striped, oxford shirt, an orange, cable-knit sweater, and chinos. He held up Bobby's gray travel bag. "Thought he'd might like something to wear other than that gown when he wakes up."

Logan watched him place the bag next to the IV drip. If anyone was experiencing more apprehension about the situation, it was certainly Worthington. He and Drake were part of the original five, and were quite close. The self-centered playboy had a soft spot for the younger man, whom he considered a brother. They had grown together and shared a myriad of highs and lows. The bond they shared was one that stayed strong in spite of the changes in their lives.

But there was something that was underlying Warren's concern for his friend's well-being. Though he lived a rather privileged existence, the young Worthington had his share of tragic loss. His parents passed on before he could reconcile with them. The love of his life, Betsy, died alone. Now, he was facing the possibility of losing another person dear to his heart.

Warren peered down at Bobby's expressionless countenance. "I should have been there with you guys," he remarked somberly. "If I was there, I could have helped. I could have stopped this from happening, and he wouldn't be here… Like this." He shook his head in disbelief.

"There was nothing you could've done," Logan said flatly, echoing Kurt's sentiment hours ago. "No one was prepared for that thing."

"Even so..." Warren sighed, looking dejected. "I still feel responsible. I mean, we're supposed to look out for one another. For God's sake, I'm his friend, and I let him down."

"He's not dead. Amelia and the doctors said he's stable. The wound's healed itself on the other side."

"I know, but what if that changes?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if his condition deteriorates?"

"Why are you looking for something to go wrong?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Worthington. It's like you're waiting for the worst to happen."

"I'm just being realistic. Bad fortune might strike as well."

"You know, even though you don't look like Death incarnate anymore, you're sure soundin' like it."

"How dare you?" Warren's face became a mottled shade of red, the veins from his neck protruding. "I'm just expressing concern over my friend's condition, and you have the nerve to tell me that? Listen, just get the hell out. You don't belong here. I'm not even sure why you're pretending to care."

Logan rose from his chair, frowning deeply. Two days with very little sleep and next to nothing to eat left his nerves frayed. Whatever cool he might have possessed was depleted. There was nothing that was keeping him from telling this pompous pretty boy where to stick it.

He leaned in towards Worthington, his eyes narrowing into razor-thin slits. "Now, you listen, bub," he began, anger fueling the low, deep growl in his voice. "If you think I've been here 'cause I don't care, then you—"

His sentence was interrupted when he heard a soft groan. Surprised, both men tore their eyes away from one another to gaze down at Bobby. Color was beginning to return to his face. His eyelids began to flutter before opening completely.

Groggy and disoriented by his dream, Bobby was only able to make out the blond hair and white, expansive wings of his friend. Not recognizing Warren immediately, he blinked. "Am I in heaven?" he whispered.

Warren and Logan exchanged quizzical looks. Then the older man leaned towards Bobby and said, "Drake?"

Head still fuzzy from being unconscious for two days, Bobby was slow to follow the voice that called out to him. His eyes were greeted by a lined face with thick, bushy sideburns and hair that was sculpted into two peaks on both sides of his head. Stony brows lay over green eyes flecked with gold. After a few seconds, he was able to identify the other man and groaned.

"Great. I'm in hell."

Logan grunted, not appreciating the young man's wit.

Meanwhile, Warren let out a chuckle, relief washing over him. "You had us so worried," he said, squeezing his friend's hand. For the first time in several weeks, he was smiling. "How are you feeling?"

"I've had better days," Bobby joked weakly. Then he winced, placing a hand over his chest. "Ouch, that hurt."

Logan was already walking to the door, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his black, leather jacket. "I'll get the doc," he announced. _No need to witness the waterworks between those two,_ he thought, rolling his eyes.

When he was outside of the hospital room, the laconic man stood against the wall and exhaled shakily.

Amelia had been on-call at the hospital and was the one to conduct the examination. Meanwhile, Logan sat in the waiting area with a cup of coffee and a sandwich, which were part of Warren's apology for their argument earlier. The tall, blond millionaire was on his cell phone, updating Kurt and Cain, who were meeting with social workers about the children from Low Town. Warren could hear the elation in Kurt's voice upon hearing the news. The soft-spoken German informed him that he and Cain were merely wrapping things up with the authorities and would rendezvous with them at the hospital in about twenty minutes.

Behind the closed door of Bobby's hospital room, Amelia was checking for any possible head injury. She was tracking his eye movement with her penlight, but tried to lighten things up by talking about more mundane, less mission-related things. He would probably be briefed regarding what transpired later on by the others.

"So, I heard you mistook Wolverine for the devil," she drawled, carefully watching his eyes. Her green eyes twinkled mirthfully.

Bobby grinned. "It could happen to anyone."

She snickered, scribbling down her findings. "I'm so sure," she chided. Then she placed the clipboard at the foot of the bed. "You look good so far. Now, I just need to take a gander at your chest, so if you don't mind sliding your gown a little for me."

He gasped, feigning modesty. "Dr. Vogt!" he exclaimed in mock disbelief. "I'll have you know that I am a taken man."

She gave him a wry smile. "I see that your sense of humor is also well," she observed dryly. Leaning towards him, she winked. "I won't tell, if you don't."

Bobby grinned, slipping the gown to his waist. "I feel so used."

Gingerly, Amelia peeled back the bandages and gauze that covered the wound. Her auburn brows shot up when she reached the skin underneath. Rather, there was ice where flesh should have been. "Bobby, I need for you to de-ice your chest," she told him.

The air was suddenly ripe with a thick tension. The carefree banter had dissipated, replaced with silence. The pleasant expression on his face suddenly faded.

"Bobby?"

He stiffened slightly, hunching his shoulders. "I'd rather not," he said curtly.

Amelia was perplexed. "What? Why not?"

"I just don't want to."

"You don't want to? Listen, I can't see if your wound's going to heal properly. I need to see your skin."

"I'm not going to do it."

"Bobby, please…"

"Amelia, it hurts if I try to de-ice that part of me. The cold helps numb the pain. I just rather not do it right now, OK?"

"Oh." The redhead cocked her head to the side and bit her lower lip. Realizing that she did not have the medicine or the equipment to help remedy things, she came to a decision. It was one she was hesitant to go forward with, but forced to under the circumstances.

"Well, your vitals are good, and you seem very stable," she remarked evenly. "Given that there's nothing I can offer you here at the hospital for your chest, I'm going to recommend that you wait until you return to Westchester. I'm sure Charles or Hank could attend to that."

The wrinkles that were etched in Bobby's forehead from his frown disappeared. "That sounds like a plan," he said, watching her make a note in her clipboard.

Amelia peered at him warily as he pulled the hospital gown back on. "In that case, you're going to need to return home immediately," she commented, continuing to write. "I'd feel more comfortable that way. I'm going to ask the others if they would be ready to leave today. I think they will be, but I want to confirm that."

He nodded in understanding. "Thanks."

She put the cap back on her pen and smiled. "I should be thanking you. You saved all of us that night." Then she sauntered towards the door. Before she exited, she turned to him and said, "Remember, you're going to get that wound checked out. I'll be calling the Med-Lab to make sure you've taken care of that."

"Got it."

When she left, Bobby swung his legs over the bed, grabbed the travel bag Warren brought over, and scrambled into the private restroom. He slammed the door and yanked the gown off. Staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, his gaze fell over his sternum. His jaw clenched when he noticed something was amiss; something he knew was wrong since he woke up.

An area of solid ice covered the middle of chest where skin should have been.

What was even more troubling was the fact that in spite of his best efforts, he was unable to turn that part of his body back into flesh.

The optimistic side of him was quite confident that he would be able to do so at a later point. There was no need to alert Amelia to this problem. She would have insisted on keeping him at the hospital for a longer duration. The prospect was not something he was keen on. He had been away from his Jubilee for too long. There was no way he was about to allow more time to keep them apart.

But there was a nagging voice that needled him. It forced him to wonder if he could not de-ice, then what? Was this patch going to spread? How would this affect his powers? Or even more importantly, his relationship with the one person he loved most?

His musings were cut short by a rapping at the door, which was followed by Kurt's voice. "Mein freund, Amelia has told us that ve need to get you back to Vestchester. Cain has scheduled a takeoff time at the airport, but time is limited because of an impending storm that's been spotted by the veather service."

"In other words," Cain interjected gruffly. "Get some clothes on so we can get the hell outta here."

Bobby pulled on a pair of boxers with shamrocks printed on them and a pair of faded jeans. "I'll be out in a minute," he assured them. As he began to put on his socks and shoes, he decided to try de-icing the patch once again. He returned to the mirror and focused. Unfortunately, his attempts were proving to be fruitless every time.

On the other side of the door, his teammates were growing more impatient by the second. They were scheduled to board the X-Jet in ten minutes. Logan was pacing back and forth, while Warren and Kurt tried to keep Cain from breaking the door down.

"What the hell is he doing in there?" Logan frowned. Like the others, he was eager to return to Westchester after what they had been through on this mission. He had enough of Genosha for a while. The sooner they were able to leave, the better. He slammed his fist against the door. "C'mon, Drake!"

Panicked, Bobby buttoned up his shirt. "In a second!" he hollered back.

"That's what you said five minutes ago!" Warren shouted, exasperated. A thought suddenly crossed his mind. "Bobby, if you're in there with a Playboy, I swear to God--"

"I'm not jacking off!" Bobby screamed indignantly.

Logan narrowed his eyes and growled. "Then get yer ass outta there!"

The boyishly handsome young man sighed, trying to swallow his fears upon his new discovery. He proceeded to finish dressing. There was nothing he could do at this point. Perhaps, with some more time to recover, he could turn the patch back into skin. Then life as he knew would be normal once again.

But in the back of his mind, he feared that everything had changed.


	50. Chapter 50

Not sure if anyone's still following this story but I'm back with another chapter. Sorry for the delay, but the last couple of weeks have been crazy (school, teaching, weddings, etc.)! Anyway, I hope to be a little more consistent updating. I have lots planned.

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for all her help on this chapter. You rock!

There is another version of this chapter. Let me know if you'd like to read it.

On to the fic!

**Chapter Fifty: Imitation of Life (Non-explicit)**

Cloaked in invisibility thanks to advanced Shi'ar technology, the Blackbird soared over the Atlantic Ocean in anonymity. Unlike the other X-Jets used by various teams, this craft possessed all-band communications, deep-space ready cabin, intelligence gathering equipment of Shi'ar and human design. It was no surprise that such features made strategic and reconnaissance missions relatively easier. The fact that it accommodated more people than the other jets was an added bonus.

The Blackbird had just departed from London, England where the winter had been rather dismal. The air, while cold, was just shy of being severe enough to make one's extremities go numb. Gray skies often predominated, making the sun a infrequent guest. Because of the microclimate from the heat stored in some of the buildings in the city, there was very little snowfall. The small amount that managed to cling to the ground was often sullied by dirt, turning the precipitate from pristine white to a dull gray.

Yet, the weather did little to detract from the pageantry and history-steeped feel of Britain's most hallowed city. Most of the passengers on the Blackbird had had extensive traveling experience as a result of their active status as X-Men. However, all of them had to agree that there was no other place like it in its agglomeration of skyscrapers mixed with Georgian architecture and sudden intervention of almost rural sights, in its medley of styles, and in its mixture of the green loveliness of parks and the modern gleam of neon. They marveled at how modern culture, evident in the new crops of fashionable stores and restaurants, coexisted with traditional aspects of English life, such as the bobby, double-decker buses, and teatime with toasted crumpets honeycombed with sweet butter.

Even flying high above the city, one could still see the tangle of city streets and the complexities of the medieval grid it had been organized around. Famous landmarks, such as the Tower of London, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, were easily identified from the Blackbird's high altitude. Much to the collective chagrin of the team aboard, being able to visit these popular sites had not been an option during this mission. Their time in the historic city had been limited to their hotel rooms and visiting various bars in the West End for reconnaissance.

Augmenting the sense of despondency was the fact that the mission was not one that was driven by any urgent objective, such as containing a threat or investigating odd phenomenon. Rather, the assignment focused on gathering information regarding rumors of a young politician, John Ferguson, who was popular among the city's intellectual community and who had aspirations for the famous Downing Street residence. While he exuded charisma and great political savvy, the future candidate for the Prime Minister position had previous ties with a mutant-hate group that advocated for interring the mutant population in a series of ghettos outside of the city—something he was downplaying. At the moment, the politician and his former associates did not pose an immediate threat.

Then there was the fact that the operation was scheduled during the holiday season. Most of the group had had prior plans they were forced to abandon as a result of this assignment. Scott and Jean had been planning to take Jubilee to visit Scott's grandparents in Alaska for an extended Christmas vacation. Alex, experiencing problems with his rekindled romance with Lorna, decided to accompany them. Meanwhile, Lorna had arranged to spend some time with Pietro and Wanda in an attempt to bond with them and to distract her mind from her problems with Alex. However, much to the team members' disappointment, these plans were dashed once the Professor requested that they go on this mission.

Fortunately, gathering information on Ferguson did not take too much time. Once the team was able to establish that he had no ties to any militant groups, they were able to depart. But by then, Christmas had passed and along with it, the magic of the season. The city was trapped in that quiet, uneventful lull between Christmas and New Year's.

The mood inside the Blackbird was tense and gloomy. Half of the team, Alex and Lorna, made a point not to speak to one another. Frustrated that he was called away yet again, Alex sulked in the corner of the jet and pondered just why he was needed for this mission. Lorna, still troubled by the issues that plagued her relationship with the younger Summers brother, often made scathing comments about him when he was within earshot. In response, Alex would glower but said nothing in his defense and would make an excuse to wander into another area of the craft. During all of this, Jean tried to put on a brave, supportive face for everyone and attempted to intervene between her two friends. However, it was clear from the sadness behind her emerald-green eyes that she had hopes for spending her holidays with her family instead of working.

Scott Summers' brow furrowed as he guided the craft through the wisps of clouds that floated over England. He adjusted his ruby-quartz, wraparound sunglasses. The X-Men leader found himself consumed with other thoughts that strayed from the disappointment of this holiday season.

Casting a glance at his beautiful wife, who was asleep in one of the passengers' seats behind him, he felt his chest tighten with concern. Throughout their stay in London, Jean had been experiencing painful headaches that made her wince and left her trembling. Late at night, she was haunted by nightmares. Normally, such occurrences were not all that remarkable, but what was happening was quite different. When Jean had these dreams, the bed shook violently, rousing him from deep slumber. One night, he awoke to find himself on the floor while Jean and the bed were on the other side of the hotel room.

When he first approached her about what transpired, she gently dismissed his concerns. She asserted that it was probably the stress from working multiple jobs---an active field team member, a teacher and administrator at the school, and a spokesperson for mutant rights with the Professor. However, her ability to deny anything was amiss was slowly crumbling as she was becoming more and more debilitated by her mysterious headaches. As they were boarding, she was overcome by another one and barely made her way into the Blackbird without collapsing.

As Alex and Lorna conducted a manual check of the equipment on board, Scott helped his wife settle into a passenger seat. Again, he inquired about her condition. This time, he was firm with Jean, not allowing her to brush him so easily. Finally, she acquiesced, confessing that she had never experienced such headaches or nightmares before. Her voice trembled as she told him that she felt as if she were changing.

What frightened her the most was her feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

It was then that Scott took her into his arms and held her closely. He had pressed his cheek against hers and whispered fiercely, "I'll never let anything bad happen to you."

Scott's reverie was quickly shattered when the communicator on the console in front of him began beeping. He was about to ask his co-pilot for the flight, Alex, to answer but remembered that his brother had excused himself to go to the restroom. Sighing wearily, Scott picked up the tiny, X-shaped communicator and pressed the talk button.

"This is Cyclops." The lack of sleep and his overall sense of uneasiness crept into his voice.

The polite, soft-spoken tone of Kurt Wagner responded in kind. "Hello, Scott. It is Kurt. I vanted to check in vit you."

Puzzled, Scott frowned as he flicked on the switch for the auto pilot. Immediately, alarm bells rang shrilly in his brain as he contemplated the possibility of the German bearing bad news. "What's wrong?" he inquired, trying to sound calm in spite of his racing heart.

Kurt sounded anxious as he said, "Then I have something I need to tell you."

With his frayed nerves and fatigued mind, Scott was unsure if he could handle hearing what Kurt had to say. "Can it wait until we get back? Our ETA is about two hours." He silently noted his luck when it came to the speed of the Blackbird. Normally, a flight from England to the U.S. took about six hours, but thanks to Shi'ar technology the trip was significantly reduced. This was a blessing for Scott, who loathed flying. He still had traumatic memories associated with it back when he was a child.

"No." The German was resolute regarding his position. "No, it cannot."

Scott pressed his lips together. Given how serious the normally cheery Kurt sounded, the matter had to be important. Relenting but mindful of his wife sleeping nearby, he dropped his voice to a whisper. "What is it?"

Kurt took a deep breath before speaking. It was as if he were attempting to overcome his nerves. "Someone vas hurt during our mission in Genosha."

"What? Who?" Scott felt his heart skip a beat and his stomach twist itself into knots. During his tenure, he felt as if he had experienced tragedy one too many times. It was never easy to learn that someone had been hurt or worse, made the ultimate sacrifice. While it was irrational, he often blamed himself and questioned his abilities as a capable leader. After all, he was accountable for what people were doing as well as their welfare.

The other man was silent for a moment. Then he said quietly, "Bobby."

Scott swallowed hard. Though he and Bobby were not all that close, the two of them shared a bond formed from their days as part of the original five. In a way, he felt closer to Bobby than to Alex. They had known each for much longer and had experienced many things together. Yes, the younger man's antics wore a little thin at times, and his relationship with Jubilee made Scott grind his teeth at night, but Bobby was still someone whom Scott deeply cared about.

Finally, he asked, "What happened?"

Kurt quickly explained the events that had transpired in Genosha, leading up to the encounter with Black Tom. He described Bobby's injury with some detail, his voice trembling as he recounted the ordeal. Scott felt his face drain of all color as Kurt talked about how Black Tom's plant-like extensions pierced through Bobby's body, impaling him. While it sounded like a life-threatening experience, he was soon surprised to learn that Bobby had summoned enough strength to free himself and subdue his enemy.

"Has he had any medical attention?" Scott asked, still keeping his voice low so as not to disturb his wife.

"Ve brought him to the hospital, vhere Amelia supervised his treatment. She said that his wound closed up during surgery. Since the facilities are not up to the standards at the mansion, she insisted that he see the Professor or Hank."

"How soon will that be? I mean, seeing either one."

"Right now, ve are still flying over the Atlantic. Ve vere delayed by a severe storm and could not take off until that cleared. There has also been heavy air traffic, vich has been hampering things as vell. Varren thinks ve vill reach Vestchester in a matter of hours."

"What's Bobby condition now? Will he be able to make it?"

"Other than being a little tired from the experience, he seems fine. He was able to board the plan under his own volition."

"So no serious effects?"

"Not that ve can observe. Bobby hasn't been complaining about anything, either."

"Can I speak with him?"

There was a muffled sound as Kurt attempted to check on the feasibility of this request. Within seconds, he returned to the line. "He's sleeping. Vould you like for me to vake him up?"

Scott shook his head. Given what he heard Bobby had been through, it was probably best that the young man get some rest. However, he made a mental note to check in with his teammate to ensure that he was alright.

"No, that's not necessary, Kurt," he replied, his tone revealing the weariness weighing him down. "Listen, we're set to land at the mansion soon. If anything comes up, give me a call. I'll make sure Hank and the rest of the medical staff are waiting to meet you."

Kurt exhaled deeply. "Danke. I vill make sure Bobby gets to the Med-Lab personally."

"Great. If that's all, then I'm going to get off the phone to keep this line open. Talk to you later, Kurt."

"Good-bye, Scott."

As Scott placed the communicator in its port, a voice sharply inquired, "What happened to Bobby?"

Startled, Scott turned around to see Lorna standing behind him. The beautiful Polaris was staring at him with a curious but haughty expression on her countenance. Dressed in her uniform which consisted of tight, dark-violet pants with matching thigh-high boots and a low-cut bodice in gold trim that was completed with a short, batwing-like cape, she resembled a shadowy spirit who made her ruthless ways more than apparent. It was quite a change from the fresh-faced, somewhat reserved young woman Scott had come to know as Alex's girlfriend. Perhaps the Professor and Jean's initial observations that something about her had been radically altered since her return to the mansion had been correct.

Scott made sure the craft was still operating under auto-pilot before answering her. "I'm not sure what you mean," he replied, making a point to keep his voice low. He jerked his head in Jean's direction in emphasis.

Lorna peered over at her friend, who was sleeping soundly in a passenger seat nearby. Like Scott, she was aware of the redhead's health problems, and did not want to do anything to disturb her. Grudgingly, she followed his lead, but maintained her aggressive façade.

"I heard you on the phone with someone," she hissed pointedly. "You asked about Bobby's condition, and whether or not he had gotten medical attention."

"Yes, I suppose I did," Scott said tersely, resenting the fact that she eavesdropped on his conversation. Not that he was looking to keep what he learned a secret, but her actions seemed to demonstrate a lack of respect for him as leader. Given the way Lorna behaved lately, this supposition was not too far off the mark.

She ignored the tension that crept into his tone. The older Summers brother's feelings were not a concern for her. "Is he alright? So what happened?"

Scott resisted the urge to invoke his right to keep this information as privileged, knowing full well that Lorna would never let him hear the end of it. The thought of her shrill voice being raised made his temples throb. He was too tired and had too much on his mind to get involved in any kind of altercation with her. Reluctantly, he decided to disclose what he knew, assuring himself there was no harm in letting her know what was going on.

"Bobby was on a mission in Genosha," he began, adjusting his sunglasses. "While he was doing some investigating, he was involved in a confrontation with Black Tom and was hurt."

Alarmed, Lorna swallowed hard. "But now he's okay?" she asked, almost sounding timid. While they were no longer dating, she could not help but be concerned. Bobby had been one of the few people who did not allow the memory of the wedding and the resulting fallout to taint their interactions. He was simply Bobby, sweet and funny Bobby.

"As far as Kurt knows, yes."

"Did you speak with him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Scott frowned, his brows knitting together quizzically. "He was asleep at the time. I didn't want to wake him." As he finished his response, his voice became very curt.

"Well, maybe you should call him just to make sure he's doing as well as Kurt says he is," she suggested brusquely, tossing her light-green tresses over a shoulder. "Might as well get the info straight from the source."

Scott's mouth formed a tight line. He had just about enough of Lorna. Fatigue, concern for his wife and for Bobby, and overall weariness from the mission he had just completed were combining together to increase his sense of annoyance. Though he did not want to start an argument with her, it would be coming close should this conversation continue. Taking a deep breath, Scott chose his words carefully.

"I'm not going to do that," he told her flatly. "I trust Kurt's assessment of the situation. I'm not going to undermine his authority just to satisfy your curiosity."

Her face immediately flushed red. "My curiosity?" she snapped hotly. "Am I the only one who's worried about a friend who's been seriously hurt? Or do you not care about Bobby?"

_That's it, _Scott thought, finally reaching the end of his mental tether. "Funny," he remarked coolly. "Given how you've treated the guy, the same question could be asked of you." With that, he turned around to face the console and turned off the automatic pilot setting.

Lorna scowled, dark green eyes narrowing into razor-thin slits at the back of Scott's head.

Jubilee put her dog-eared copy of _The Painted Veil _on her bedside table, frustrated. Her English professor had assigned the text as part of his winter reading list and was expecting to start a discussion on it within the next week. So, here she was, sitting on her bed with pixie stick in hand and attempting to digest the novel in front of her. Unfortunately, for Jubilee, Somerset Maugham's literary masterpiece was not going over well with her. For the past hour, she found herself reading the same passage about the heroine, Kitty Fane, and her self-indulgent regrets over her marriage to her husband because she was desperately in love with another man. The author's underlying contempt for women, as evident in the language he used to describe the main character, was beginning to grow a little hackneyed after the first fifty or so pages.

Sighing, she peered over at her alarm clock and was surprised as to how late it was. Not that she had any obligations that required her to be up early the following day. It was still winter break, which meant she was free from being a student for about another week or so. While some of the students at the mansion had returned early from their vacation, classes were not to scheduled to resume for another couple of days. Those close to her were either still on various missions or still visiting loved ones for the holidays.

The past Christmas and New Year's were somewhat difficult to endure given the celebration of family and togetherness, two aspects missing from her life at the moment. Jubilee had spent much of the time by herself or with others who were at the mansion during the holiday season. Granted, she had not been completely isolated or neglected. However, Jubilee definitely felt there was something missing this year.

While she longed to see her surrogate parental figures, Logan, Jean, and Scott, there was one person she wanted to see more.

Bobby.

The seemingly endless weeks and weeks since she had last seen or heard from him had been trying to say the least. This mission marked the longest they had been apart. With each passing day, she held high hopes that he would come back to her, that they would be together again. However, these hopes were soon dashed when days extended into weeks. Sometimes, she felt as if he would never come back.

The fact that he was not allowed to communicate with her while he was away only served to exacerbate the situation. She had no idea how he was doing, whether or not he was okay, or how close his team was to completing their mission. Her imagination ran wild with possibilities. Some of them made her stomach twist and turn with anxiety. When such thoughts entered her mind, Jubilee tried to replace them with ones that reassured her of Bobby's safety. Late at night, she often told herself that he was experienced in the field and in spite of his cavalier veneer, he was careful. At the end of the day, he was going to be fine.

He just had to be.

Before Bobby, she used to roll her eyes when she heard about women pining away for the men they loved. As someone who had never been in a relationship, it seemed so silly to have your moods correlated with the presence of that special someone. But now, here she was, engaging in the same behavior she had viewed with a sense of disdain. Lately, it seemed that she spent most of her waking moments thinking about him, losing herself in reveries that revolved around being reunited again. At times, her daydreams focused on such simple things like the twinkling quality of his gray eyes or how soft his hair felt under her fingertips.

Sighing, her sapphire gaze fell upon a framed photograph of the two of them on her bedside table. She reached over and picked it up. The picture had been taken a couple of months ago at Jean's birthday party. In the black-and-white print, Bobby was stuffing a piece of chocolate cake in her mouth as she laughed hysterically. Though what was being depicted did not exactly scream romantic moment, the picture made her miss him that much more.

As she traced Bobby's boyishly handsome features with her fingers, Jubilee was suddenly overcome with a wave of uneasiness. At first, she attributed her feelings to the continued despondency from her boyfriend's absence. However, she soon came to the realization that this was not the case. No, there was something else that occupied her mind these days. It weighed upon her conscious, forcing her to ruminate late at night and instilling feelings of confusion and uncertainty. Not only was her mind affected, but her body as well. Her heart raced wildly every time the subject came into her consciousness and she could feel a tingling sensation across her mouth that made her knees weak. Much of this anxiety surrounded one incident.

Kissing Sam Guthrie.

She placed the photograph back on her nightstand. Running her fingers through her long, silky hair, the young girl exhaled loudly. Tried as she did to ignore the growing turmoil inside her, Jubilee found her efforts coming up as rather fruitless. For some reason, a seemingly innocent gesture meant to help a friend became a source of angst and stress. Rather than treat it like some innocuous or even trivial event, there was a part of her that chose to respond to what transpired in a different manner. Her mind often replayed the moment, the images and sensations as vivid as the day it happened. Even now, she could still feel the warmth of his lips pressed against hers and the tightness of his arms wrapped around her.

The fact that her mind was repeatedly playing out the scene disturbed her deeply. Jubilee believed that the discussion she had with Sam during their night out had resolved the issue. She told him that she had never meant to have her plan go as far as it did. She told him that she did not want to put their friendship in jeopardy because of that kiss. She told him that she did not want to hurt Bobby.

Yet, there was a part of her that refused to let the situation pass on without incident.

Conflicted and reeling from what she was experiencing, Jubilee came to the conclusion that it was her guilt plaguing her. She had kissed another man who was not her boyfriend. While she was tempted to rationalize what she did as some part of a scheme, there was no denying that she had done it.

The harshness of the truth made her chest ache. Simply knowing that she had done something like this, something that would cause Bobby pain, filled her with a sense of apprehension she had never felt before. As much as she did not want to inform him of what happened for fear of hurting him, she realized that this easy solution would not allow her conscience any reprieve. No, as anxiety-provoking as coming clean with him appeared, she resolved herself to do so. In the end, she had to have faith that their relationship could endure this. She hoped that Bobby would forgive this transgression.

With her boyfriend's seemingly prolonged absence, Jubilee felt as if she were in agony. Filled with fear and a desperate need to tell Bobby what happened, she felt that the time separating them only served to prolong her misery. The nervous energy that seemed to pulsate through every fiber being made her feel as if she could jump out of her skin at any minute. But that was nothing compared to her mind constantly reliving that memory from Thanksgiving. During those moments, she was unable to steer her thoughts towards other things. It was as if…

It was as if there was a part of her that liked kissing Sam Guthrie.

Jubilee felt her body jerk in response to this assertion. _No, _she scoffed, shaking her head emphatically. _No, that's crazy. Sam is a friend. He's like an older brother. I've known him for ages. There's no way I could feel that way about him. Besides, I'm with a guy I totally care about. I'm happy with Bobby. I am. _

But then why did the kiss continue to haunt her?

Frustrated, she hopped off her bed. _Stop it, _the young girl told herself, rubbing the heel of her hand against her forehead and grimacing. _Listen, it's late, and you haven't been sleeping all that well lately. Just go to bed and you won't think about this anymore. A decent hours' sleep should clear your mind. _

Pursing her lips in disgust and shaking her head wearily, she then added, _You've got to stop talking to yourself, too. _

Jubilee pulled off her brown, V-neck sweater and jeans, and changed into a striped, pajama top that fell low at her hips. With heavy steps, she made her way to her private bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Then she crawled into her bed. As she leaned over to turn off her bedside lamp, she resigned herself to another struggle for a peaceful slumber on another lonely night.

She closed her eyes, trying to will her body to embrace sleep. Rolling over on her side, she tucked the covers underneath her chin. Though it took some time, Jubilee finally began to drift to sleep.

Unfortunately, her hopes of an undisturbed rest were dashed when she was awaken by the sounds of rattling at her window. Alarmed, she opened her eyes and peered into the darkness. Her heart began to race wildly when she discovered a strange shadow was cast along her curtains. She stifled a gasp when she saw that window was slowly being slid upwards. The hairs on her head began to stand on end as a burst of cold, late-night, winter air entered her room, which sent the curtains whipping back.

Swallowing hard, Jubilee composed herself but still continued to be wracked by her growing sense of dread. She lifted a hand from underneath the blankets, summoning a paf. There was a pinkish-yellow glow around her balled fist as she prepared for a confrontation. However, the radiant light soon dimmed as she watched the mysterious figure climb through the window and into her room. There was something familiar about this person. She knew him.

Bobby.

Her breath caught in her throat. Slipping off his black, leather trench coat and matching boots, the boyishly handsome man simply grinned before turning to close the window. Then he made quick strides towards where she was. All the while, he was looking at her in that way that was guaranteed to make her heart shudder.

Confused but ecstatic to see him, she threw back the covers as he wandered to her bedside. "Hey," she said softly, a shy smile lifting the corners of her mouth upward. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "I thought you were still away."

Bobby returned the embrace, burying his nose in her hair. Then he pulled away to gaze at her. His gray eyes twinkled in the moonlight that streamed in through her window. "Nothing could keep me away from you," he murmured, taking her hands and nesting them between his palms. "I missed being with you too much."

"So, everything is okay?" she asked, searching for reassurance from him.

He smiled. "Everything's okay as long as we're together. It's what keeps me going."

She nodded. Every word he said resonated with her, especially since their time apart and everything that happened during that time. Hearing him express it so genuinely roused such feelings of affection that seemed beyond words. All she could manage was, "Me, too."

Bobby carried her small hands to his mouth. His breath and the pattern of his lip began to send tingles up and down her spine, brushing against her fingertips, her wrists and the flesh beneath her thumbs. There was a dreamy quality to his expression as he traced her fingers with exquisite care. With one hand, he brought hers to his chest while his other hand stroked her long, silky hair with hypnotic tenderness.

Then he tilted her head back and brought his face closer to hers. Gently, his lips touched the curve of her cheeks and then caressed her mouth with a feathery-lightness that took her by surprise. As he continued his soft exploration, the rush of intensity that ran to the depths of her body nearly overwhelmed her. Meanwhile, his thumb traced slight circles in the palm of her hand.

"I love you," he murmured, climbing on the bed with her. He enveloped her in the circle of his arms. "I've loved you for so long."

She sighed when he kissed the tip of her nose. Suddenly, all the concerns that clouded her mind and mood dissipated. What mattered was that Bobby was here with her. "I love you, too…"

He dragged his mouth over hers, placing a gently questing pressure that left her unbearably excited and hungering for more. The room was spinning and she found herself tumbling deeper and deeper into the kiss. Her hands desperately sought to hold onto him in the midst of this dizzying, but exhilarating moment. Slipping them under his shirt, she could feel every inch of firm muscle and the smoothness of his skin.

Jubilee could feel her blood sizzling in her veins when she felt his nimble fingers unbutton her shirt. She moaned as he began to slip it off of her, baring her shoulders, arms, and torso to the cool, evening air. With loving, rhythmic caresses, he moved those familiar hands up and down her unclad arms, her shoulders, and back.

Bobby's breath was rapid, mingling with hers. "All those nights of wanting you…" When he kissed her again, the embrace was more heated. He lowered himself on top of her body deepening access to her mouth.

"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm here."

Urgency sang in hard, bright notes in her ears. Her skin was warm—almost feverish—as she responded to his touch. She found herself pressing her body against his and pulling his blue T-shirt over his head, seeking the sating hardness of him. Desperate to demonstrate to him how much she wanted him, she took him by surprise and flipped their bodies. Straddling him as her hands gripped his shoulders, she pressed her lips to his.

He responded in kind, his tongue deepened the kiss. Passionate hands trailed the length of her torso. She shivered, her body tingling at his touch. He shifted her slightly, pressing her body against his, just enough that she was feeling a very different, but delicious sensation. Out of breath, her teeth tugged his lower lip as they finally broke the kiss. She stared down at him, flushed and smiling.

Suddenly, Bobby rolled their entwined bodies over, so that he was now on top. She ran her fingers through his hair, drawing his head close and kissing him frantically. He smiled enigmatically at her, as if he knew the answer to some unsolvable riddle.

Her head was swimming and she felt as if she were falling endlessly. Everything about this moment felt so surreal, but she merely attributed that to their time apart. All she knew was that she needed more of him.

Just as her hands descended to his jeans, he drew back. Her sable brows knitted together in puzzlement. "What's wrong?"

He did not answer her, but simply gazed down at her with an expression that relayed such love and tenderness. Though he was just looking at her, the manner in which he was doing so heightened her anticipation. It was as if he were allowing his eyes to imprint some manifestation of his feelings upon her flesh.

"Ya have no idea how much Ah've wanted this," he whispered.

Her eyes widened when she heard a twang in his words. Bobby, being from Long Island, usually spoke with a faint New York accent, only exaggerating it when he was joking around. The way he talked just now was nothing like she heard from him before. In fact, the more she mulled over it, the more she was convinced that he sounded like someone very familiar.

Before she could give the matter another second thought, her ears picked up on the sound of a zipper being pulled down and the rustling of fabric.

"Do ya want me?" he asked, the Southern accent accentuated by the hoarseness in his voice.

Jubilee wanted to pull away from him, to ask why he was speaking the way he was at that moment. However, her body was unwilling to comply. It craved for him, unable to wait any longer. In spite of the reservations in her mind, she founded herself nodding and moaning.

As he made love to her, he was groaning into her neck and ear. She could not make out any words, but knew that he was experiencing the same waves of pleasure that were consuming her. As he propped himself above her, she could only bite her lip and toss her head against his lean, well-toned arms.

In the aftermath of what transpired between them, their limbs were entangled and they lay together for a moment. Jubilee, still shaking from what transpired, searched for his mouth with her own. Her lips were tickled when they brushed against stubble from the squareness of his jaw. When she found his lips, she planted a tender kiss and stroked his hair gently. Needing another deep intake of air, she slowly drew back. It was then that she froze, her heart stopped beating.

The man holding her in the circle of his arms after passionate lovemaking was not Bobby Drake. His hair was blond, almost straw-colored. Instead of gray eyes, this man's eyes were pale-blue. More rugged, but just as handsome features met her gaze. No, this man was not Bobby.

It was Sam Guthrie.

Frightened, Jubilee opened her mouth to scream but failed to produce any sound. He reached for her, his calloused hand caressing her cheek. She wanted to pull away from him, knowing all of this was wrong. However, her body once again betrayed her. She found herself kissing him, writhing against him sensuously and allowing his hands to roam all over.

Jubilee sat up, her body jerking against the mattress that cradled her. She peered around her, finding herself still dressed and very much alone. Her heart was racing and sweat beaded at her brow. As she reeled from the dream, she swallowed hard and stared out the window that faced the mansion. Despite possessing the knowledge that nothing had actually happened, she could not help but be shaken. Trembling, she began praying for her Bobby to return. Once he was back with her, everything would be alright. It just had to be.


	51. Chapter FiftyOne: Snowed Under

Here's the latest chapter in this ongoing saga. No alternate versions of this chapter. Thanks for leaving feedback. I like hearing what people have to say about what's going on. All I can say right now is that things are going to get interesting soon...

Finally, thanks to Jo the Phoenix for beta-ing this for me. You rock!

Enjoy!

**Chapter Fifty-One: Snowed Under**

Morning arrived in Westchester with a chill in the air that seemed even too severe for upstate New York winters. This was in spite of the local meteorologists' optimistic forecasts that the cold front that held the area in its grips was dissipating. The evidence against their cheery assessments could be seen outside. The squirrels and rabbits that often scurried about the snow-covered grounds of the mansion's property were nowhere to be seen, preferring to keep to themselves in the warmth and comfort of their homes in various trees or tucked underground. Bare trees, whose foliage had fallen away months ago, swayed in the wind. Their dry branches made crackling sounds as they bent against one another.

Yet, the sun, in all its' white brilliance, shone against the startling blue of the skies. It provided a strange contrast against the frigid temperatures that prevailed. In a way, the sun almost provided hope to those who yearned for spring-like conditions in the coming weeks. The solar body seemed to be a reassuring presence as it basked everything in its path in light, stressing that better times were to come.

One person who desperately needed to hear such a message found himself walking the grounds this early morning. His face was set in an expressionless mask as his hiking boots crunched through the hardness of the snow. Digging his calloused hands into the pockets of his brown, hooded puffer jacket, he ventured farther from the mansion. His breath was visible, resembling wisps of smoke that emanated from his nose and mouth. While the bitterly cold air might have discouraged most people from continuing a walk, the tall, lean figure remained undeterred. He maintained his steady pace in spite of the chill that touched his bones.

For Sam Guthrie, the severity of the morning air seemed to suit him better than lying in his warm bed. He had even managed to walk by the delectable aromas that wafted from Cook's kitchen, where the Englishwoman and her staff were in the midst of preparing a hearty breakfast that consisted of chicken hash, apple pancakes, eggs Benedict on savory waffles, and citrus compote with honey and golden raisins. On this day, the Southern gentleman was in the mood to embrace solitude and a change in scenery to mull over the troubles that weighed heavily on his mind.

To say that the holidays were trying for Sam was quite an understatement. Having to spend them far from his close-knit family and his beloved home in Kentucky instilled a sense of isolation in him. To his credit, he saw through his obligations in ensuring that the students and remaining staff were safe without any complaining. Granted, he understood the rationale for being asked to stay in Westchester as being part of his commitment as an X-Man. However, that did little to soothe the feelings of homesickness he experienced. There was nothing like being in the rickety, old house that was home to him and the rest of his brothers and sisters. It was impossible to replicate the décor his small town used to herald in the season, the angelic sounds from the church choir his family saw at midnight mass, or the smells from his mother's outdated kitchen as she cooked a Christmas meal that would have given Cook a run for her money. Guilty and despondent, Sam spent many phone calls to his family, promising that he would atone for his absence. Fortunately, he had sent his Jay and his sisters home with presents he purchased for the rest of the Guthries. However, his mother gently reminded him that no gift could ever compensate for his time away from them.

Compounding his gloomy mood was the unresolved and endlessly awkward situation between himself and Jubilee. Simply thinking about how things were now made his chest ache with a pain he had never known before. His entire existence now seemed steeped in his own private misery. Every waking moment was focused upon how much he cared for someone he simply could never have. Coherent thoughts often turned into fantasies, which were often whimsical and too good to be true. Any purposeful behavior was often affected due to his persistent and intrusive thoughts that distracted him to no end.

Even quiet darkness of night denied him any semblance of relief. In fact, the evenings were worse for him. Sleep eluded him, but in the rare instances where he was able to rest, it was often for brief periods of time. His dreams haunted him, vividly portraying his heart's deepest desire. In them, he was allowed to know what happiness was like, to have his wishes fulfilled in spite of the bitter reality that existed. Then in a cruel instant, his elation disappeared as soon as he awoke.

The way Sam saw things, his current predicament was much worse now than in the preceding months. There had been no kiss and no tension between himself and Jubilee. Granted, he suffered as a result of his guilt and self-loathing, but all that mattered to him was that she was happy and carefree. It was not ideal in any sense, but her ignorance of the truth acted as a protective barrier for both of them. Jubilee being oblivious to him shielded Sam from outright rejection. He could still pine and yearn without hearing from her directly that she could never return his feelings.

But things were different now. Their outing on Christmas was proof positive of that. The aftermath of their brief, but passionate kiss on Thanksgiving produced a thick, heavy tension that hung in the air. Throughout the evening, he felt torn between wanting to be with her and his fear of being rebuffed. Fortunately, he was able to maintain a façade of restraint, even lying to Jubilee about the conflict that drove him to the edge of sanity. He told her that he was unaffected, that the kiss they shared did not change how he felt about her. As he did so, he prayed that she would not follow his lead. There was a part of him that wanted her to experience something from what transpired between them.

Much to his dismay, Jubilee dismissed the matter as a part of her scheme to rescue him from Craig's taunting. She told him that she did not mean for things to go as far as they did. Her concern was for Sam and how uncomfortable she thought the moment was for him, and for Bobby. Worst of all, she used the word 'friendship' to describe what she believed their relationship was. The term was like a final nail in the coffin for a dream Sam had to bury.

After that night, the Southern gentleman resigned himself to his loneliness and the knowledge that the object of his unrequited affections was steadfast in her devotion to her boyfriend. Though she did not say so in those words exactly, the message was clear. There was no chance of any kind of future for them.

The days that followed that devastating night were like a living hell for him. His mind replayed that kiss over and over again. Tried as he did to distract himself, his efforts failed each time. All he could think about was how soft her mouth felt against his, how sweet she tasted, and how right she felt in his arms. Even now, he could still feel his heart racing wildly from the intensity of the experience. It seemed his life was centered around inflicting great amounts of psychological pain upon himself.

Dismayed and heartbroken, Sam went through the rest of the holidays, bitterly observing the happiness of those around them. He felt a looming void in his soul as he watched others celebrate togetherness and the notion of holiday miracles. Why couldn't he be privy to such euphoria? When was it going to be his turn?

The Southern gentleman also noticed that Jubilee was maintaining her distance. Other than attending the requisite gatherings at the mansion, such as Christmas brunch and a small New Year's Eve party Dani had organized, the young girl had been keeping to herself at the Summers' house. He had overheard making excuses to Tabitha and Amara about how she promised Scott and Jean to keep the homestead in order upon their return. Her assertion was undermined by the wan tone in her voice, as if there was something else that kept her away.

This development left Sam wondering why Jubilee decided to isolate herself, leading to more sleepless nights of ruminations. His mind came up with possible motives for this, including ones that simply filled him with despair. However, underneath all of these scattered and anxiety-ridden suppositions, there was a truth that Sam could not deny. As miserable as he was seeing Jubilee each day, knowing that she could never be his, he was even more despondent not seeing her. The same beautiful face that broke his heart was the same one that made him feel like life was worth living.

_You're a fool,_ he told himself, grimacing as a brisk wind slapped his cheeks. _You want someone you can't ever have, but you can't let it go, can you? _

Sam paused in his steps, peering around at the bare trees that surrounded him and the snow-covered hedge maze nearby. When he passed by the living room on his way outside, he noticed that the kindling stored near the generous fireplace was running low. In an attempt to engage in some constructive behavior, he decided to replenish the supply. He knew that Logan kept an axe and a wheelbarrow in the small, log shack once considered home to the loner, but now acted as a storage shed of sorts. Given that he was not all that far from the shack, Sam pressed on with determined steps.

As someone who lived in a house without central air and heating, the Southern gentleman considered himself an expert in building toasty fires for those cold winter nights. Granted, there were those around him who could easily conjure up flames with a snap of their fingers. But for Sam, there was nothing like assembling a proper fire. He liked weaving finger- to wrist-thick sticks and branches on top of the tinder. His intimate knowledge of what kinds of timber burned best was limitless. He was aware of the desired hardness of the wood, the moisture present, and what species were conducive to pleasant fragrances. Logs from cherry, pear, and pecan trees were his personal favorites.

Memories of his childhood overcame him as he remembered his father teaching him how to crumple sheets of newspaper into balls the size of grapefruits to place them on the hearth. His father's deep but gentle voice reverberated his head as he recalled how the elder Guthrie demonstrated how to lay several small pieces of wooden tinder and kindling, in a crisscross pattern on top of the newspaper. There was something magical about how his father could create a natural bellow, coaxing warm air to rise up the chimney and into the room while cool air was sucked up into the spaces between the logs, fanning the flames.

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky found himself venturing near the shack when he heard a familiar voice call out to him greeting. Startled, he snapped his head in the direction of the voice. His pale blue eyes widened upon discovering who it was.

Jubilee was standing a foot away from where he was. Dressed in a yellow puffer jacket over stonewashed jeans, a pink scarf, and a pair of brown boots, she resembled some spring-like nymph wandering the vast whiteness of the snow-covered property. The early morning sunlight shone upon her head, creating a halo of black and midnight-blue. She looked angelic, her brilliant sapphire eyes thoughtful.

Sam was rendered silent, unable to grasp anything coherent to say. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Hey, sweetie. What brings ya out here so early?"

Her face turned pink as she struggled to look at him. She tucked a lock of hair behind a delicate ear with a gloved hand nervously. After the vivid dream she had the night before, she found it difficult to sleep. As a result, she spent most of the night tossing and turning. She was even awake when Scott and Jean arrived home from their mission in England. Needless to say, she felt drained.

Now, as she stood across from Sam Guthrie, embarrassment and mortification soon took hold of her. Staring into his earnest, handsome face, she was quickly reminded of the erotic dream she had about him. As much as she wanted to concentrate on the present, her mind betrayed her. All she could see at this moment were images of Sam in her bed, making love to her. Much to her horror, she saw herself willingly return his touch. It was as if she had forgotten about Bobby completely. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, and she could her stomach turning inside out as the pictures reeled quickly in her head.

_Stop it,_ she screamed inwardly. _It was just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. You've been under some stress, that's all. Just keep it together. No need to lose yourself, OK? Nothing actually happened._

But this did nothing for the part of her that felt the dream was too real.

With her nerves frayed and her discomfort riding at an all-time high, Jubilee struggled to maintain some semblance of calm. She quickly glanced at Sam before focusing her attention on a nearby tree. "Um, Scott and Jean got home this morning," she said, trying not to stammer her words. "Since we don't have anything edible in the house, I thought I'd head over to see if Cook had some food I could bring back for them." While her explanation was hard to convey, it was the truth.

He nodded, observing a nervous energy about her. Though he was tempted to inquire as to what was behind it, he restrained himself from doing so. If she was trying to avoid him by isolating herself these past few days, then it would be highly unlikely that she would be honest. Moreover, given how anxious and restless she appeared, it seemed that he was the last person she wanted to talk to. It was this last supposition that made his chest ache with a familiar pain.

In an attempt to break the agonizing silence that suddenly drifted upon them, both Sam and Jubilee tried to keep the conversation going. The trouble was, the two of them decided to initiate simultaneously. Instead of the normality they hoped for, the end result was awkwardness.

"So…" he began as she asked, "What are you doing out here?"

Biting her lower lip, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. It was as if she were trying to keep her heart from exploding. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Sam shook his head sheepishly. He forced a chuckle to lighten the tension, but it faded fast in his throat. There was nothing more he wanted than to propel himself into the sky and away from this mess. What was transpiring here was agonizing. "No, Ah…"

"You were going to say something?"

"It ain't important."

"It sounded like it was..."

"It wasn't. So, what were ya askin'?"

"Uh, I was just… I was just wondering what you were doing out here? It's not exactly the nicest day to take a walk."

The Southern gentleman shook his head. "No, it's not," he agreed, slowly losing himself in the hypnotic sapphire depths of her eyes. As much as he did not want to, he turned away. It took every ounce of strength he had, but somehow he managed it.

He continued talking, careful not to look at her directly. "Ah was just gettin' some wood ta build a fire," he went on, casting his gaze across the snow-covered horizon. "It's kinda chilly in there."

"Oh." As self-conscious as Jubilee was feeling around Sam at this moment, she could not help but notice that he was shivering. Her urge to flee this situation was being tempered by her concern. She stepped towards him, her forehead wrinkled by a worried frown. "Are you okay?"

Sam tried to will his chin and lower lip to be still. However, his body failed to comply with his wishes. Not wanting to cause her any further uneasiness, he quickly dismissed her question. "Ah'm fine, hon," he said quickly, shaking his head.

She raised a sable brow at him skeptically. His denials were being undermined by his continued trembling as well as by the blue hue his mouth was suddenly taking on. "Sam, you're freezing," she declared, incredulous.

He remained steadfast in his refusal to cause her any worry. Still shaking from the cold that seared into his bones, he insisted, "Ah'm OK. Don't worry about me. Ya don't have ta." He punctuated his words by moving away from her.

There was something about his voice that made her think twice about what he was saying. Her reservations about being around him in the aftermath of her dream disappeared when she saw a shadow fall across his face. He looked weary and so downtrodden. It was so unlike the laid-back Sam Guthrie she had come to know. This Sam seemed so different, so forlorn.

Without thinking, Jubilee walked towards him. She stood on her tiptoes and stared into his wounded, pale-blue eyes. Her hands went to the scarf around her neck and slipped it off. Then she began to wrap it around his. Startled, Sam tried to protest but found his words were failing him. He placed his hands over hers in an attempt to stop her. Much to his surprise, she pushed them away.

"Let me do this," Jubilee whispered, her mouth so close to his. All of a sudden, her knees became weak. Somehow, she managed to remain steady on her own two feet. The warmth bathed her cheeks was now burning with an intensity she had not known before. Immediately, the trees and snow around them became a blur.

Meanwhile, Sam found himself experiencing changes in light of what was happening. He felt like he was on the edge of sanity. His head was spinning and his breathing was becoming rapid. Her breath was hot against his cheek. The perfume that was so uniquely her own—bubblegum and cinnamon—tickled his nose.

At this moment, a myriad of thoughts coursed through his brain. Having Jubilee close like this evoked feelings he imagined an addict would have. She was like a drug anyone would have to be insane to experiment with. The rational part of his mind, which screamed at him to pull away from her, was competing with the pain of wanting more of her. He knew that what he deeply desired could never be. He knew that she was with someone else, a man who was all the good things he felt he could not be. He knew that she was unable to reciprocate his feelings.

But those considerations were far from his mind now. The only thing on his mind was taking her into his arms and kissing her. Nothing else mattered. He needed her.

Slowly, Sam bent his head, his face descending towards hers. Her crystalline eyes were wide as he ventured nearer. However, she did not draw back or shatter the moment to ask what he was doing. Jubilee simply stood there, staring up at him with an unreadable expression across her lovely face.

Suddenly, there was a loud, thunderous sound that emanated from the skies above. Both of them peered up to see the sleek, black form of one of the X-Jets soaring over them. The craft was making its descent as it flew over the mansion and towards the hangars on the other side of the property.

Jubilee lowered her gaze to look at Sam once again. "Bobby," she whispered, lower lip trembling. With that, she turned away from the Southern gentleman and raced off into the woods that led to the runway.

"Home sweet home," Warren announced, lowering the landing gear in preparation for the final descent on the runway. The tall, blond Adonis guided the X-Jet toward the awaiting hangar, where the Blackbird and other aerial crafts were parked. His dalliances and experience with all things aviation aided him in ensure a smooth landing. It was a pleasant end to a mission that was filled with chaos and instability.

While his co-pilot for the trip, Logan, was checking on the gauges and the other instruments on the panel to disengage, Warren sneaked a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, Cain was stretching his legs and yawning. His trademark helmet, now fashioned by black armor of some unknown metal, was in the seat next to him. The former villain seemed eager to leave the jet and return to the mansion. His brown eyes anxiously peered out the window in order to discern where they were.

Sitting next to Cain's helmet was Kurt. The demonic-faced German was clasping dark-brown rosary beads. His lips moved silently as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against his hands. Eyes closed, the usually cheery and carefree Kurt appeared serious as he engaged in contemplative prayer. There was no doubt that he was still reeling from the horrific encounter with Black Tom, as well as the discovery of the sociopath's involvement with the slum children. To acknowledge that such evil walked the earth today was too much for him to fathom sometimes. In spite of this, Kurt refused to dwell on the fact that such darkness existed. Instead, he viewed it as a sign that there was still work to do, and progress to make.

A possible impetus for Kurt's immersion in prayer was sitting one seat over. Bobby's boyishly handsome face was subdued as he listened to his iPod. Since leaving the hospital in Genosha, the normally jovial Bobby was quite withdrawn. There were no smiles, no laughs, and no wisecracks or pranks. This young man was quiet, preferring to keep to himself in spite of his friends' efforts to engage him in conversation during the flight. Even the laconic Logan was baffled by the uncharacteristic behavior.

Initially, Warren attributed his friend's mood to a combination of factors. The fact that Bobby had sustained an injury that was potentially life-threatening could have affected his psyche. Perhaps, he was merely reflecting upon his mortality, which was a frightening thing for some people. Death was not exactly a bright subject to ponder.

Then there was the timing of this mission. Much as Bobby bemoaned spending time with his family, he clearly missed them, especially during this time of year. The holidays, no matter one's religious inclinations, was about togetherness. Being forced to forego tight-knit family gatherings to go on what proved to be a dangerous mission could have taken a toll on Bobby.

Finally, the duration of his time away could have been a factor in Bobby's sudden despondent presentation. While he never explicitly said anything about the matter, Bobby certainly missed being with Jubilee. In fact, this mission was probably the longest the couple had spent apart. To his credit, Bobby never complained or whined about how long the assignment seemed to be taking. Yet, there was something about the way he sometimes wistfully stared off into space that indicated his thoughts were on Westchester and who waited for him there.

Yet, given all this evidence, Warren found himself at a loss. In light of their return to the mansion, Bobby should have been ecstatic. However, this was not the case. His friend remained reserved, not even breaking into a smile as the X-Jet made its descent. He appeared as if something was weighing heavily on his mind, forcing him to draw inward.

Confused, Warren was quickly reminded of a strange incident that occurred prior to arriving. Kurt had been in communications with Scott about what happened. Scott had explicitly suggested that Bobby checked out by Hank, who would be waiting upon their arrival. When Bobby learned of this, his reaction was unusual. Rather than viewing this as a routine check-up, he became defensive and was intent on not going. He was vociferous in his insistence that all was well and that such a check-up was not warranted. It took several pleas on Kurt's part to force Bobby into reconsidering.

While Warren wanted to confront his friend about this, he was compelled to focus his attention on other matters. He and Kurt were expected to submit a full report to Scott and the Professor following their arrival. Returning his gaze towards the runway in front of him, the blond playboy only hoped that Bobby's brooding would subside.

For Bobby, the trip had been a whirlwind. He felt like he was an observer to the frenzied efforts to leave Genosha. It was as if he were trapped in some strange daze, which made things appear surreal and hazy. While the others organized themselves for the return to Westchester, he resigned himself to sitting back. Not that he was mentally ready to be of any assistance. He had other things on his mind.

Following his discharge from the Genoshan hospital, Bobby was engaged in a secret struggle with his body. He purposely isolated himself from his teammates in order to concentrate on the task at hand. From previous experience, he learned that though he was considered a rather powerful mutant, his control over his powers was still developing. It was not too farfetched that this was the case presently. Perhaps, all he needed to do was simply concentrate and clear his mind of his fears or anything else that might have held him back.

Much to his dismay and sheer terror, he discovered that this mindset did not apply to his current situation. Tried as he did to focus on deicing that patch of skin on his chest, his efforts turned up fruitless each time. He remembered squeezing his eyes shut tightly and willing the ice to give way to his normal flesh. It was similar to making a heartfelt wish as a child, like wanting a new bike or hoping that it would snow on a day of a history exam. There was that intense desire for something—anything to happen.

Unfortunately, nothing did.

His hand brushed over where the ice remained. The cold sensation seemed to represent a reminder of his failure. He had let himself down. After all this time believing that he had mastered his abilities, he was unable to do something as simple as reverting back to flesh and blood. It was as if he had made a half-hearted attempt at this, either. He had honestly tried and put in the best effort he could. To feel discouraged was only natural.

But he also felt as if he had failed someone else. This person had become his whole world now. He was going to be damned if he let her down. She was his reason for living and breathing. She was his home.

Jubilee.

Bobby supposed that much of his frustration was born out of his belief that he had let her down. There were promises made to her, assurances that he would be safe. It had been so long since he had seen Jubilee he was unsure as to whether or not these declarations had been made in dream or in reality. Lately, the two seemed enmeshed. Nonetheless, he was consumed by a sense of impotence. He had failed her.

_"I'd never let anything happen to me, to us." _

Equal to his despondency was his level of panic. It was almost paralyzing. The repercussions of his injury filled him with dread. When it became obvious that the translucent cold across his chest was not going to disappear, Bobby began to ruminate. He wondered if this was permanent, or if this was a sign of things to come. Would he soon transform into ice completely without any chance of reverting back to flesh and blood? How would he able to live his life?

Obviously, his interactions with the world would be changed. Once the Professor and Scott were informed of what happened to him, they would undoubtedly treat him differently. Perhaps, they would perceive him as being a liability given the recent instability in his powers. As a result of this, they might demote him or worse, place him on inactive status. The very thought of this upset Bobby deeply. He had worked so hard to progress from being the immature guy to a respected, capable team member. With the development of this secondary mutation, he stood to lose the status he had struggled to achieve.

Equally disconcerting was the potential consequence on his personal life. To Bobby, this patch of ice was like a barrier between him and other people. Any form of physical contact would be uncomfortable, and should this mutation develop into one that would encase his entire body in ice, then the likelihood of getting close to anyone would be impossible. Most people's first instincts would be to immediately draw back. He would be rendered untouchable.

Untouchable. The word made Bobby shudder. His good friend, Rogue, had lived most of her life unable to come into close contact with another person. In spite of her tough façade, he knew that the experience deeply affected her. There was always a distance she placed between herself and other people, even her friends. She was the one whose skin could kill. It was a heavy feeling of responsibility for the Southern Belle, one that she often said she could do without. Several years ago, they had taken a road trip together to his parents' home in Long Island. On their first night there, they shared a conversation that resonated with him now. She had told him that no matter how many friends she had and no matter how much Gambit cared for her, she said that she still felt so very alone.

Bobby wondered if the same fate awaited him. Now that his relationship with Jubilee was physical, he was aware that this aspect might be affected by what was happening to him. The current dynamics between them would be changed. To feel the warmth of her body and the softness of her skin were things he had yearned to do while he was away. With his body betraying him, he feared that none of those things would be possible. Even something as simple as holding her would be out of consideration.

He muffled a cry of frustration that wanted to escape his throat as he stepped off the X-Jet. Wordlessly, he followed Kurt to one of the cable cars inside the hangar, which would take them directly to the Med-Lab. Listening half-heartedly to his friend's attempts at conversation, he found himself on edge. As apprehensive as he was about the check-up, Bobby still hoped that Hank would have some answers.

Jubilee was out of breath when she finally reached the runway. Her lungs felt as if they might burst as she raced over to the X-Jet and the exiting crew. However, her physical discomfort was a small price to pay for finally seeing Bobby. Excitement and anticipation coursed through her veins. After weeks of being separated, she was going to feel whole once more.

Disappointment soon fell upon her when she saw no sign of her boyfriend anywhere near the craft or in the vicinity of the hangar. The only person there was her Wolvie. The wiry loner had his duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he was about to board a cable car. She darted over to where he was, immediately wrapping her arms around him.

Logan grunted slightly as he was enveloped in a Jubilee hug. Surprised but in a pleasant way, he rested his nose in her fragrant hair. The exuberance in her welcome took him back several years ago when she was so young, and he was the only man in her life that mattered. As he returned the embrace, the loner was amazed as to how much he truly missed her.

After several moments, he pulled away and smiled. "Miss me, kid?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "No, not really." But there was something in her old-soul blue eyes that gave her away. Then she asked, "Were you successful?"

He hesitated, not wanting to talk about the nightmarish events that transpired in Genosha. In all his years, he thought he had witnessed true evil, but nothing compared to what he had encountered. As he stared into Jubilee's angelic face, he knew he wanted to protect her from that knowledge. There was no reason for her to know that such darkness existed. He wanted her to hold onto her innocence for a little while longer.

"Yeah," he finally replied, his gravelly voice sounding weary. "We got the job done."

She looked relieved, but then a worried creased marred her smooth forehead. "Where's everyone?" she inquired anxiously.

"Warren went directly to the War Room to file his report. Juggernaut takes up an entire car, so the big guy rode up to the mansion by himself."

"And what about Bobby?"

Logan inhaled sharply. He clenched his teeth, cursing his fortune. _Why me?_ he wondered, wishing he had tagged along with Worthington. An unfamiliar sense of apprehension seized him at that moment. While he could face down the likes of Magneto or Black Tom, there was something daunting about telling the kid about what happened to Drake. Granted, the guy was fine, but there was a part of Logan that held himself responsible for what happened. He should have looked out for him…

"Wolvie?" Jubilee waved a hand in front of her mentor's face. There was something about the deeply pensive expression he wore that disturbed her. It was as if he were contemplating something serious. For a moment, she concluded the worst and felt her heart skip a beat. "Did something bad happen?"

He winced, the sound of fear coloring her words and twisting his stomach into knots. Usually known for being a straight-shooter as far as the truth was concerned, he was finding it difficult to simply tell her what happened. He did not want her to become upset, but at the same time, he did not want to lie to her. It was a perplexing situation, one that made the loner feel increasingly uncomfortable. This sort of thing was not exactly up his alley. Inwardly, he wished for Storm's diplomacy and tact.

Logan exhaled loudly, his shoulders sinking. "No, not what you think."

"Then where is he? Why isn't he here?" she demanded.

"Listen, kid… Why don't you come with me?" He draped an arm around her slim shoulders and attempted to guide her inside the cable car. Perhaps making the trip to the Med-Lab might make explaining things easier, he reasoned.

"Not until you tell me where he is. Please, Wolvie. What happened?" Her eyes, those brilliant sapphire depths, were now shining with tears. In her young life, she had come to know what it was like to lose someone close to her. The way Logan was acting seemed indicative that he was about to bear similar news about Bobby. To have him dance around the subject was torture and much worse than revealing the truth.

Alarmed, Logan shook his head. Exasperated with himself and how he was handling things thus far, he relented. "Kid, Drake's fine."

"Really?"

"Really. He just went in for a check-up at the Med-Lab. We can go there right now."

"Then let's go."

When Hank McCoy received the call from Scott to report to the Med-Lab to conduct a check-up this morning, the good-natured doctor knew that the matter was rather important. While Scott was rather vague regarding the details, he did identify the patient involved. It was then that Hank took the case seriously.

Without delay, he rushed out of bed, showered, and dressed before taking an elevator directly to Sub-Basement Level One. His blue fur was still damp as he jogged towards the extensive medical facilities. Pulling on his white lab coat, he made his way to the steel-reinforced, double doors of the main examination room. He was pleased to see that the lights were on, indicating that Annie was already inside. After getting off the phone with Scott, Hank had paged the nurse to request her assistance with the check-up.

Dressed in her crisp, starched white nurse's uniform, she greeted him politely as she prepared a gurney and a crash cart. The young nurse appeared fatigued as evident by the dark circles under her eyes. Yet, she remained professional and courteous, helping Hank organize a chart for Bobby. Like Hank, she, too, was concerned about the young man's status. He had been the first person who befriended after she arrived at the mansion. When she was pining away for Alex, Bobby was the one who comforted her and offered her a shoulder to cry on for a while. Though they were no longer involved, she still considered Bobby one of the few mutants she felt completely comfortable around.

The two waited in anticipation of Bobby's arrival. Both felt a deep sense of apprehension as they did so. Neither one knew what condition their friend was in. They simply hoped for the best.

Annie was about to propose making a pot of coffee when the doors abruptly swung open. Bobby strolled inside, wearing his purple-tinted sunglasses even though he was inside. Though he appeared anxious, he seemed quite fine. His strides were strong and purposeful as he walked towards Hank and the gurney. Whatever injury he might have sustained, it seemed as if he was no worse for wear.

"Hey, Hank," he drawled in greeting. Then he turned towards Annie and grinned at her. "Morning, Annie."

"Good morning, Bobby," she replied.

Relieved, Hank smiled at his friend. "It's good to see you," he said in his deep, rumbling but kind voice. From a cursory examination, Bobby seemed to be quite well. He was walking under his own volition and did not appear to be experiencing any significant pain. In fact, Hank was growing puzzled as to what exactly what brought Bobby here in the first place.

Before he could make his inquiries, Annie asked, "Where's Kurt? I thought he was coming with you."

Bobby shrugged. "He's outside. I figure I don't need a chaperone for something like this." Then he slipped off his sunglasses and placed them in the pocket of his black leather trench coat. "So since this only a simple check-up, I don't see why you have to be here, Annie. Hank's done a million of these. Why don't you go back upstairs and get some rest?"

She narrowed her aquamarine eyes. _He's trying to get rid of me,_ she thought, crossing her arms. The considerate front was rather flimsy given how restless he seemed to be. It was as if he wanted her gone as soon as possible.

"Actually," Hank interjected, placing a stethoscope around his neck. "I'd like Annie to be here. I've come to rely on her for her help during examinations."

Bobby scowled, gray eyes suddenly steely. "Why? Last time I checked, you were pretty capable of handling these kinds of things on your own—without a nurse."

Hank's blue eyes widened upon hearing this uncharacteristic retort. He blinked and said, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Bobby snapped, hunching his shoulders slightly. "I'm not here to give some freaky show."

"What?" Annie was incredulous. She exchanged a disbelieving glance with Hank, who looked equally perturbed.

Bobby went on with his defensive tirade. He glared at Annie. "Anyway, why do we need her here, Hank?"

"Enough!" Hank barked, the sound echoing through the walls of the examination room. He inhaled sharply and fixed his stare on Bobby. His tone was gentle but firm as he proceeded to lay down the law. "I know it's been a long trip for you, but that gives you no right to take it out on us. Now, we're here to provide you with some medical care—care that both Kurt and Scott feel you need. If you have a problem with how the care is going to be administered, then I suggest you take it up with the Professor. Otherwise, I advise that you start getting undressed so we can get this done. Are we clear?"

Bobby swallowed hard. It was rare for Hank to scold, but when he did, it was hard not to feel badly. He felt like he was eight years old again, being chastised by his mother for pilfering from the cookie jar. Frightened as he was to disclose his secret, he realized that he had to do so. It was the only way to obtain the help he desperately needed.

"Fine," he muttered, his fingers nervously fumbling with the buttons to his Hawaiian shirt. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. For a moment, he thought he would pass out.

Annie watched him struggle with his clothing for a few minutes. "You undress slower than my kid," she observed dryly. "You want me to help?"

"No!" Bobby exclaimed. Then he lowered his voice, looking rather sheepish. "No… I can do it."

He finally unbuttoned his shirt, but clasped it closed over his chest. Clearing his throat nervously, he knew this was the moment of truth. Still, he needed to determine something before making his secret known. "Listen, you guys, I need to ask you something."

Hank nodded warily. He was growing more and more concerned in the face of his friend's strangely evasive and nervous behavior. Perhaps his first assessment of Bobby's injuries as being minor was erroneous. "Of course. What is it?"

Bobby pressed his lips together, boyish face fixed in an uneasy expression. He cast a sideways glance at Annie. His mouth was dry as cotton and he could feel his heart racing wildly. He could not recall the last time he felt so seized by terror. Somehow, he managed to press on.

"Annie," he began, maintaining an even tone in spite of the panic that made every fiber of his being tremble. "I know that you're not crazy about mutants in general, so I… I guess I need to know that I can trust you. I mean, I've known Hank for years and he's like a brother to me. But you… I need to know."

The nurse stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. She had almost forgotten that Bobby had this serious side to him. Like others around the mansion, she often thought of him as the carefree prankster of the mansion. The young man standing in front of her was so vulnerable and so earnest. It was so strange to see him in such a state.

Finally, she spoke up. "I…I'm nervous about mutants," she admitted quietly. "But I only dislike I _certain _/I ones." Then she stared into his face and added solemnly, "And I would never jeopardize my job if you needed something kept private."

Bobby took a deep breath. As blunt as her response was, it was what he needed to hear. He mulled over the situation once again, teetering on the edge of reneging his consent to be examined. However, he knew that things had gone too far to turn back. The concerned expression on his best friend's face as well as that on Annie's compelled him to reconsider.

Hesitantly, he began to open his shirt. "I need _this _kept private."

Both Hank and Annie tried not to gape when they first saw what Bobby had tried to avoid showing them. As a human, Annie was still unaccustomed the peculiarities of mutant physiology, which accounted for her surprise. It took all her restraint to maintain a neutral face.

However, Hank found himself at a loss. His blue eyes carefully studied the ice that covered Bobby's chest. While he was aware of his friend's ability to transform his entire body into organic ice, the thoughtful doctor was shocked to see that there was something different about what he saw. This ice was transparent, covering a pretty substantial area. It started from Bobby's sternum, stretched across his pectoral muscles and midsection, stopping just above his belly button. Through the frozen expanse, Bobby's heart, lungs, ribcage, diaphragm, and intestines were visible.

The first words that immediately exited Hank's mouth were, "Change back, Bobby."

Bobby stared at him incredulously. He wanted to scream at the blue, cat-like man in front of him. Or better yet, flip over the crash cart next to him. But when he saw the kindness in his friend's feline face, he resisted the urge. The boyishly handsome young man slowed his breathing before responding.

Finally, he said in a quiet voice, "I can't."

Hank gave him a quizzical look, his blue, furry brows knitting together. "What do you mean 'you can't'?" he demanded.

His friend scowled, irritated. "I mean, I can't."

Still confused, Hank continued to pursue the issue. Surely, he was joking. However, from the anguished look on his friend's face, there was no humor here. Perhaps it was an issue of confidence. It had been a factor before. In a sympathetic voice, he said, "Bobby, of course you can. You've done it countless times."

"Hank, I can't!" Bobby cried, closing his shirt and storming away from the gurney he had been leaning against. Nearly hyperventilating, he paused in front of a steel cabinet of medical supplies. He wasn't sure if it was the jet-lag from the trip back or the sense of powerlessness that was gripping him, but he was feeling drained. He needed a reprieve. He needed things to be normal again.

His shoulders sank as he resigned himself to what he feared was true. Staring at the sterile lines of the cabinet, he shook his head in dismay. "I can't change back," he said, his voice cracking. "I think it's a secondary mutation from something Black Tom did. The wound's gotten bigger. Bottom line is, I'm actually becoming ice and I can't go back to flesh and blood."

Annie was about to approach Bobby, but was stopped by Hank. The tall, bulky doctor made his way to his friend's side. He clamped a large hand on Bobby's shoulder and sighed.

"Bobby," he began, unsure as to how to proceed next. It was an odd feeling. Hank was used to having all the answers. Now, he found himself in an unfamiliar terrain without a clue as to what to do or say.

The younger man raked a hand through his sandy hair, his face pale. He desperately yearned for less complicated days—before the incident and before his whole world would be turned upside down. Much as he did not want to break down in front of Hank and Annie, he felt he was close to the edge. Shuddering, he stifled a sob.

"I need help, Hank," he whispered. "Can you do something?"

Hank stared at him with wide eyes. He had never heard Bobby sound so distressed. As he observed the frightened look on his friend's face, he was quickly reminded of their early years at the mansion. All of a sudden, Bobby was the teenager prankster again, the youngest member of the original five who needed to be protected. Immediately, Hank wanted to have the power to do something, to ease his friend's sense of apprehension, and to solve this problem. Unfortunately, he felt as lost as Bobby did.

Just as he was about to reassure his friend that he would try his best, Bobby's cell phone rang. The ring tone was quintessential Bobby, which was the "A-Team" theme song. With the intensity of the moment shattered, he turned away from Hank to answer the call.

"Hello?"

There was a muffled sound, similar to someone crying. Simply hearing it made Bobby's stomach inside out, deepening his sense of trepidation and dread. After a brief pause, his Maddy's distinctive throaty voice spoke up. "Bobby, sweetheart… It's Mom."

"Mom?" _As if I don't have enough on my plate right now… _Bobby tried to compose himself in order to put on an air of normality. There was no sense in worrying his mother who was so far away. He took a deep breath. "Um, hi. How are you?"

His mother exhaled shakily. "Oh, Bobby…" She sounded as if she were choking back a sob, hesitating for a moment before speaking again. "Your father's had a stroke."

Immediately, Bobby felt as if he had suffered a blow to the chest. He nearly doubled over from the sensation. "What? Is he OK? When did this happen?"

Maddy sniffed. "Last night," she answered softly. "He was in his study and when I went in to take him up some tea, he was complaining of headaches and he was mumbling strangely. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he...he…"

It took her a moment to collect herself so that she could continue speaking. She tried to sound strong, but her grief and fear betrayed her. "We're at the hospital right now. They've done a CT scan and they found some bleeding in his brain." She took a shaky breath before going on. "He's in surgery right now… Bobby, I… Could you come? I just can't bear this alone."

Jubilee and Logan stepped out of the cable car when they reached the Sub-Basement Level One. The ride over had been a quiet, tense one. While Logan insisted that Drake was fine, Jubilee had her doubts. However, she could tell that there was nothing duplicitous in his actions or words to indicate otherwise. She was lapsed into silence, forced to mull over the possibilities and endure another period of waiting before seeing Bobby.

Meanwhile, Logan was just as eager for the two to be reunited. He hated to see the kid so out of sorts. It was unnerving, reminding him of past hurt she had experienced when she was younger. Observing her in this state roused feelings of helplessness in the loner. They were uncomfortable and very foreign to a man who was accustomed to solving problems immediately.

The sounds of their footfalls echoed throughout the hallway leading to the medical facilities. Jubilee quickened her pace, her slim legs increasing their strides. It was as if she could not arrive soon enough. She was consumed in her own world that she did not notice Logan had stopped outside of the men's locker room to talk to Kurt. Her mind was already preoccupied as it was.

The young girl found herself embroiled in a complex set of emotions as she continued towards the Med-Lab on her own. Even though she desperately wanted to see Bobby, there was something holding her back. At first, she was unable to place her finger on it. However, as she neared her destination, she became aware of why.

Something almost happened in the woods.

Jubilee inhaled sharply. It had been a while since she left Sam outside of the forest that led to Logan's old cabin. Yet, the tingling in her body seemed to indicate that a part of her was still there. Her heart was still pounding and her cheeks continued to burn with a blush not from her quick movements. Even now, she could still see Sam's sweet, earnest face. The way his pale blue eyes stared into hers evoked a strange sensation deep within her. Tried as she did to wrap her mind around it, she was unable to label what she was experiencing. It was simply unsettling. All she knew was that had the X-Jet not flown overhead at that precise moment, there was no telling where things could have gone.

She tried to tell herself that it was an innocuous occurrence, that nothing was going to happen. Sam would never try to kiss her. No, that was not the case here. Both of them were probably overcome by the coldness of the air that surrounded them. Or perhaps, it was the continued strain that resulted from the kiss and their conversation regarding it. They could have been tired and just not thinking straight.

Or maybe all these conclusions were wrong.

Jubilee was startled out of her ruminations when the double doors of the main examination room opened. Her heart stopped for a moment. But a sudden wave of elation washed over her as Bobby strolled out. Instinctively, she rushed towards him, ready to engulf him in her arms.

Much to her surprise, he ducked away. His face was an unreadable, but tight mask. "I've got to go," he said in a low voice.

She stared at him, confused and somewhat hurt. "What's wrong?" she asked, sapphire eyes wide. Briefly, she thought he had seen her with Sam, but quickly dismissed this conclusion as impossible.

Bobby hesitated, but the imploring look in her crystalline eyes made him reconsider. "My father's in the hospital," he said, his voice sounding wooden and foreign to his own ears. "He's had a stroke."

"Oh, Bobby," Jubilee whispered, her face filled with sympathy. Though she knew her boyfriend was not all that close to his father, there was still that unspoken bond that existed between them. When the elder Drake was assaulted by a group of Graydon Creed's henchmen, Bobby immediately took a leave of absence to care for him. "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

Her sweet voice and the accompanying sentiment touched Bobby. For a moment, he had forgotten his problems and the patch of ice that threatened life as he knew it. He wanted to take her into his arms and bury his head against her neck. Here was someone who cared about him, who was offering to alleviate his pain, and who loved him so immensely that it made him feel more than whole.

But then he remembered about the barrier, the one that was poised to ruin everything. He thought about the coldness that now resided on his chest. There was no way he could consider holding her close to him.

"No," he finally answered, shaking his head. "No, there isn't, Jubes. It's just that I have to leave now. He's at the hospital and I should be there with my mom."

Jubilee gave him a sympathetic look. She moved closer to him, extending a hand to place on his arm. "Do you want me to come with you?" she asked.

He allowed her to touch him there because it was safe to do so. At first, he was tempted to tell her yes, but the rational part of his mind held him back. This was his situation to deal with. Moreover, the time apart might provide him with an opportunity to focus. Perhaps, he could make this whole thing go away.

"No, you don't have to." He leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead. Staring deeply into the hypnotic depths of her eyes, he shook his head. "I need to do this by myself, OK?"

"OK."

And then he was gone.


	52. Chapter Fifty Two: Simple Pages

Back with the latest installment. This one made me kind of depressed as I was writing it, but I think it certainly fits especially in terms of where the story is going. Let me know what you guys think.

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for feedback, support, etc.

**Chapter Fifty-Two: Simple Pages **

Maddy Drake flicked on the bathroom lights and closed the door quietly behind her. The genteel matriarch tightened the sash of her pink, silk robe with cherry blossoms printed all over. Her terry cloth slippers made shuffling sounds on the white, tiled floor as she made her way to the stainless steel-framed mirror that hung over the porcelain sink. Underneath the soft glow of the opaline glass shades of the wall sconces, she examined the reflection that met her gaze.

As someone who was often mistaken for being younger than her years, she was beginning to show her age. The creases around her eyes and mouth were more defined than she previously remembered. There was even more silver in her wavy, dark-blonde hair now. Her cornflower eyes seemed to have lost the sparkle, replaced by a dullness that was strange and disconcerting.

While most people might have inferred that time was catching up with her and thus responsible for these changes, she knew better. Her world had been turned upside down overnight. Life as she knew it was altered in such a way that rendered her in a position of helplessness. She felt like an observer, unable to do much to assuage the suffering that now permeated her everyday existence. The resulting drain upon her, physically and psychologically, was clearly evident in the woman who stared at her from the mirror.

It had been several weeks since Bill's stroke. The doctors had called it an ischemic stroke, to be exact. This kind was associated with oxygen deprivation, often caused by a blood clot. The clot itself was limited to one area of his brain, which affected the extent of the resulting damage.

Turning on the stainless steel, crook-necked faucet, Maddy leaned over the sink and splashed some cold water on her face. She inhaled sharply at the shocking sensation, widening her eyes as she turned off the water. Then she grabbed a towel from the nearby steel towel ring and dried her face. Burying her face in the mothering darkness, she made her way to the plantation teak bench situated against the wall.

Her mind began to replay those hellish hours in the hospital waiting room. Fortunately, she had not been alone for long. Shortly after she called Bobby, she contacted Bill's sister, Kathy, and her two children, Mary and Joel. Kathy and Mary soon arrived within thirty minutes while Joel and his wife, Grace, came about an hour and a half later after leaving Ellie with their nanny in Manhattan. The family members descended upon Maddy, offering comfort and strength in this dire time of need.

As it turned out, Mary was dating one of the attending physicians assigned to Bill, which made obtaining information somewhat easier. The young, cherubic-faced Dr. Aviva Steiner provided the family with updates on his condition on an intermittent basis. In her first update, she explained that they working to restore blood flow to his brain. She also informed them that his blood pressure and breathing ability were being monitored.

An hour later, she returned to the waiting room to give another update. She told them that Bill's vitals were now stable. Because the stroke was diagnosed within three hours of the start of symptoms, he was being given a tissue plasminogen activator which would act to dissolve the clot.

It was at this point, Dr. Steiner became grave. Maddy felt her skin grow cold as she braced herself for the worst. Her ears were only able to pick up on certain words the doctor was saying. It was as if her head was swimming in thick water, making the ability to hear and comprehend nearly impossible. In spite of this, the picture was quite clear. Since Bill was immediately unconscious after the stroke, his chances at a full recovery were decreased. However, the full extent of his impairment would not be known right away.

After this, Maddy heard nothing else. She was oblivious to Dr. Steiner's attempts to be optimistic. The Drake matriarch was deaf to the possible timeline of recovery for most people. She did not listen as the young doctor explained to her that the more ability he retained after the stroke, the more independent he was likely to be upon discharge from the hospital. None of this registered with her.

The only thing she could wrap her mind around was the possibility that her husband might not come back to her.

Upon realizing this, Maddy had reached her breaking point. A strangled cry escaped from her throat. She had been standing but soon felt her legs unable to hold her weight. Her hands were shaking violently and the churning in her stomach intensified, forcing her to double over. The genteel blonde felt she was about to collapse when she felt a pair of arms circle around her. Through the tears stinging her eyes, she struggled to see who was responsible for catching her.

Bobby.

She remembered her head coming to rest against his shoulder. Shutting her eyes and allowing her tears to flow freely, she sobbed his name. As his arms tightened around her, Maddy could feel his sorrow and his strength. There was something in his embrace as well.

Cold.

Maddy had pulled back, startled by her son's low body temperature. She thought he had better control of his abilities, but then surmised that he was too emotional. Instinctively, she reached out to him again. This time, he responded by guiding her to the chair, placing some distance between the two of them. At first, his rebuff wounded her. If there was ever a time she needed some comforting from her son, it was at that moment.

However, as she observed Bobby and the way he was reacting to the situation, she realized that her boy was more like his father than anyone knew. Like his father, Bobby wore a mask of calm restraint in the face of this dire situation. With his father ill, he became the rock. His gray eyes took on a steely quality as he listened to the young doctor talk about some of the disabilities resulting after the stroke, such as weakness, difficulties in eating, and problems walking or moving in general. The vulnerable little boy she knew was now taking on a new role.

When Bill was conscious, the complications became clear. Since the stroke was limited to the left hemisphere, his entire right side was affected. He was unable to move his right leg, limiting movement and causing swelling. Further testing revealed that his ability to judge distance, size, position, rate of movement, form, and the way individual parts related to a whole object were impaired. In order to get his attention, one had to stand to his left since he favored this unaffected side. The ability to produce words was now difficult, as he often struggled to come up with the intended word or simply ended up stuttering. His memory was also affected, as he was only able to hold onto small pieces of information for a brief period of time.

Maddy felt a part of herself wither away and die inside. Gone was the man who was her pillar of strength. He was replaced by someone who seemed so fragile she almost did not recognize him as her husband. She was immediately reminded of that time he was assaulted and seriously injured by those animals sent by that politician, Graydon Creed. As she gazed upon Bill, she realized that this was quite different. This time, there was no fight in his steely, gray eyes. This time, there was nothing.

Before she and Bobby brought Bill home, they implemented the recommendations from the doctors, nurses, and rehabilitation therapists. They cleared up the clutter around the house to prevent any falls. Night lights were placed in all rooms. Bobby marked off lines on the doors and full-length mirrors so that Bill would know what was vertical. Maddy bought sock spreaders and attached small metal rings or pieces of strings to zippers or button holes to make dressing a little easier. They set aside large-handled silverware for Bill since they were told to anticipate that the elder Drake would have problems grasping objects.

During this time, neither one talked much. It was as if they were still reeling from what fate had dealt them. In spite of their efforts, nothing about what was happening felt real. They simply pressed on with the necessary preparations for Bill's return. There was no other choice.

The caregiver role was not a new one to Maddy. Most of the basic suggestions as to how to assist her spouse in recovery were still ingrained in her mind. She was the one who looked after Bill's injuries after he was savagely beaten and left for dead. Though Bobby had come home to help, she was the primary person who dealt with his rehabilitation and adjustment.

Yet, she found herself enveloped in apprehension and doubt. There was something about a stroke that invoked anxieties that ate away at her at night when she was alone. What if Bill had another stroke? What if he was unable to accept or overcome new disabilities? Did she have the strength to do this?

Maddy sighed, lowering the towel from her face. She had tried to mask her fears, particularly when Bill first came home. As she helped to dress him, take him to the bathroom, and feed him, the Drake matriarch wore a mask of calm resolve. She went through her days, attempting some semblance of normality. Her afternoons were spent talking with him, watching TV, playing cards, and focusing on his rehab, such as teaching him new skills that were once so easy for him.

But underneath her graceful and strong veneer, brewed something else. She was grieving. The man who came home to her was not the William Drake she knew. He seemed like a ghost of his former self. The strong, determined hands that often cradled hers were now weak, unable to even lift a spoon at times. His gray eyes, the feature that first attracted her attention because of their fire that burned behind them, now stared off into space. That willful, often stubborn, spirit that fueled much of his previous recovery was nowhere to be seen. In short, this man was not her Bill.

Upon coming to terms with this, Maddy buried her face in the towel and cried.

Like his mother, Bobby was up early this morning. Sleep for the boyishly handsome young man was something that often eluded him these days. To compensate, he was developing a coffee habit that was poised to rival that of Scott Summers. Not that he was complaining really. The way he saw things, there was more important things to be mindful of these days.

He pulled on a pair of cargo pants over his blue, plaid boxers. Then he ambled to his closet to slip his feet into his favorite flip-flops before making his way out of his bedroom and down the stairs. He almost turned back to grab a T-shirt, but quickly stopped himself and remembered that he was wearing one at the moment.

He always wore one now.

His shoulders sank when he remembered why this reality filled him with a sense of dread. Bobby paused at the top of the stairs and closed his eyes. As someone who had a great deal on his plate, it was a never-ending struggle to rein in the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He had to keep it together. Now more than ever.

When he first arrived in Long Island, thoughts of his own condition were placed on the backburner. Instead, he was consumed with worry over his parents. In spite of the fact that he and his father were not close, Bobby found himself nearly inconsolable over the possibility that the elder Drake was gravely ill. However, he managed to hide his feelings in order to support his mother, who appeared as if she were falling apart with each passing second.

Unfortunately, Bobby was quickly reminded of his troubles when he tried to hold Maddy. Almost immediately coming into close contact with his chest, she recoiled. Even now, he could still see her eyes widen with surprise as she shivered.

He knew at that moment that from now on, it was safer to keep people at a distance.

So, as much as he wanted to hug his mother and return her attempts for some show of support through some physical contact, he refused. It hurt to see the confusion and bewilderment in her eyes. She needed him and he was fully aware of that. Yet, he was firm to his commitment. Bobby simply told himself that he would have to support her in another manner.

As a result, he found himself taking on his father's role as Maddy's tower of strength. At the hospital, Bobby was the one who talked with the doctor about Bill's prognosis and what would be entailed in his rehabilitation program. In addition to helping to get the house ready for his father's arrival, the younger Drake was caring for his mother, who was drained both physically and psychologically. He made sure she herself got plenty of rest, took over some of the housekeeping, and even picked up some cooking. Granted, most of his meals consisted of variations of English muffin pizzas, but it was still a contribution.

Since his father's return home, Bobby immersed himself in the elder Drake's care in order to distract himself from his own problems. Alongside his mother, the two of them continued the therapy Bill had started at the hospital. Together, they worked on increasing his strength and teaching him some of the skills he had lost—skills that had once been second nature to him. They worked on primarily on Bill's motor functioning for the first couple of weeks, ensuring that he was moving the arm and leg that had lost sensation as a result of the stroke. This would entail scheduled walks around the house at least twice a day. Other therapeutic interventions were soon introduced to focus on his memory, perception, and speech.

For the most part, Bobby noticed this rehabilitation was different from the one his father went through following his injuries from being assaulted. This man was rather passive in his recovery, allowing himself to be led by Bobby and Maddy. He did not provide any insight as to how he was feeling, preferring to lapse into silence. His appetite was lacking and he lost several pounds as a result. The elder Drake seemed to be in a constant state of lethargy, his movements sluggish.

This time, there was no fight, no determination to overcome what happened to him, no indication that the trademark Bill Drake grit was still present. All that remained was a sense of frustration that soon gave way to what appeared to be helplessness. In a word, Bill had given up. His body had betrayed him and there was not a damn thing he was going to do about it. He was resigned to his fate.

It was a hardly a secret that this devastated Maddy. In spite of her efforts to conceal her own pain, Bobby knew she was suffering. He was quite aware that, at this very moment, she was locked in the bathroom, sobbing. Her anguish over her husband's condition was palpable. One could see it in her eyes and discern it from the deeper lines in her face. Without asking her, Bobby could tell that she was mourning the loss of the man she loved and the life they had shared. Not only had things changed for his father, but the effects of the stroke touched her as well. She was sleeping in the guest room now, keeping a monitor to listen in on Bill. There were no more walks on her own, no more gardening, and no more book club meetings with her friends. Her daily activities now revolved around caring for him.

There were so many times Bobby wanted to reach out to his mother, to let her know that she was not alone and that he was there to help shoulder what seemed to be the insurmountable. She seemed so fragile these days. It was as if she might fall apart at any time. But then he remembered what happened at the hospital when he first hugged her. He thought about the ice on his chest and her response upon coming into contact with it.

So he continued to keep away.

Because he had to.

For some reason, he thought of his Jubilee, who was waiting back in Westchester for him. The worried look in her sapphire eyes continued to haunt him. Every time he closed his eyes at night, he would see her in the Med-Lab area. Her confused, apprehensive expression was etched so deeply in his mind that there were times he thought he would break down. He knew their last encounter left much to be desired.

Looking back, he had to admit that it was extremely out of character for him to avoid wrapping his arms around her. During his time in Genosha, he had missed her so desperately. His mind teased him with illusions of her by his side, replaying conversations they had before his departure. There were times when all he could think about was her hair, her skin, and the taste of her mouth.

Yet, he had denied himself.

Absently, he placed a hand over his chest. The iciness that met his touch greeted him like a bitter slap in the face. He grimaced.

Jubilee had called him the day after he left for Long Island in order to check on him as well as the rest of the Drake family. Her voice was filled with anxiety as she asked him if there was anything she could do. She had even offered to drive up for a visit so that she could help.

Bobby remembered feeling a lump form in his throat. Her sentiments touched him. He could not recall the last time any of his previous girlfriends had ever expressed such genuine concern for him. Granted, he had never experienced anything as serious as this while he was involved in these relationships, but there was something about what he had with Jubilee that implied a deeper connection that was more meaningful. It went beyond the carefree times they shared or the more intimate moments that transpired between them. She loved him that much.

There was a part of him that wanted to tell her yes. He was so lost and lonely in his own preoccupations these days. The only people he interacted with now were his mother and father, who were consumed by their own varying degrees of despondency. Seeing her lovely face would be like seeing the sun again. To feel her arms around him might make feel whole once more.

Or she might recoil from him the way his mother did.

No, he just wasn't ready to see her. At least, not right now. As much as it killed him inside to do it, he declined her offer.

He could still hear her inhale sharply over the phone, evidently quite surprised at this rebuff. It was painful to hear. The first thing he wanted to do was to recant and beg her to ignore what he said. But he remained committed to his position, and thus, did not act.

She had cleared her throat, as if summoning the courage to ask him a question. Though her voice was small, Jubilee's directness still shone through as she said, "Is there something else going on? I mean, are you okay? I'm asking because… After you got back, you were…different."

Bobby could still hear his heart thudding in his ears as soon as she confronted him. He had forgotten how perceptive Jubilee could be. She was no telepath, but the way she could read people was just as impressive. For a moment, he believed she knew.

Quickly, he dismissed his conclusion. Short of having X-ray vision, there was no possible way she could be aware of what happened to him. Still, he had to explain himself. He considered telling her the truth—that he was slowly turning into a living block of ice. He thought about discussing how this would impact them and their lives. It would be so much easier to be honest with her about the situation. She loved him, after all.

But he did not do any of those things.

Instead, he was evasive. He had said, "I don't know what you mean."

There was a hint of incredulity as she responded to his assertion. "At the Med-Lab, when I first saw you, you didn't seem happy to see me."

"Well, I just found out about my father being sick." Which was partially true, Bobby told himself.

She sighed, exasperated more with herself with her lack of grace in approaching him. "I know and I understand that," she had said to him. "It's just that when I tried to get close to you, you acted like you didn't want anything to do with me."

Bobby had winced. That was never his intention at all. Immediately, he hated himself for giving her that impression. "I'm sorry, Jubes," he murmured apologetically. "I never meant to hurt you like that."

"I'm not hurt. I'm just worried."

"Don't. I'm just going through some things right now. That's all. You have nothing to worry about."

As he lied to her, there was a bitter taste that emerged and stayed in his mouth ever since.

Needing to think about something else, Bobby was about to descend the stairs in order to brew a fresh pot of coffee when the bathroom door opened. A pale and drawn Maddy poked her head out. Nervously, she smoothed her hands over her unruly, dark-blond bob. Then she forced a smile, one that belied her puffy eyes.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she greeted, her throaty voice sounding huskier than usual. Leaning against the doorframe, she clasped her hands together. "You're up early."

"So are you."

"I couldn't sleep."

Bobby felt a pang of sympathy in his chest. He hated seeing her in such distress. The little boy in him wanted to take away his mother's pain. There was a part of him that yearned for the days when he could bring a smile to her face by simply placing his hands over her cheeks and resting his forehead against hers. Things were so much easier back then. There was no illness and his parents were invincible beings to him. Back then, there was no awareness of any other truth.

Again, he restrained himself from rushing to Maddy and to swallow her in a hug. But somehow, he summoned the strength to reach out to her, placing a hand on her arm. He decided that such a gesture could be afforded now. At this point, his need to empathize dominated over his fear of being found out.

"Mom, why don't you lie down and let me take care of breakfast?" he suggested gently. His gray eyes were alarmed to see the almost dazed quality in her facial expression despite her best effort to portray a more collected façade.

The genteel Drake matriarch shook her head, patting his hand. "No, that's alright," she protested, sniffing. A wave of guilt washed over when she saw the anxious expression on her son's face. The last thing in the world she wanted was for him to worry about her. He had already been through enough in her eyes.

"I know it's alright, so that's why I'll be making breakfast this morning," he told her dryly, taking her hand and beginning to lead her out of the bathroom and towards her temporary quarters in the guest room.

Maddy paused in her steps, resisting his efforts. "Oh, Bobby, I don't know how many more English muffin meals I can eat."

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. It was the first joke she made since the stroke. For a moment, he almost believed that she was fine and that she would return to her former self. But the despair that shadowed her face these days told him otherwise.

"No English muffins this time," he assured her, boyishly handsome face solemn. "I'll figure something out."

She shook her head again. "Bobby, you don't have to. Just let me go downstairs. I think I have some almond scones and tangerine curd in the kitchen."

"Great. _I'll_ go down and get everything ready."

"Bobby—"

"Mom, relax. I can do this."

"So can I." Maddy's lower lip quivered. Then she said in a low, pleading voice, "Just let me do this. I need to do this."

Bobby studied his mother. This wasn't just about her being persnickety about his English muffin sandwiches. Though her words did not indicate this, the expression on her face and the tone in her voice said it all. She wanted to do something else to take her mind off from crying over her husband. The need to engage in a mundane activity would make her believe that for a brief moment, her existence was normal. If preparing breakfast was going to provide such a reprieve, then she was certainly going to after the task.

He relented, releasing his mother's arm. "Okay, Mom," he said, nodding.

She smiled, relishing her small victory. The unspoken communication that transpired between them left her feeling a bit overwhelmed. Seeing her sweet Bobby now, she was reminded of when he was still small, still eager to please, and still her whole world. Reaching to grasp his hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze.

Then she released it and took a deep breath to collect herself. "Well, let me go downstairs and get everything ready." Her cornflower-blue eyes glanced over her son's shoulder and towards the door to the room she had shared with Bill for so many years. "Could you look in on your father? If he's awake, you can bring in a tray for him."

Bobby followed her gaze. The way she was making her request delineated her wariness to face her ill husband this early. It would destroy her illusion that nothing had changed. "Sure, no problem," he reassured her.

Grateful, she gave him another smile, but it never reached her weary eyes.

While Maddy was walking down the stairs, Bobby made his way to the master bedroom. The door was kept slightly ajar now since Bill had problems gripping the doorknob. It also made checking in on him somewhat easier and less intrusive.

The younger Drake poked his head in, surveying the scene. Morning sunlight streamed in through the windows, which gave the mustard-colored walls an airy feel. On top of the stately, broad-shouldered chest of drawers with an ebony finish were all of the medications Bill was currently taking. There was dextroamphetamines for his memory, anticonvulsants for his pain, and methylphenidates to speed his recovery. In addition to these drugs, there was a bottle of antidepressants, which was a recent inclusion to Bill's daily cocktail.

Propped outside of the private bathroom was Bill's aluminum cane. Since the stroke, Maddy had it fashioned with a rubber tip to prevent him from slipping. Other precautionary measures included removing all of the loose rugs and installing beige carpeting in the room, having the electrical cords secured with clips against the wall, and clearing all of the clutter.

Bobby peered over in the direction of where his parents' king-sized bed was located. He was surprised to see his father sitting up, supported by pillows that were laid against the high-paneled headboard. The Drake patriarch looked rather small in his blue-and-white, striped pajamas. His silver hair was rumpled and his gray eyes seemed dazed, as if he had just awakened.

Gingerly, he turned his head to the left side, which was unaffected. When he saw his son in the doorway, he raised one of his brows inquisitively. However, he made no attempt to greet him. The stroke had impaired his ability to speak. While he could produce certain sounds or words, stringing together complete sentences was rather difficult for him now.

Bobby interpreted this as his cue to enter. He opened the door and walked inside. Though it still unnerved him to see his father looking so different than the imposing figure from his childhood, he forced himself to calm down. As soon as he reached his father's bedside, Bobby pushed away the cart Maddy had been using to serve his meals upon and pulled up one of the benches from the foot of the bed. Seating himself on the padded, linen top, he gave the elder Drake a small smile.

"Morning, Dad." Bobby took great care to initiate eye contact and to speak slowly but in a normal tone of voice just as the therapist instructed him to. He learned that people with certain forms of aphasia, like his father, only had problems speaking but were not deaf. "How are you feeling today?"

Bill blinked, parting his lips slightly. The right side of his face did not move much as he did so, the result of some residual paralysis. He moved his mouth forcefully. It appeared as if he was struggling to form words. There were soft, unintelligible noises that escaped from his throat. For several seconds, he tried and tried to express something coherent, something that would respond to his son's questions. Much to his frustration, his tongue was failing to cooperate. At a loss, he closed his mouth and waved his left hand listless, as if to say, "I'm alright, I suppose."

The younger Drake nodded in understanding. He watched his father, lie back in his defeat. Bobby could detect a flash of anger in the other man's gray eyes as he was confronted again with the fact that his body had betrayed him. Then it disappeared, replaced with a dull resignation that seemed to characterize him these days.

For Bobby, this was so unlike the father he had grown up with. Bill Drake was strong-willed and independent. He was from the generation, where fathers were supposed to provide and protect the family. This made him somewhat unapproachable at times, and as Bobby grew into adulthood, difficult to talk to rationally. However, this was not to say that Bill disliked being a family man. Though he had some erroneous perceptions of the world and how things should be, he was steadfastly dedicated to his family. Seeing the Drake patriarch like this now, Bobby found himself overwhelmed. In addition to feelings of sympathy, he could feel his father's pain and rage just by simply looking at him. Both were that palpable.

Bill studied his son. The carefree, jovial energy he seemed to emanate was gone now. Instead, the young man sitting at his bedside was quite solemn and serious. His boyish face appeared weary with dark circles under his normally twinkling eyes, indicating that he had not slept very much lately. Yes, Bill concluded, this was a different person from the Bobby he knew.

Pressing his hands into the sateen border of the blue-and-white duvet that was draped across his body, the elder Drake was furious. Bill hated the way his son was aging so quickly before his eyes. It seemed as if Bobby went from his mid-twenties to his thirties within the weeks he had been here. His sense of humor and playfulness, aspects of Bobby's personality that sometimes got under Bill's skin, were nowhere to be seen. Now, his son carried himself with a quiet reserve in everything he did.

Related to what he was observing in Bobby were the changes in Maddy. Bill hated the way his wife was relegated to being his caregiver. His beautiful wife, who was so full of happiness and light was now a shell of her former self. Her everyday existence now seemed to be draining her of her spirit. Even though she had been acting in a similar capacity when he was beaten up several years ago by those animals, this time was different. As a result of the stroke, the extent of his disabilities were a little more severe. He could no longer move around on his own without some occasional help from her. For the first couple of weeks, he had needed her assistance in dressing and going to the bathroom. It was humiliating for them both. However, what truly killed him inside was the fact that he could not talk to her. He could not take away the worried expression that was etched in her face through any kind of reassurance, or that he loved her.

But most of all, Bill hated himself—for failing his family.

Though he was tired and feeling a bit stiff this morning, Bill made an effort to shift his body slightly. He stretched his left arm over the nearby ebony, one-drawer nightstand and attempted to grab the notepad and pen. Because he was unable to talk much, he sometimes wrote to communicate. Given that he was left-handed to begin with, it was not too difficult for him to do—at least compared to other tasks. After several tries, he finally retrieved both.

Bobby watched as his father placed the pad of paper in his lap. The elder Drake's hand shake slightly as he began writing slowly and with great care. When he finished, Bill pushed the notepad towards Bobby. Leaning forward in his seat, Bobby read what his father had written.

REWARD.

A puzzled frown creased Bobby's forehead. _Reward? What does that mean? _he wondered. "Dad?"

Sensing his son's confusion, Bill used his pen to tap over the word he had just written.

"I still don't get you." The younger Drake was still perplexed by this apparent riddle his father had posed. Quickly, he racked his brain in an attempt to decipher what Bill could possibly be referring to.

Then Bobby remembered the therapist Maddy had hired said that people with certain forms of aphasia sometimes scramble words or letters in words, either orally or in writing. Mentally, he tried to manipulate the position of letters. After several seconds of trying combinations of letters to form other words, he finally narrowed down the possibilities to a logical one.

"Drawer?" he asked his father quietly.

Bill nodded before jerking his head in the direction of the nightstand.

Bobby pulled the drawer open to find a black, leather-bound journal with a dark brown spine. His father's initials, WFD, were debossed in silver foil on the front cover. Carefully, he lifted it from the cedar drawer and placed it on the bed by his father's side.

Bill moved his lips vigorously, desperately trying to speak. "O-Op… Op…En…" He balled his hand into a fist, rapping it next to the journal with each attempt.

Bobby watched him grimace, his father's face set in a mask of frustration. Listening to each effort, he tried to wrap his mind around what the elder Drake was trying to convey. Finally, he was able to decipher the meaning. "Open?"

Relieved that he did not have to produce any more atrocious sounds, Bill nodded emphatically.

Bobby complied with his father's wishes, turning the journal to the first page. He looked over at him for approval to read, which he received in the form of another nod. Inside, he saw the following written in black ink:

_The journal of William Frederick Drake, 2002-2003. _

2002-2003. The year his father spent recovering from his injuries following that brutal assault. Quizzically, the younger Drake glanced at Bill, who was breathing rather loudly but in an even fashion. The situation was rather strange. From where things were going, he was being handed the opportunity to look into his father's most private thoughts. Clearing his throat, Bobby asked, "Dad, you want me to read this to you? Are you sure?"

Again, Bill nodded. Then he reached out and tugged on the red grosgrain ribbon tucked inside the journal. His gray eyes then stared into his son's, as if to say, "Start here."

Bobby followed the implicit directions provided and opened the journal to the marked page.

_June 18, 2002_

_This is my first day back from the hospital. As much as I disliked being there with all those overly cheery nurses, I find that being at home is worse. Bobby has returned and it is more than clear to me that he blames himself for what happened. But I don't. He's the one who gave me the strength to do what I did. Although I want to tell him that, I can't. It's my own damn insecurities that prevent me from doing so. _

_I still can't move around on my own. Either Maddy or Bobby have to help me out. They and the doctors are telling me that I'm doing much better, but I certainly don't feel like it. In short, I hate being a drain. I hate seeing my wife like this, waiting on me hand and foot like I'm some kind of damn baby. It's times like these when I think about ending it all just to save her. _

Bobby stopped reading, a lump forming in his throat. It would be too hard to read on. He raised his head to see his father's response. To his complete and utter astonishment, Bill was crying.

Suddenly, Bobby found himself doing the same.


	53. Chapter 53

First off, I apologize for the long delay. I'm in the middle of collecting data for my dissertation and am trying to juggle that with a new internship. However, this doesn't mean I'm going to stop writing. This is far from finished. Here's the latest installment. Please let me know what you think.

Thanks again to Jo the Phoenix for feedback. She's the best!

**Chapter Fifty-Three: Secrets That You Keep**

The wintry chill that had settled over Westchester for the past several months was beginning to dissipate. Greeting each day now was a brilliant sun that seemed to extend its stay. White snow that had covered the mansion's manicured grounds was beginning to melt away, revealing the greenery underneath. The air, while still cool, was markedly warmer than it had been before. Birds who had disappeared for the winter had now returned, chirping sweetly and soaring against the vibrant, blue skies.

This warming in temperatures coincided with the arrival of Valentine's Day. While there were those who viewed the holiday as another excuse for companies to make money from all-too sentimental consumers, they were outnumbered by those who truly embraced the holiday and all its traditions. As such, there was a flurry of activity around the mansion, involving the staff and the students. Given this, it was difficult not to get caught up.

Residents and staff members were first oriented to the holiday in the morning. Cook and her kitchen crew had prepared a festive breakfast, consisting of heart-shaped pancakes with maple syrup and chocolate crepes wrapped around raspberry jam. Following this meal, the portly Englishwoman set to work, preparing treats to be served throughout the rest of the day, such as chocolate-peanut butter ganache cakes, heart-shaped sugar cookies, and raspberry sweetheart cakelets. Meanwhile, teachers like Rahne and Xi'an, who had younger students in their classes, set aside time for arts and crafts activities. They had their students make homemade Valentine's Day cards, thumbtack Valentine's frames, and felt hats cut out in the shape of hearts. With the assistance of some of the older students, Dani, Rogue, and Amara were preparing for a party that was take place later on in the evening. Together, they put together miniature gift bags, themed volvelles, and paper heart wrappings. Even the reserved Ororo was captivated by the euphoric atmosphere. She was assembling floral arrangements of garden roses, tulips, and carnations from her greenhouse all around the mansion.

This late afternoon found Kitty, Tabitha, and Roberto in the garage, unloading groceries from Kitty's Scout. The trio had been sent into town by Cook to pick up a few necessities for tonight's party, including several heavy glass jugs of cinnamon-candy cider. Much to their collective chagrin, none of them were blessed with superhuman strength, as evident by the growing strain in their arms and backs.

"I told you we should have brought a cart," Tabitha groused, recalling the conversation she had with Kitty before their trip to the farmer's market. "Now we're stuck lugging twenty bottles of this stuff. Probably weighs as much as the Blob."

Kitty grunted, placing the two jugs she was attempting to carry to the door that connected the garage to the mansion on the ground. She peered down at the black, high-heeled Mary Janes she was wearing with tight, faded jeans and a black, nylon motorcycle jacket. Not exactly the kind of outfit one should be wearing when moving heavy objects. She could already feel her heels and calf muscles cry out in agony.

Sighing, she was forced to agree with the blonde wild child. "You're right," she conceded, ponytail swinging as she shook her head in exasperation. "Maybe we should find Bishop and Cain. They might be able to give us a hand."

Roberto snorted, pausing in his steps with two jugs in his hands. Granted, he felt just as exhausted as the two women, but he was not about to request assistance. His pride would never allow it. "Oh come on," he chided, weaving between the other vehicles parked in the garage to make his way to the door. "They're not that heavy. You just have to suck it up and deal, that's all. No need to call in those guys."

Tabitha opened her mouth to issue a snappy retort when there was a loud, thunderous groan that echoed throughout the garage. Startled, she jumped and spun around to locate the source of the noise. Her surprise soon faded when she realized that it was only the garage door opening. Apparently, Alex's complaints to Jefferson the maintenance man about the strange sounds it made were not completely exaggerated. As she watched Jubilee's yellow Volkswagen Beetle pull inside, Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, she was able to keep a grip on the jugs she was carrying.

However, this was not the case for Roberto. The tall, dark-haired Brazilian looked rather panicked as he stood in a pool of shattered glass and cider. While the mess was disconcerting, the true cause for his sheer terror stemmed from something else. One of the shards of glass had flown into one of the tires of Logan's beat-up truck, causing it to deflate with a hiss. The rusty, old truck lurched over as air rapidly escaped.

Kitty and Tabitha exchanged stunned looks. Then they walked over to the scene of the crime to survey the damage. Upon closer inspection, the two of them observed there was another tire that was flattening out as well, with bits of glass buried deeply inside. The hiss of the escaping air was almost deafening.

Finally, Kitty swallowed hard. "Oh shit." She was already envisioning the gruff Canadian's reaction to his beloved truck being desecrated in such a manner. The loner did not have much in the world as far as material items were concerned. This truck was one of the few possessions he guarded quite closely.

"Wow," Tabitha whistled, digging her hands into the pockets of the navy, poplin jacket she wore over a green T-shirt with Japanese lettering, black jeans, and black, peep-toe, platform heels. "Logan's gonna rip you a new asshole and shove your head in it."

Roberto inhaled sharply. "He can't be that mad," the young millionaire scoffed, trying to placate himself by downplaying his impending doom. His hand was shaky as he plucked an imaginary hair from his brown, suede jacket. "I'll have new tires put on for him."

"That would be fine," Kitty said, tilting her head to the side. "If he wasn't planning on taking Storm out I _tonight_ /I ." Her cat-like, brown eyes were sparkling with amusement.

The mutant otherwise known as Sunspot gulped. Hell hath no fury like a Wolverine whose plans for romancing a certain weather goddess have gone awry. Cursing under his breath, Roberto desperately racked his brain for a plan. He was so consumed in his search for a way out of this situation without the threat of bodily harm that he did not notice Jubilee hopping out of her car and walking to where he and the others were.

"Yikes," the young girl observed, raising her sable brows as she took in the scene. Upon noticing how her mentor's beloved truck was damaged, she immediately knew Logan was going to be in an irascible mood. For a moment, she contemplated offering her yellow Beetle to him for his date tonight, but then surmised that this would only serve to irritate the laconic Canadian.

Just as she was about to make a wry remark about the situation, the door at the other end of the garage opened. The large, blue head of Hank McCoy peered out. When he noticed the disaster area near Logan's car, his round eyes became even rounder. "Oh dear," he mused, slipping out the door and making his way where everyone stood. He laid a sympathetic hand on Roberto's shaking shoulder and smiled reassuringly. "There's no need to break down. Logan's outside going through training with Storm's team, and I know for a fact that they will be working out for at least two hours. That's plenty of time to clean things up and change the tires."

Color returned to Roberto's face, but his forehead was still wrinkled by a worried frown. "Really?" he asked. There was a part of his mind that was still replaying a scene of Logan leaping out from behind a door, claws extended and screaming. The sound of Kitty, Tabitha, and Jubilee giggling hysterically broke through his reverie, compelling him to flash the trio a nasty glare.

Hank followed his lead, but was a little more benign in his implicit communication for them to be quiet. Then he turned back to Roberto and said in his deep, kindly voice, "I'll even help you change the tires. Just allow me to go down to the basement to get my tools."

"But there's some already here," Kitty pointed out, brown eyes quizzical. Scott had made a point to equip the garage with all the necessary car repair tools in the garage for his auto shop class. "Along with some spare tires."

"Yes, you're right," Hank agreed, nodding and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket which seemed rather tight around his bulky form. "But the tools I have were designed by Forge, and they're guaranteed to make the task easier. Now, if you all can get started with the clean-up, changing the tires will be much easier."

While Roberto, Kitty, and Tabitha were shuffling towards the supply closet where the brooms and dustpans were kept, Jubilee watched Hank's retreating back. As he was walking towards the door that connected the garage to the mansion, she began to think about Bobby. The lighthearted feeling she experienced at the expense of Roberto's accident had disappeared now, replaced by the morose mood that seemed to weigh her down lately. Instead of relishing Valentine's Day like the rest of the residents, she was feeling quite different about the holiday.

Ever since Bobby's sudden departure several weeks ago, Jubilee felt something was amiss. Granted, she understood as to why he had to leave. His father was gravely ill, and as a good son, Bobby was going to help look after him. But there was something about the way he left, the way he said good-bye that left her feeling off-kilter. For one thing, he seemed so distant. After weeks of being apart, he did not respond to her eager welcome. Instead, he ducked away from her arms, avoiding any physical contact. It was as if Bobby wanted nothing to do with her.

Part of her wanted to attribute his behavior to the shock he must have felt upon learning of his father's stroke. It was the only thing that could possibly make sense. Yet, there was a part of her that would not allow her to fully accept that. She saw something else in his face. It was hard to describe, but she could tell that he was not being completely honest with her. He looked worried and extremely frightened.

In the weeks that followed, Jubilee dutifully called Bobby to see how he was doing. She repeatedly offered to visit him for a weekend, but was rebuffed. While he told her that his parents were too exhausted to receive anyone and therefore it was not a good time to come up, she was convinced that he was not being upfront with her. She could hear it in his voice. He sounded nervous and at the same time, aloof—so unlike the man she loved. It was like he did not I _want_ /I to see her.

But why would that be? What possible reason could Bobby have for not wishing to be with her? After being away from her for what seemed like ages, why would he be acting this way?

Troubled by this, Jubilee found herself bringing up her fears with him during a recent phone call. While she had been hesitant to do so, she was confident in the open, honest nature of their relationship. She knew that Bobby would not judge her and that he would be reassuring to assuage her anxieties. He always knew how to comfort her in the face of such nagging doubt.

Much to her disappointment, what her boyfriend had to say did little to calm her. Instead, he was evasive, insisting that nothing was wrong. Bobby said that while he wished to see her, he had a lot to deal with. He informed her that caring for his father was a great responsibility. In addition, his mother's reaction to what happened left her drained, causing his worry to intensify.

_All the more reason for me to come up. I can help." Jubilee had said._

"_No, Jubes," Bobby had sighed, sounding exhausted and drained. "I just… I need to handle things on my own. For now. Just please understand that."_

"_I want to." She had paused before pressing on. "But it's just that I get the feeling that something's wrong." Then she added with a tinge of hesitation in her voice, " With us."_

_He had been quick to speak out against this. "No, nothing's wrong with us. Why would you think that?"_

"_I don't know. I can't describe it. It seems like you don't want to talk to me. When we talk, I get the impression you think of it as a chore."_

"_That's ridiculous."_

"_Is it? Sometimes, having a conversation with you is like pulling teeth."_

"_I'm sorry you feel that way, but I've had a lot on my mind. I just can't be 'on' all the time."_

"_I'm not asking you to be 'on'. And believe me, I understand that you have full plate now. I completely feel for you, Bobby. Don't you know that?"_

"_Of course, Jubes." Bobby sounded quite remorseful, gasping for air as if to keep from breaking down. Then he had said in a low voice, "Nothing's wrong with us because I won't let it… You do know that, don't you?"_

"_Yes." Jubilee whispered, desperately needing to believe the intent of his words. _

Replaying the phone call in her mind, the young woman found herself woefully uncertain of anything anymore.

Jubilee knew that something was wrong, but was unable to come up with any evidence to support this other than the anxious feeling that pained every fiber of her being. Every time she attempted to broach the subject with Bobby, she encountered flat-out denials that were less than convincing. There was also the fact that she felt rather guilty for making inquiries in the first place given the circumstances. She was aware that he had enough to worry about now. There was no need to exacerbate things by adding to his list of things to stress out over.

So, following that conversation, she stopped asking him questions about his peculiar behavior, about how he rarely called her, about how he seemed less than thrilled to hear from her. Instead, Jubilee tried to tell herself that his preoccupation stemmed from his father's illness and his deep concern for his mother's well-being, and that nothing had changed since his return from Genosha. She wanted to absorb herself in the belief that her Bobby was fine, and therefore, she was fine.

Unfortunately, reality fell short of her intentions.

As if she did not have enough to occupy her weary mind, Jubilee had to contend with her ongoing, unresolved issues with Sam Guthrie. The kiss the two of them shared on Thanksgiving continued to haunt her. When she was not thinking about her worries about her relationship with Bobby, her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of what transpired between herself and the Southern gentleman. At first, she thought it was her guilt that was the driving force behind her late-night ruminations, or that haunting dream she had about him. It was the only logical explanation.

However, that did not account as to why her mind continued to replay the event over and over again in spite of her best efforts not to do so. It did not completely explain why her mouth tingled at the very thought of the kiss, why her cheeks burned so hotly whenever Sam was nearby, or why her knees almost gave out on her sometimes. As much as she wanted to tell herself otherwise, there was something else other than guilt.

But what? Again, Jubilee was at a loss. She tried analyzing the evidence in front of her, attempting to decipher the riddle that was her emotional state. Perhaps it was anxiety over wanting to clear her conscience. Part of the reason why she wanted to see Bobby in person was to make her confession. To do so over the phone or email seemed so cold and tactless. She needed to convey what transpired between herself and Sam did not mean anything, and most importantly, she was sorry for ever initiating such an act in the first place. Knowing that Bobby had been hurt by previous girlfriends under similar circumstances, Jubilee realized it was important to communicate her intentions. She was not like the others; she would never hurt him.

Mulling over things further, she recognized there was another issue at play. It had nothing to do with guilt, nor did it have anything to do with her relationship with Bobby. No, this perplexing complication concentrated on how things were with Sam Guthrie. However, when she attempted to pinpoint what exactly about the situation that made her feel unease, she found herself completely clueless. Yes, the kiss had been an awkward moment for the both of them, but there was tension that existed now that could not be accounted for by that moment. Jubilee thought of that day when she ran into him in the forest. She remembered how lost and forlorn he looked. She remembered staring into his eyes and wondering why he seemed so despondent.

But the most vivid memory she had was how she wanted to make it all go away.

Jubilee inhaled sharply, shaking her head emphatically as if to drive all thoughts of that morning from her brain. Troubling her was the fact that something almost happened in the forest. Had the X-Jet not flown over them, she was uncertain as to what would have happened. It was that very supposition that made her feel very nervous.

_I can't think about it anymore, _she told herself firmly. _I need to focus on other things. I need to figure out what's going on with Bobby. I need to fix whatever's happening between us because all I know is that nothing is right anymore. _

She watched Hank approach the door, turning the handle to let himself in. As the larger, feline-like man was about to slip inside, Jubilee wondered what he possibly knew about what was bothering her boyfriend. After all, the two of them had been close friends since their early days at the institute together. According to Bobby, Hank McCoy was the closest thing he had to an older brother. He was a confidant, a co-conspirator in practical jokes prior to Jubilee's arrival, and to some extent, a kindred soul as far as being an outsider from human society. Both men shared a deep connection and bond not seen between other friends, resulting from their various experiences together throughout the years. If anyone knew Bobby well, it would be Hank.

Jubilee decided to make her move. Clearing her throat, she made quick strides towards where he was. "Um, Beast?"

He turned around, the kindly smile he perpetually wore gracing his mouth. "Yes, Jubilee?"

She tried to return the expression, but it only came across as a grimace. "I was thinking I could come with you," she muttered, biting on her lower lip. "You know, to pick up the tools."

Hank's blue eyes became as round as saucers upon hearing the anxiety in her voice. While he was no telepath, it was clear that the mansion's firecracker was not interested in gathering tools as much as she wanted to talk with him in private. Casting a glance over her shoulder, he saw that the others had already set to work in cleaning things up. Then he turned back to her and nodded. "Of course."

"Everybody up the hill!" Logan bellowed in his deep, rumbling voice as he made his way up a steep mound—one of the few around the mansion that was still covered with snow. He growled under his breath with disgust as the group he was leading trudged wearily behind him. "We're going for a run. No bitching. Let's go!"

On this chilly day, the gruff Canadian was accompanied by members of Storm's away team, which included Gambit, Bishop, Neal, and Sam Guthrie. The team was training for an upcoming mission in Madripoor. Normally, the team would not have undergone such rigorous physical activity prior to a field assignment. Moreover, the frigid temperatures were not comparable to the conditions present in the South Asian country. However, it was Logan's assessment that the men were appearing a bit soft following the holidays. Not wanting to travel with a less-than-prepared team, he decided that the situation called for an intense workout regimen.

Needless to say, the men were unenthusiastic about Logan's idea of training. Much to their chagrin, they were awakened at eight o'clock. Tried as they did to ignore the calls from outside their doors, it was useless. Logan remained persistent, peppering his demands for them to get up with some choice language. It took a while for them to climb out of their toasty beds that morning, but they eventually and begrudgingly departed from their rooms, dressed in clothing suitable for running on this early spring day.

Huffing and puffing, Neal paused in his staggering steps and hunched over. The lack of oxygen was definitely getting to him at this point. "Aw, Logan, do we really have to run in this shit?" he groaned. In his native India, this white, icy menace was something that existed in books from other countries. Actually coming into contact with it made him realize that he was not a cold-weather person.

Logan raised a stony brow at him, unsympathetic to the young man's complaint. Unlike Neal, he relished the brisk temperatures that sent chills to his bones. The cold was invigorating, making him feel very much alive. "Yep," he replied flatly, snorting. "Hope you can keep up."

"But Logan," Bishop cut in, already winded from the hike the group made to get to the trail. His heavy frame was proving to be quite burdensome during this hike. "What about those of us who, um, aren't as good at running as everyone else? Do we still have to do it?"

Gambit scowled at the time traveler, clearly displeased as to where Bishop was going. "Hey Fat Boy, if Gambit have to run, you do, too," the Cajun snorted, feeling quite weary from the trek himself. He supposed his pack-a-day habit did not aid the situation. Already he was wheezing.

"I'm not fat!"

"Yeah, for a hippopotamus."

Furious, Bishop nailed Gambit in the face with a handful of wet snow. The Cajun thief retaliated with a snowball of his own, charged with something a little extra. It was then that much larger time traveler tackled him. For several minutes, the two men rolled around, cursing loudly and shoving snow into each other's faces.

"Bishop, get off! You're crushing Gambit's ribs!"

The time traveler paused, an expression of genuine concern replacing the stern one he normally wore. However, he then realized Gambit's cries were yet another crack about his physique. Growling, he gathered a fistful of snow and rubbed it in the other man's face. Desperately, the Cajun flailed and punched him in the chest, obviously forgetting that his opponent had the ability to absorb energy and return the intensity in blows of his own.

Finally, Logan motioned for Neal and Sam to intervene. When it was clear that the other two men would not be able to extricate the feuding mutants, Logan resentfully stepped in to assist. After pulling them apart, an exasperate Wolverine glared at the two offenders.

"Can we act like grown-ups now?" he demanded brusquely.

"Yes, Logan." Gambit and Bishop chimed in unison. Then the two exchanged withering glances.

"Bishop, no more whining," Logan ordered sternly, not believing he was having to play disciplinarian now. It was the reason why he hated dealing with the kids. Who knew he had to contend with such issues with these two? Scowling, he turned to a smirking Gambit and glared. "And Gumbo, no more cracks about his weight. How you'd like it if he made fun of your accent?"

Gambit rolled his eyes, brushing off snow his brown leather trench coat. "He already does dat. Why do you t'ink Gambit tease him about his weight?"

That was it. Logan had all he could tolerate. It was bad enough he couldn't bring his cigars with him this morning (thanks to Storm), but having to deal with the antics of these idiots drove him to edge. "No more picking on each other!" he barked, the golden flecks in his eyes flashing with a frightening intensity.

"All right." Bishop and Gambit muttered under their breaths.

Logan grunted, somewhat satisfied with the less-than-convincing response. He was about to order the group back up the hill when he caught a glimpse of Sam. Frowning, he asked the Southern gentleman, "You OK, Hayseed?"

The tall, lean young man gave him a quizzical look. However, when Neal approached him, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder, Sam realized something was amiss. It was then that he noticed that his nose was bleeding and there was a strange, thudding sensation emanating from his jaw. Apparently, he was on the receiving end of some blows from the Bishop-Gambit fracas.

"You better get that looked at," Logan told him, sighing.

Sam was a bit confused. "Ya sure?" he asked, pinching his nostrils tightly and leaning forward.

The laconic loner nodded. While he was one not to allow injuries to act as an obstacle to training, he knew not everyone had his healing factor. Furthermore, if Storm found out he forced Sam to continue on while hurt, she would never let Logan hear the end of it. There was nothing like provoking the ire of a woman who could control the weather.

"I'll take him back," Neal volunteered eagerly. Though he was a bit queasy around blood, the Med-Lab was better than running in the woods, he decided.

Logan's eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. "Nothin' doin'," he said tersely, his response erasing the hope in Neal's expression. "He don't need a chaperone. Guthrie can get there by himself. The rest of you ladies get running. Now."

Neal's shoulders sank as he groaned. Bishop and Gambit engaged in some choice grumbling and huffing. However, they grudgingly began jogging down the winding path behind Logan, who was ahead of them and barking orders to quicken their pace.

Alone, Sam continued to hunch over until his nosebleed ceased. While he was no medical expert, he had to assume that propelling himself into the air would only serve to exacerbate the situation. As soon as he felt things settle, he released his grip from his nose and stood up. Other than the sudden rush to his head and the dull pain in his jaw, he was feeling well enough to fly.

Taking a deep breath, he stared ahead from his vantage point atop the hill. Then he dashed with lightning speed towards the edge, launching his body into the air. Whereas most people would have been terrified at that instance, Sam experienced what he could only describe as pure and utter freedom. The air surrounded him, acting as a support of some sort as he soared against the skies over the mansion. The takeoff—this moment was the only time he allowed himself to luxury of not thinking. The act was pure instinct.

As he flew through the air en route to the mansion, Sam's temporary euphoria faded when the concerns of his world intruded upon his mind. It had been several weeks since his encounter with Jubilee in the woods. There had been that awkwardness that seemed to characterize their interactions. He could tell she was uncomfortable around him, even more so since their night out. It pained him to see her so skittish, and he wanted so desperately to make that go away. Yet, he restrained himself. As much as he wanted to comfort her and to be her confidant again, there was the danger of things spiraling out of control. In short, he was uncertain at that moment that he could maintain his façade.

But something happened—something that still puzzled him to this day. In spite of her apparent unease around him, Jubilee reached out. It was as if she would not allow her unease to keep her from being the caring and thoughtful person she was. Simply recognizing this made Sam love her that much more, to the point where he thought his heart was going to shatter inside his chest because at the same time, he knew the truth.

He could never have her, not the way he wanted to.

Yet, he allowed himself to become lost in those mesmerizing sapphire eyes, falling under their spell. Ignoring all rational thought, he found himself rendered powerless to her. When she wandered closer to him, taking off her scarf and wrapping it around his neck, Sam was reminded of that night she kissed him. Thoughts he kept hidden in his soul were now flooding his consciousness. He could smell that sweet perfume that was so uniquely hers—bubblegum and cinnamon. He could feel the heat from her skin and breath. He could discern her delicate and lovely features—the ones that constantly haunted every moment of his existence. He could lose himself in this one moment of ecstasy.

As he found himself edging closer and closer to her, Sam was surprised to see that Jubilee was not drawing back from him as he thought she would. She stared up at him, dazed as if she were lost, too. For a moment, sanity crept in. The Southern gentleman, though wanting something to happen, forced himself to intervene. He remembered trying to stop her, trying to push her away.

But she would not let him.

He could still remember the tenderness in her voice as she remained insistent. I _"Let me do this," she had whispered, her sweet mouth so close to his. /I _

Looking into her beautiful face, hearing her say those words, and realizing how close she was to him, the Southern gentleman was finding it harder and harder to resist temptation. He wanted to give in. He needed to give in. Like a moth to a flame, Sam was drawn to her. He could taste her mouth again, feel how soft her lips were against his, and experienced how whole she made him feel.

Adding to his growing sense of happiness was the fact that there was no indication from Jubilee that she did not want this. She simply stood there, as if waiting for him. Though her expression was unreadable, the quality of her gaze relayed her understanding as to where things were going.

Suddenly, just as he was about to embrace his dream, the moment was shattered.

The irony of Bobby's jet making its descent over their heads was not lost on Sam. Looking back on the situation now, he smiled bitterly. How appropriate that Bobby be the one to interrupt what was about to happen. Tried as Sam did to resent the other man, he could not. It was akin to being envious of the man who seemed to have everything falling into place for him, but did nothing to boast about his good fortunes.

Sam assumed that Jubilee would not want anything to do with him since her boyfriend had returned from his mission. She had made that painfully clear with her abrupt departure. It was as if she could not race away fast enough. Again, the Southern gentleman was reminded of his harsh reality: Bobby was the one she wanted to be with; not Sam.

However, he was surprised to learn a few hours later that Bobby had left again suddenly. Even with this knowledge, Sam was apprehensive to approach Jubilee. Perhaps that moment in the woods was one of weakness for her, one that she was eager to forget. Not wanting to place any pressure on her and make things even more awkward, Sam kept his distance. As painful as it was not to see her again, he knew he had to do it—for both of them.

Over the course of the past few weeks, Sam found himself wishing that Jubilee would realize the poignancy of what transpired between them. Much to his dismay but not to his surprise, she did not. In fact, her trips to the mansion were few and far between following that day. Sam wanted to attribute this to classes starting up for her, but in the back of his mind, he knew better. There were countless times he considered summoning the courage to approach her again. He racked his brain to search for an excuse to see her. Finally, he toyed with the idea of flying to her window, offering the scarf she had given him that cold day.

But in the end, he kept the scarf. In spite of the fact he had every intention of returning it to her, Sam did not. It was the only thing that reminded him of what could have been.

For Hank McCoy, the journey with Jubilee to Sub-Basement One was a long one, shrouded in tension. Being the perceptive individual he was, there was no doubt in his mind as to why she wanted to accompany him to the Med-Lab. The knowledge alone made his mouth dry and his stomach perform a series of somersaults. Her need to pump him for information seemed very palpable as they made their way inside the mansion and into the elevators.

It had been several weeks since Hank himself last heard from Bobby. After his young friend left, the only form of communication he received was a brief email request for Hank to inform Scott and the Professor of his indefinite leave of absence. Being the dutiful friend, Hank followed through. He had also sent a care basket of flowers and fruits to the Drake home, expressing his sympathies.

As for personal communication, Hank had tried to call Bobby in order to check as to how he was doing. He was hoping that his friend's condition had improved. However, each time he phoned, an exhausted Maddy answered, informing him that Bobby was busy and that she would pass on the message. When Bobby did not return any of his calls, Hank knew there was something amiss with his friend. It was uncharacteristic of his friend to simply blow him off like that. As much as he wanted to attribute this strange behavior to the elder Drake falling ill, there was a part of Hank that told him otherwise.

The look of fear in Bobby's face was an image he could not erase from his mind. There was nothing more Hank wanted to do than to help. But much to his anger and frustration, he was unable to find a solution to his friend's predicament. In fact, he was ashamed to say he had seen nothing like it before. After hours and hours of searching through various catalogues and databases in the mansion and on the internet, Hank was at a loss. This only compounded his feelings of worthlessness. In short, he had let Bobby down.

Now, as he stared at Jubilee, who seemed so vulnerable like the child who first came to Xavier's so long ago, Hank prepared himself for letting another person down. He could only assume that Bobby was isolating himself from her as well. One could tell from the worried expression she perpetually wore on her face these days. The fact that she wanted to talk to Hank alone spoke volumes as well.

But why would Bobby do this? It was a question that left Hank reeling. While Bobby did not go on and on about his relationship with Jubilee, it was quite evident that he was very happy. Hank was pleased that for the first time, his friend was involved with someone who did not treat him like garbage, lied to him, or was dating him just to get back together with someone else.

So, why would he shut her out when he needed her the most?

Rather than dwell on these settling issues, Hank tried to focus on the task at hand. Together, he and Jubilee continued to make their way to the elevators that led to Sub-Basement One. There was the requisite awkward attempts at small talk between them. It was as if both knew what was at hand, but did not want to immediately bring it up right away. They needed to cling to some semblance of normalcy before talking about the heavy rain cloud that hung over them. He asked her about how her classes were going while she made inquiries about his work in the lab.

When they reached the double doors of the Med-Lab, Hank turned to Jubilee. "Why don't you wait out here, and I'll get the tools?" he suggested. In the back of his mind, he was praying that he was wrong and that she would say 'yes'.

Unfortunately, higher powers failed to comply with his wishes. "Actually, I'd like to come with you," Jubilee told him, chewing on her lower lip nervously. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. "There's something I'd like to ask you. In private."

_Oh my stars and garters._ Hank plastered on what he believed was an easygoing smile. "Sure. Of course." He pushed open one of the doors and motioned for her to enter, following closely behind.

Feeling a bit flushed, Hank unzipped his black, leather jacket with gold trim and slipped it off to reveal a blue-and-white, argyle sweater vest, a white shirt, chinos, and black penny loafers. Since his recent mutation, he had to buy new clothes that would accommodate his much larger frame. Thankfully, Warren referred him to his personal tailor, who was able to recreate the preppy wardrobe he often favored.

Draping his jacket over a stool at a nearby worktable, he braced himself for the inevitable onslaught of questions. He tried not to hunch his shoulders when she sauntered to the table. _As much as you feel badly for her, remember your promise._

Jubilee wrung her hands together and took a deep breath. _If anyone has any answers, it's gotta be the guy who knows Bobby best. Well, here goes…_ "Have you heard from Bobby?" she inquired. "I'm asking because… He's been a little weird lately."

"Weird? What do you mean?" Hank feigned as much ignorance as he could muster at the moment.

She shrugged, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "Weird in the sense that he doesn't want to talk to me. He's not himself. Yeah, I know he's dealing with a lot right now, but this is different. I can't explain it." She paused and studied the concerned face across from hers. "So, has he gotten in touch with you?"

Hank raised furry brows. "Just through email," he answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"What did he say?" she asked, sounding quite eager.

Hank cleared his throat, growing more and more uncomfortable with the conversation. "That he wanted the Professor and Scott know that he was taking an indefinite leave of absence," he replied, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. "Nothing too insightful, really."

Jubilee was crestfallen. "Oh." Then she glanced up at Hank again, the sadness not quite leaving her face. "What about when he first came back? He had to come see you about something."

Hank inhaled sharply, stunned as to how perceptive and sharp the firecracker was. It was enough to render him mute for a minute. "What makes you think that had any bearing with what you're talking about?" he finally asked.

Jubilee could tell Hank was stalling. Logan always said Beast had a problem being deceptive. While she wanted to make some eloquent and persuasive argument as to why Hank should be more candid, her brain was not cooperating. Overwhelmed with the situation, she could only plead. "Please, Beast," she said softly, sapphire eyes pleading. "Did he say anything to you?"

Hank nervously fiddled with his glasses. As much as he wanted to tell her what he knew, his promise to Bobby and the ethics of the situation prohibited him from doing so. No matter how he tried to rationalize disclosing the information, there was no way he could do it. He had made a promise to his best friend, under the auspices of doctor-patient relationship. It was impossible for him to break his vow of confidentiality under these circumstances.

Inwardly, he cursed the misfortune associated with his position. He likened his predicament to that I _Friends_ /I episode, when Joey was the only person who knew of Chandler and Monica's relationship but was sworn to secrecy, resulting in a series of hilarious misunderstandings. Unfortunately for Hank, this case was all too real and less light-hearted.

Finally, he swallowed hard. If there was one thing in the world he detested, it was being deceptive. Seeing the expression of desperation across Jubilee's beautiful face made it even more difficult. Somehow, he summoned all his inner resolve to come up with a response.

"No," he answered quietly, shaking his head woodenly. Then he added as an afterthought, "Even if there was some issue, I would not be at liberty to say anything."

Alarmed, Jubilee frowned. "Why not?" she asked, trying to read between the lines. Was he implying that there was something wrong with Bobby?

"Doctor-patient confidentiality. It's part of the ethics I'm bound by." Hank tried not to choke from the bitter taste of lies in his mouth.

Her frown deepened. She remembered hearing of the concept during an ethics class she had taken under of all people, Emma. But given that she was more focused on other things now, her recollection of the material was a bit fuzzy. "Remind me of what you mean."

"Meaning I can't talk about my patients with anyone. For example, if you came to see me for a sprained ankle, and then someone asked me about it, I'm not allowed to say anything without your permission."

"So, what you're saying is that if there was something going on with Bobby, you can't say squat."

"Well, yes. I suppose you could say that."

Jubilee's shoulders sank in defeat. It appeared as if there was no soothing her troubled mind at this point. Her sapphire eyes scrutinized the kindly, feline face across from hers in an attempt to read anything beyond what he was telling her. Unfortunately, she was unable to discern much. Hank seemed resolute in his commitment to remain mum. Sighing, she realized that she was exactly where she had been prior to this conversation—completely in the dark and left to ruminate about what was driving Bobby's odd behavior.

She bit her lower lip, trapping the frustrated cry that had been building up for quite some time in her throat. When she was able to accept the inevitability of her continued predicament, she shook her head glumly. "I guess I put you in a weird position," she said in a low voice. "Sorry about that."

At that moment, Hank hated himself. Simply observing how despondent she appeared made him curse his horrible luck. There was no getting around the fact that he was responsible for much of this. He knew he had answers she was desperately seeking, but could not provide. It was an impossible situation.

After what seemed like eons of agonizing silence, Hank placed a large, calming hand on Jubilee's slender arm. "You didn't do anything," he assured her gently. Taking a deep breath, he mulled over his words carefully before continuing to speak. "It sounds like you're very worried about Bobby. Given what you've told me, I can't really blame you. I know I can't tell you much, but what I can say is that he cares about you. You need to believe that."

She nodded, absorbing the empathy conveyed by what the big, blue doctor was saying. Even though she wanted to feel comforted, there was a part of her that would not allow this. She could not pinpoint what exactly made her feel off-kilter about where things stood with her boyfriend. It seemed to be a combination of things—his abrupt departure, how distant he seemed to be, his evasiveness, and his insistence that she not come see him. Taken together, it was difficult for her not to wonder if something was wrong.

Perhaps it was this extreme preoccupation that removed the normal inhibitions from her brain because she suddenly blurted out, "There's something else."

Blue, furry brows knitted themselves together upon hearing this declaration. "Excuse me?" Hank felt his mouth become dry. A million possibilities raced through his head then and he prayed that none of them were actualities. "Jubilee, what do you mean?"

Her face paled and her heart began racing wildly in her chest. There was a moment when she thought she might pass out. Instantly, she wished she could take her words back, but the way Hank was staring at her made this an impossibility. She was quite aware that he would prod and query until answers were provided. Part of this was driven by his training as a doctor while the other part stemmed from the protectiveness most residents at the mansion adopted towards her.

Realizing that there was no turning back, Jubilee came to terms with what she had to do. However, before explaining what she meant, she needed to ask him something first. "When you said that you can't say anything about what other people tell you, that applies to everyone—no matter what?"

Hank was confused, finding her question a bit perplexing and strange. He did not want to discourage her from confiding in him, so he tried not to sound alarmed. With as much neutrality as he could summon, he told her matter-of-factly, "If you were seeing me as your doctor, I cannot discuss anything pertaining to your health without your consent."

Then he paused for a moment, trying to read the anxious expression that marred her lovely face. Rather than make an assumption, he decided to simply cut to the chase. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Jubilee took a deep breath, tucking a lock of silky hair behind a delicate ear. She stepped away from him, as if placing some physical distance between them would make talking easier. Staring down the likes of Sabretooth and the Hand seemed much less daunting than what she was about to do. Yet, somehow, she knew she had to. She had enough of living in her own private hell.

"I haven't been sleeping well," she began quietly, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her yellow, puffer jacket she wore over a cherry-red, V-necked sweater, gray corduroy slacks, and black ballet flats. "I guess that's health-related enough to qualify under your argument."

Hank breathed a sigh of relief. For a minute, he was apprehensive that she had some devastating news to spill. "Oh?" He tried not to smile. "Well, I suppose we could explore some options to remedy things for you."

"I don't think any of those interventions would work," she objected grimly, shaking her head.

"Why not?" Immediately, Hank became concerned again. He could hear it in her voice—something telling him not to be elated just yet.

"I think it's psychological."

"Well, with what you've told me about you and Bobby—"

"It has nothing to do with Bobby. Not exactly, really."

"Jubilee, I'm afraid I don't understand. What do you mean then? Is it school, or what's been happening with Jean? I mean, stress can affect how we sleep in many ways—"

"I know about stress, believe me. And, no, it's not any of those things."

"Then what is it, my dear? I need to know if I'm to help you."

"I don't know if you can." Her lower lip trembled as her voice began to crack. She shook her head again. "I don't think anyone can."

Watching her in agony made Hank feel so helpless, which grated against his propensity to provide aid whenever he could. He found that this was especially true with Jubilee, a young woman who had been through her share of trials and tribulations while with the X-Men. This made him quite determined to reach out to her even more. "You don't know that for sure," he said with his trademark kindness. "Perhaps if we talk about what's bothering you…"

Jubilee swallowed hard, despising herself with each passing second. She did not deserve Hank's compassion and concern. The guilt pressing down upon her was unbearable. Unable to sustain her façade of goodness any longer, she finally had to make her confession.

She took a deep, shuddering breath before going on. "What's bothering me is the fact I kissed someone who wasn't Bobby," she whispered. "It wasn't like I did it to intentionally hurt him or anything. I mean, it started out as part of some weird scheme I had at the time."

_Oh my stars and garters._ Hank tried not to grimace upon hearing this revelation. Quickly, he placed a hand over his mouth to mask his own distress. "Does Bobby know?" he asked quietly.

Jubilee shook her head in dismay. "No," she replied, but quickly added, "but I've wanted to tell him. It's just that with him leaving all of a sudden because of his dad... Let's say there hasn't been the right time to tell him. And trying to do it on the phone doesn't seem right, either."

"But you _will_ tell him, right?" Hank coughed, trying to wrap his brain around the secrets he had to keep. Now, he really felt like Joey from _Friends_.

Her crystalline eyes became wide in disbelief. "Yes, of course I will. What kind of question is that?" When she saw how sheepish the blue, furry doctor was, Jubilee softened her defensive stance. "Didn't mean to snap. It's just that the whole thing is freaking me out."

He looked at her sympathetically from behind his wired-rimmed glasses. "I could imagine," he told her, nodding. "Guilt is a powerful emotion."

"Tell me about it." Jubilee laughed sardonically, the sound harsh to her own ears. Then she peered at Hank with somber eyes. "But do you know what the worst part is? I don't know if it's only guilt that I'm feeling."

"What are you saying?"

"I guess what I'm saying is…" She trailed off into silence.

"Jubilee?" Hank prompted.

"I think there's a part of me that doesn't feel so bad about what happened."

Outside of the slightly ajar doors, Sam Guthrie leaned against the wall and rubbed the lower half of his face with a weary hand.


	54. Chapter Fifty Four: Eyes Open

I apologize for the delay, but my life has been super crazy with school (dissertation, internship, applying for other internships) and traveling home to spend the holidays with family and friends. At any rate, here's another chapter in my saga. I think in music they call what's happening right now part of a crescendo. In other words, things are beginning to come to a head. Please let me know what you think!

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her feedback and guidance!

**Chapter Fifty-Four: Eyes Open**

It was another lovely, spring morning. Any trace of snow had receded, melted by the gloriously bright sun that shone over the skies these days. There was something tranquil about the early hours in Long Island. The hustle and bustle associated with commuters trekking into the city was absent for a brief moment, allowing the birds to chirp merrily and the dew to cling peacefully to leaves and grass. It was the kind of calm that could only be experienced following a fitful slumber the evening before. This not only affected the surroundings, but people as well. There were more smiles, a more relaxed atmosphere compared to the wary reserve most people were engaged in during the cold winter months.

However, there was one person for whom the cold was a constant companion these days. Haggard, pale, and boyish face drawn into a taut expression, Bobby Drake swung his legs over the side of the bed. The sandy-haired young man rubbed his eyes wearily, frustrated that a good night's rest had eluded him once again. Then he rose to his feet and threw on a pair of stone-washed jeans over his blue snowman boxers. He considered changing out of the gray T-shirt that seemed to hang from his wiry frame, but decided against it.

As he shuffled out of his bedroom and towards the bathroom down the hall, Bobby relegated himself as possibly the only person who did not appreciate the change in seasons. To him, everyday was always winter. He had a reminder of this situated squarely on his chest, which would not melt or dissipate from his existence no matter how much time had passed.

It had been two weeks since he last tried to deal with the patch of ice that stretched across his torso. He had obsessively stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, closing his eyes tightly and trying to will the coldness to disappear. In his mind, if he concentrated enough, perhaps his predicament would soon go away and life would return to normal. After all, it was not the first time, his body had experienced something unusual that seemed out of his control. In these instances, it was his confidence or his lack of effort that seemed to hold him back from overcoming these obstacles. But when he finally put all his energy into resolving the problem, he was surprised and delighted to find that he could address what was happening on his own.

Much to his dismay, this situation was very different. He tried meditating, clearing his mind of all his worries and insecurities so that he could focus on the ice. Forcing his mind to concentrate, he tried to will it to leave. Perhaps the Professor and Emma were right. He simply needed to realize his potential in order to get his abilities under his control. If he could only keep his mind on this task, then all his worries would be behind him.

Unfortunately, each and every time he engaged in this endeavor, his attempts provided no change. He felt increasingly despondent when he saw that not only did the ice not disappear, it seemed to cover more surface area than before. Just yesterday when he was drying off from a shower, he noticed that his entire chest was now encased in clear ice. To his horror, he could now see his bones as well as his internal organs. His heart seemed to slam against his sternum as fear gripped him.

It was at this point that Bobby realized there was nothing else he could do. There was no amount of wishing or praying that would resolve his dilemma. This cruel outcome was something he had to resign himself to.

However, that did not mean the people he cared about had to be cursed with the same fate.

All too aware that his mother had enough on her plate at the moment, Bobby did not mention to her what he was going through. He restrained the urge to say anything. It was best not to concern her with anything else. Caring for the Drake patriarch was a full-time job in itself. Maddy was juggling the roles of nurse, therapist, chauffeur, and head of the household. Given that Bill's condition was not improving as the doctors had hoped, she found herself experiencing the added stress of dealing with her husband's subsequent depression. She had to put on a brave face to the world just to convince him and quite possibly herself, that there was still hope.

Still, there were times when Bobby thought his mother knew something was amiss. When she tried to hug him or place her head against his shoulder for support, he would be standoffish and simply take her hand instead. Her genteel face was marred with pain and confusion during these moments. At first, she danced around the subject, but then she pressed on, inquiring if there was anything he wanted to talk about. Was it about his father and the stroke? Did something happen with Jubilee? Could it be something else?

In what would be customary behavior for Bobby now, he denied that anything was wrong. He told her that while he was concerned about his father, he was able to handle things well. There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he lied that things with Jubilee were also fine.

He remembered the expression on Maddy's face as she listened to him. The lines around her normally cheery blue eyes were etched deeper. She was still worried about her son, which elicited a pang of guilt inside him. However, this was offset by the fatigue that seemed to weigh her down these days. Had it not been for this mental and physical exhaustion, she would have prodded further and not allowed him to get away with his attempts at deceiving her.

Before leaving the subject entirely, she had placed a hand on his arm and told him that she was here for him and that whenever he wanted to talk, that she would always be available. It reminded him of so many times when she offered him comfort from a world that did not understand him. For a moment, Bobby wanted to believe that his mother could fix everything just like she had done when he was a small boy. But as he looked at her, he realized that she no longer had that ability. This was a woman who was now frail and in need of a miracle herself. Her magic was gone.

Brushing his teeth vigorously, Bobby caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. What met his weary gaze was like a slap to the face. Spitting, he quickly rinsed his mouth and toothbrush before studying the image closely.

He had taken to not shaving everyday simply because there were days when he did not have time to do so. The stubble left his face appearing older than his twenty-five years. There were frown lines around his forehead, mouth, and eyes from the many times he tried to scrunch his face up to focus on the icy patch. He looked harsher and less approachable. His gray eyes had taken on a steely, almost guarded quality as they peered back at him. Taken together, the young man recognized the reflection from somewhere else.

Bobby was immediately reminded of his father.

The younger Drake stepped back from the sink and mirror, nearly overwhelmed with this conclusion. Shaking, it took him several seconds to compose himself. A part of his brain tried to reassure him that he was merely seeing things. However, the visual evidence was damning.

Growing up in the Drake house, Bobby found it difficult to identify with his father. Other than their gray eyes and the last name, there was little the two men had in common. Whereas Bobby was carefree, sensitive, and eager to please, Bill was remained staunchly entrenched in his traditional ways. There were times Bobby doubted his father had ever smiled or laughed. The Drake patriarch always seemed to wear a perpetual frown, as if he were preparing for a confrontation. He was conservative, and at times, narrow-minded, preferring to stay in the flock than being identified as being different. It was this frame of mind that distanced him from his son, who was beginning to embody the qualities that Bill feared.

As he mulled over their tenuous relationship, Bobby knew that he did not hate his father. It was just that he was uncertain that he liked him at times. However, he could not dispute the fact that the man loved him and his mother dearly, working hard to provide a stable and good environment. Though Bill was not the gentle paternal figure Bobby wanted him to be, the elder Drake expressed his affection in less direct and more subtle ways. There were trips to the family lake house in the Adirondacks, lessons in how to put on a tie and how to shave, summer nights throwing the old baseball back and forth, and awkward life-lesson discussions involving the birds and the bees.

Nonetheless, Bobby had sworn to himself not to be the man his father was. He strove to be different. There was no way he was about to allow himself to be as unhappy, surly, and wary of the world as Bill seemed to be. No, the younger Drake decided long ago that he would not go down that path. He was determined to be the antithesis of his father, carving out his own destiny.

However, as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, it suddenly dawned on him that he and his father had so much in common now.

Sighing, Bobby grabbed a white towel from the rack and dried the lower half of his face with it. He thought about the day Bill shared his journal with him. In addition to being surprised that his father had kept one in the first place, Bobby was taken aback by the poignancy contained in the entry he was asked to read.

_I hate seeing my wife like this, waiting on me hand and foot like I'm some kind of damn baby. It's times like these when I think about ending it all just to save her. _

Even now, the younger Drake could still see the tortured look in his father's eyes. It was clear that the words and their intent resonated so deeply with Bill at that moment. Sitting with his father and observing the other man's pain, he found himself reaching a critical understanding he never thought was possible. They were both experiencing a betrayal of their bodies, affecting their lives in ways that could only be described as devastating. The two men also kept their anguish hidden and private, particularly from the women in their lives.

Bobby sighed, raking a hand through his sandy hair. Jubilee. His shoulders suddenly slumped as his mind mulled over the situation with his girlfriend. Things were certainly complicated now, and most of it was his doing. In his attempts to be evasive, it seemed he was spinning a web of hurt that only exacerbated the situation. Guilt coursed through every fiber of his being every time they spoke on the phone, especially when he heard the concern in her voice. He felt that he did not deserve it.

First off, her phone calls to him were daily. It was rare for him to initiate any calls to her. This fact was not lost on him. He felt rather badly about it. She was only expressing the kind of concern and worry that was associated with loving someone. He was facing a difficult period in his life, and she wanted to support him and to show him that she was here for him.

Second, he had come to dread talking to her, a fact that filled him with self-loathing. Because talking to her meant having to lie, being deceptive, and making a mockery of everything their relationship stood for. The fact that Bobby responded by being distant and evasive was quite palpable to both of them. When she asked him why he did not call her or why he sounded rather off, he remained steadfast to his denials that anything was wrong. Her multiple offers to drive to see him were immediately rebuffed. In the end, he always came up with plausible excuses to avoid any further discussion of the matter.

Bobby was cognizant that his girlfriend was not one who could be fooled easily. No matter how many excuses he made or how convincing his reassurances were, she continued to persist. Jubilee pressed him on his current and very peculiar behavior, citing that this was not at all like him. Almost every phone conversation involved questions, inquiring as to whether or not there was something else on his mind other than his father's condition. Though Bobby had become adept at countering her, he hated himself for it. There was nothing more he wanted in the world than to ease her worried mind and to tell her truth.

But something always held him back from doing so.

He could not quite pinpoint what it was that stopped him from making his confession. All he knew was that his tongue seemed paralyzed each time he attempted to make his disclosure. After trying several times, he decided not to pursue the issue. Maybe what it boiled down to was that Bobby himself was not ready to accept what was happening.

Closing his eyes, he tried to purge these thoughts from his head. Similar to his efforts to deal with the icy patch on his chest, his attempts to distract himself were proving fruitless. Jubilee's face kept haunting him, reminding him how much he loved her.

Frustrated and desperate to find some distraction, Bobby decided to check in on his father. He stepped out of the bathroom and made his way down the hall to the master bedroom. After Bill's return from the hospital, Maddy had moved into the guest room.

When he reached the master bedroom, Bobby noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Curious, he peered inside and was surprised to find Maddy awake and by his father's bedside. Still wearing her periwinkle robe, the Drake matriarch looked as if she had not slept much either. Her blue eyes looked dull, drawing attention to the dark circles underneath them. The color seemed drained from her face. The fine lines around her eyes, mouth, and forehead had deepened, and there was more silver in her dark-blond hair these days.

Even now, Bobby almost did not recognize her. It was as if another woman had taken her place. He was about to turn on his heel and walk away when he heard his mother sigh.

"Oh, Bill," she whispered in her throaty voice to her sleeping husband. She clasped his hand in hers and pressed it against her cheek.

As much as Bobby felt he was intruding and wanted to turn away, he found himself planted where he stood.

Oblivious to her son's prying eyes, Maddy went on. "I'm trying to brave. I want to be like how you are for this family. But I must admit that I'm not that strong. Sometimes, I lay awake at night and wonder what kind of future we're going to have. It scares me to think that the man I love might not come back to me."

She choked back a sob, her shoulders shaking. "I have to tell you that it's been tough. On really bad days, I think about why this happened to us. Do you think about that, Bill? Have you ever asked yourself if this was destined to be our fate?" She wiped a hot tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

Bobby felt his heart breaking as he listened to his mother's emotional soliloquy. He had a hunch that the strain of his father's illness was taking a toll on her. However, he was astonished to learn the extent of her stress. Like the two Drake men, Maddy had taken to bottling her feelings inside.

He glanced over at his father, wondering if the elder Drake heard his wife's confession. There was no way he could remain asleep. But when Bobby's gaze shifted to where his father lay, he nearly collapsed.

Bill Drake was not in bed. In his place, was someone else. This person was younger, but still shared a resemblance. However, the individual's body was encased completely in ice.

Recognizing the figure as himself, Bobby turned towards where his mother was. He was met with yet another surprise. Instead of Maddy, there was another familiar individual sitting on the bed. Her hair resembled salt-and-pepper, tumbling down her hunched shoulders. When she turned to look at him, her face was filled with wrinkles that nearly masked her once beautiful features. Her eyes, which had been so brilliantly blue, were now devoid of any sparkle.

Jubilee.

Bobby woke up, gasping for breath and feeling as if his whole world had been shaken.

Jean Grey rubbed her right temple gingerly with her fingertips as she traipsed down the staircase of her home. The tall, elegant redhead was suffering from a thudding headache that seemed to pulsate throughout her entire head. However, unlike other people's headaches, there was not only pain but also the discomfort of being too connected with the psychic fabric around her. She likened it to someone trying to search for a radio station to listen to, changing the channel constantly so that she heard bits and pieces of different conversations inside her head. It was disorienting and maddening. Unfortunately, these kinds of headaches were now a common occurrence. Had it not been for the occasional moments of reprieve from the bombardment of psychic material, Jean feared she might be on the edge of sanity.

Unable to continue work on her editorial for I _Time_ /I magazine on genetic testing to detect mutation, she decided to brew a pot of tea. As she neared the kitchen, her mind began to clear of the excess telepathic residue. Relieved, Jean went to the pantry and chose a box of Egyptian chamomile tea. The pungent, slightly tannic tea with a hint of apple filled the air. The preparation of the tea brought back some comforting memories. Whenever her father had one of his migraines, he always found some Earl Grey soothing.

As the water in the tea kettle boiled, she made her way to the white-washed hutch and retrieved a Cornish Blue teacup and saucer. There were some days that were better than others. The headaches were not as intrusive or she would not have the nightmares that intruded upon her mind. Initially, she tried to hide her condition from Scott. Given the increasing amount of responsibility he was taking on at the school and over the teams, this seemed like the right decision. After all, there was no need to add any more concerns to his already troubled mind.

However, it was not too long until Scott figured out that there was something amiss. Not surprisingly, he became quite upset and anxious. He insisted that she scale back her duties at the school, delegate some of her public appearances to Hank, and not participate in any future field missions. In short, he was asking her to give up living. His demands soon became a source of strife between the two of them, with Jean arguing that she was fine and that she had everything under control.

But it was becoming apparent that this was not the case.

The headaches worsened, as did the nightmares. She found herself distracted with the psychic static that was running through her head. Even with the most simple of tasks, such as cutting coupons, became cumbersome. Shortly after the field mission in London, Jean decided to acquiesce to her husband's demands and removed herself from the active roster. She then asked Hank to cover her subsequent speaking engagements, showering her old friend with a bevy of compliments so he would not make any inquiries.

In spite of her concessions, there were some things Jean was unwilling to give up, such as her headmistress duties. She enjoyed interacting with the teachers and students. Being a part of a process where knowledge was being imparted instilled feelings of pride deep within her. During those moments, she was reminded her father and how deeply involved he had been with his own students. There was a part of her that wanted to believe that he was smiling down upon her.

With less on her plate, she was also afforded some time to attend to other business. She could write the opinion pieces regarding mutant registration she had promised to contribute to various magazines. She could catch up on her book club reading. She could immerse herself in those meditation exercises the Professor had suggested.

Jean was startled out of her musings when she heard the front door open. Normally, she would have been able to discern the identity of the individual simply by sensing their psychic imprint. However, with the other "noise" inside her head, this was impossible. Instead, she merely relied on the sound of the footfalls and the slight fragrance of bubblegum and cinnamon to recognize who had entered the house.

"Hi, Jubilee," she greeted, blinking furiously in an attempt to drive out the static from her mind. To her surprise, this worked and all was calm. Relieved, she smiled as she removed the tea kettle from the stove top.

The young woman walked into the kitchen, pausing next to where Jean stood. "Hi," she replied, pleased to observe that the redhead seemed to be fine. Like Scott, Jubilee had been concerned over the state of Jean's health in recent days. To see her out of her room and smiling was very much welcomed.

"Care to join me for some tea?" Jean inquired, noticing Jubilee's cheeks were bright pink. "You seem as if you could use some."

Jubilee peered down at the yellow, hooded puffer jacket she wore over her gray, cashmere turtleneck, corduroy trousers, and cheetah-print ballet flats, and gave the older woman a small smile. "Who knew March would still be this cold? Someone needs to talk to Storm." She watched Jean pour the hot water into her prized Cornish Blue kettle. "Do you need some help?"

"If you could get another cup for yourself, that would be great." Jean told her graciously. She was uncertain if she could have concentrated long enough to retrieve it herself.

Jubilee made her way to the cupboards and took out a cup and saucer. She then grabbed the honey jar and dipper before heading to the table. Slipping out of her jacket and draping it on the back of her chair, she peered over at Jean to ensure that she was still alright. "Is there anything else I can do?" she asked.

"You're beginning to sound like Scott." Jean said dryly, carrying the teapot and her cup to the table. "I'm perfectly fine, sweetie."

"Sorry." Jubilee bit her lower lip sheepishly.

The graceful telepath shook her head, Titian locks spilling down her shoulders and smiled gently. "It's OK," she told her reassuringly. "I've been a little off lately, but I'm not completely helpless."

"I know," Jubilee said, reaching over and taking the teapot. Pouring the hot, fragrant liquid into the other woman's cup, she sighed. "It's just that I don't like seeing people I care about in pain."

Jean placed a comforting a hand on the younger woman's arm, her green eyes studying her fondly. While she and Scott were not quite prepared for children of their own, they were both quite happy with the job they had done in raising Jubilee. Granted, she had been a teenager when she first came to live with them. However, the six years that followed and seeing Jubilee blossom into the woman she was now instilled some hope that they would be ready one day.

Finally, she said, "There's absolutely nothing to worry about. I'm just going through some things right now."

Hearing Jean's words suddenly triggered something deep inside Jubilee. Her lower lip trembled and she felt her chest besieged with an empty ache that seemed to be a constant companion now. It reminded her of someone who seemed so far away from her in every sense. No matter how many times she tried to extend herself, her efforts were constantly rebuffed. She felt as if nothing she did was sufficient anymore. It was as if she was failing at keeping what she held most dear.

Jean suddenly felt bombarded by a barrage of angst-tinged thoughts voiced by Jubilee. She placed the heel of her hand to her temple, staggering backwards slightly. Her green eyes widened as she heard the young woman's nervous contemplations regarding her relationship with Bobby, and her fears for their future. The intensity and the poignancy from what she was gathering from Jubilee made her tremble. It was too much.

"Jean? Jean?" Frightened, Jubilee grabbed the telepath's arm and quickly guided her to a nearby chair. Her heart started racing when she noticed that the color was draining from Jean's face. She contemplated grabbing her cell phone and calling the Med-Lab to have either Hank or Annie come by.

Then Jean reached her hand out to cup Jubilee's cheek and smiled weakly. "I fine now," she said reassuringly, feeling a pang of guilt in her chest when she saw the look of distress across her young charge's countenance. Inwardly, she chastised herself for making Jubilee worry.

"But we should get you over to the mansion so that someone can check you out," Jubilee protested, her terror replaced with a sense of overwhelming concern.

Again, the redhead declined. "That's not necessary." She closed her eyes briefly before continuing to speak. "Besides, I can honestly tell you that the medical staff are currently attending to some students who over-exerted themselves in the Danger Room with Gambit. It seems like Mr. LeBeau made a wager with them regarding household chores."

Ordinarily, Jubilee would have been amused. However, her ability to laugh was hampered by her heightened awareness that all was not right with Jean. The fact that the other woman was trying to make light of what transpired got under her skin. She quickly pushed aside her annoyance to focus upon attending to the telepath.

"At least let me call Scott," she cajoled, her blue eyes imploring as she thought of the pained expression on his face before he left for a mission in California earlier this week. Just as he was boarding the X-Jet in the hangar, he had pulled Jubilee aside and made her promise to keep him abreast of any developments at the homestead. "He'd want to know."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't need to know. He doesn't have to be concerned over something minor like me losing my concentration. And you shouldn't worry yourself sick over me. It's not that big of a deal. I'm fine, really."

For some reason, Jean's objections to relaying the truth to Scott fostered the growth of a spark that was burning in Jubilee. Her cheeks burned furiously as she was quickly reminded of Bobby's denials that anything was amiss. His evasiveness and his dismissals of her attempts to be supportive of him made her question reality. Late at night, she wondered if all was truly well. While Bobby reassured her that they were, there was a part of her that believed otherwise. He was so distant, so unlike himself. It made her tense, edgy, and preoccupied with the idea that something was very wrong.

No longer able to maintain her calm, she suddenly cried, "Stop it! Just stop it! God, why does everyone feel like they have to lie to me? I'm not some fragile little child anymore!"

Surprised, Jean drew back. Her green eyes widened as she stared up at Jubilee's pinched, frustrated face. It certainly did not take a psychic to discern that the young woman was troubled by other issues. Recalling the onslaught of anxious thoughts that radiated from Jubilee, Jean was able to make her conclusion. "This isn't only about me, is it?" she whispered.

Biting her lower lip ruefully, Jubilee realized that she was found out. At this point, she was no longer concerned as to who knew about her angst. All she wanted was a reprieve. "Can't you… Can't you just take a peek inside his head? I mean, just so that I know he's okay." Then, with much thought, she added, "That I _we're_ /I okay."

Jean stared into Jubilee's pleading sapphire eyes. Inside, she felt terribly torn. As much as she wished she could have granted this request, her current condition not to mention her firm commitment to respecting the privacy of others refrained her from doing so. No matter how desperately she wanted to alleviate Jubilee's angst, Jean had to remain steadfast.

"I'm sorry," the redhead whispered, her voice filled with remorse. "I'm so sorry but I can't do that."

Jubilee's slim shoulders sank as the heavy but familiar weight of disappointment descended upon her. In spite of the fact that Jean was sympathetic, it was clear that she was standing firm. Not wanting to get involved in an altercation with the woman she considered the closest thing she had to a mother, Jubilee decided against pressuring Jean. Neither one of them had the strength to engage in any arguments today.

The younger woman drew back, biting down upon her trembling lip to stifle down a frustrated cry. After taking a couple of deep breaths, she exhaled shakily. "I just wish I knew what was going on with Bobby. I need to know what I have to do to fix things. I hate being helpless. I hate knowing that he's in pain and there's not a damn thing I can do because he won't let me in. If I could figure out what's wrong, then maybe things will be like they were before. You know, when we were happy."

The pain in the younger woman's voice resonated with Jean at that moment. Finally, the telepath said in a low voice, "I can't tell you what's happening with him, but I know that he needs you to be strong."


	55. Chapter 55

Back with another chapter. This one's a tear-jerker.

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her editing efforts.

Let me know what you think!

**Chapter Fifty-Five: If You Love Somebody Set Them Free**

In the early hours of a mid-spring morning, Sam Guthrie found himself unable to sleep. This was not an entirely new phenomenon. In fact, the Southern gentleman was growing accustomed to not getting his full eight hours. There were times when he considered himself lucky to possess the ability to close his eyes.

Unwilling to continue tossing and turning, the tall, lean young man from Kentucky threw back the covers, sat up, and swung his legs over his bed. He rubbed his calloused hands over his stubble-ridden face, his pale-blue eyes weary. His shoulders hunched slightly as he began to experience a familiar ache in his chest. It was a deep pain, one that ate away at him and left him numb and empty for the rest of the day. A grimace marred his handsome features once he realized what had elicited this reaction.

Hours before, he had another dream.

About her.

Exhaling loudly, Sam raked his fingers through his straw-colored hair. He was disgusted with himself. It was as if a part of his psyche relished in torturing him with these fantasies, tempting him with his deeply buried hopes and desires. Perhaps he was one of those self-loathing masochists Dani talked about in her psychology lectures. What else could explain the seemingly routine cruel games his mind was playing with him? To believe that his ordeal was random was simply too terrifying.

Sam felt overwhelmed as a wave of shame engulfed his entire being. It was an emotion that was now a familiar companion these days. This was especially true when he reflected upon on his predicament. While the scenarios of his deepest wishes varied, the theme remained forever constant.

Jubilee was his.

In his dreams, he was haunted by images and feelings denied to him in his waking moments. There was no concern about any possible consequences. All that mattered was that she had chosen him and he was complete.

Until he awoke.

Tried as he did to purge the images from his mind, the Southern gentleman was at a loss. Sometimes, the poignancy was so vivid, he was left shaken and believing, for a brief moment, that his mind was depicting reality. He could taste her kisses, feel her warmth, and smell her trademark scent of bubblegum and cinnamon. He swore that he held her throughout the night, her body nestled close to his and fitting in all the right places. There were times when Sam expected to find her lying next to him, only to be disappointment to discover he was alone.

To say that Sam was desperately in love with her was an understatement. Even attributing the complicated mess that characterized his emotional state to his feelings for Jubilee did not come close to what he was experiencing. Rather, the realization that he could never be with her was like an ache that permeated every part of his soul. He was lost, living each day in a hopeless, painful fog that would never lift.

At first, he believed that putting on façade that all was normal would not be so trying. He could pretend that seeing her would not hurt him. He could pretend that knowing she was with someone else did not bother him. He could pretend he was not wishing for another kiss, another stolen moment.

But in the end, he was too miserable to do any of these things.

So Sam signed up for the assignment to Madripoor. Placing some distance between himself and Jubilee was a measure he wanted to try. After finding little solace and tranquility operating under his current plans, the Southern gentleman felt a new direction was needed. Though it pained him to be away from her, being close to her was unbearable. In the end, he had to do this.

For both of them.

He swallowed hard as he replayed the conversation he overheard between Jubilee and Hank. There was a part of him that was thrilled to hear that she had felt something in that kiss they shared. She had not simply brushed it off like it was some innocuous event, nor did she feel completely guilty about what transpired. Reading between the lines, she was touched by that brief encounter, more than Sam could ever dreamed.

However, she was not free of regret. That was evident in her tone, the way she talked to Hank, and the words she used. Now, ever since that moment, she was awkward and flustered around Sam. It was clear that she was experiencing some sort of torment. In spite of her insistence that things return to some semblance of normalcy, Jubilee continued to be troubled and haunted. She sounded frightened and despondent, consumed by her own remorse for having let down Bobby and herself.

For that, Sam ultimately blamed himself.

The Southern gentleman clenched his jaw as he rose from his bed. He made his way to his private bath, flicking on the light switch. With mechanical efficiency, he brushed his teeth. His strokes were harsh, as if he were attempting to scrub the stain of guilt from his mouth. He finally stopped when he felt his gums become numb.

As he rinsed out his mouth and splashed some water on his stubble-ridden face, Sam realized that he and he alone was responsible for all of this angst. After all, Jubilee had been fine prior to what happened. Had he not come along, insisting on torturing himself in order to be in her presence, things would have been fine. She would be happy and free of any guilt or remorse. There would be no strangeness between them.

Sam grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and buried his face in the mothering darkness. There were countless times he wished for the ability to manipulate time or to even remove the event from Jubilee's consciousness. As much as the Southern gentleman cherished what happened, his desire to ease her mind was greater. In the end, he simply cared about Jubilee too much to watch her go through any further turmoil. It hurt him deeply to know that she was agonizing over what he considered the single greatest moment of his life. Seeing him around the mansion on a daily basis certainly could not have helped matters. That poignant but incredibly awkward moment in the forest was a testament to his conclusion. This led to Sam making a difficult albeit necessary decision to spare his Jubilee.

He was leaving. For her. For both of them.

The tour in Madripoor was open-ended, meaning that the team would leave when the mission was accomplished. Given the complications involved with the objective, Sam realized a great deal of time would be spent on reconnaissance before executing any kind of plan. According to his rough calculations, this would take several weeks. During that time, he could immerse himself in other things, take his mind off of his misery, and allow the both of them some peace of mind. Painful as it was not to see her sweet face everyday, Sam knew this was the only option. He loved her that much.

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky slung the towel back on the rack. Given that there was a week until he and the rest of his team were scheduled to leave, he knew he had take inventory of the equipment he would need. He quickly dressed, pulling on a gray sweatshirt over a long-sleeved blue T-shirt, and a pair of faded jeans. Then he exited his bedroom before heading downstairs.

The brilliant sunshine that fell across the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters brought a warmth that had not been experienced for quite some time. Flowers were beginning to bloom and color returned to the once-barren trees. The brisk, wintry air was replaced with gentle breezes, which swirled the fragrant scent of peonies from Ororo's garden. There was an infectious energy in the air, which was evident in the chirping from the birds in the trees to the scurrying movements of the squirrels and other small creatures that also inhabited the surrounding woods around the property.

Unfortunately, not everyone was able to experience the euphoria of the cheerful atmosphere.

Jubilee found herself standing in the bright kitchen of the Summers' farm-style, clapboard house this morning. She had been up for at least hour now, having showered and dressed for the day in a navy sweater set, a pair of chinos, and brown sandals. The heaviness in her body competed with the nervous fluttering in her stomach, causing her to appear preoccupied and anxious—not at all like herself. Not even the allure of Cook's jelly-filled doughnuts sitting on the kitchen table could raise her mood.

If only things were that simple.

Jubilee sighed, leaning against the counter and rubbing the heel of her hand against her forehead. She wondered how things had gotten so damn complicated. A year ago, she was happy and carefree. There was no need to think or second-guess herself because she felt secure in what she had and who she was with.

There were so many questions that raced through her brain when she thought about her predicament. When did things change? Why did this happen? How did things come to this? What could she do to fix this whole mess?

She bit her lower lip in frustration, replaying the events from the past several weeks. Granted, she and Bobby continued to keep in touch during his time away from the mansion through phone calls and emails. However, these conversations seemed so empty, so one-sided. Jubilee was usually the one to initiate contact, often calling him to see how things were going. Her queries were frequently met with hollowed reassurances that all was well and that he and his mother were tending to Bill. Towards the end of these calls, she would begin to dance around the issue that was most salient in her mind.

_Are you okay? Are we okay?_

For some reason, explicitly asking was too difficult. Her brain and tongue failed to work in tandem. She supposed it was because she felt there was no graceful way to inquire about their situation without appearing like some kind of insecure idiot. There was also the fact that Bobby had other pressing issues weighing him down these days: looking after his father, and making sure that his mother had the support she needed to get through this whole ordeal. In a way, it made sense that he was preoccupied and was not available to be there for Jubilee during this time.

Still, there was a nagging voice deep inside that told her something was amiss. This person who talked to her did not sound like her Bobby. There was a cold, hard quality to his voice she never thought she would hear from him. He was distant, not at all like the engaging, thoughtful and kind Bobby she had come to know and care about. This Bobby was reticent, rarely asked her how life was going for her, and even forgot Valentine's Day. Though Jubilee was not one of those women who put a great amount of stock in the holiday, she knew that it was a big deal for Bobby—at least last year it was. He had been the one to agonize over plans he had for them. He had been the one to become crestfallen once those plans had fallen through. To have it simply slip his mind this year was most unusual.

Concerned, Jubilee had called him on it—playfully, of course. She brought up Logan and Ororo's romantic excursion, which the entire mansion had been talking about in spite of the couple's efforts to keep things hush-hush. As she was speculating how her Wolvie would wine and dine Ororo, it was then that Bobby's memory was tapped.

_"Dammit." He had exhaled loudly. "I'm so sorry, Jubes. I totally forgot. You must hate me."_

_She had been taken aback. This was the most emotion she had heard from in quite some time. It was not the kind she wanted to hear, but desperate as she was for any kind of response from him, she had decided she could settle for it. "Don't feel bad. I don't hate you." _

"_You should. I'm the worst boyfriend in the world. You should find someone else."_

_Jubilee had sucked in her breath, feeling as if he had dealt her a rather unexpected blow. Why would he say something like that? "Stop saying that. You're the best." Her voice was a mixture of hurt and indignation. _

"_No, I'm not," Bobby had insisted, his tone more despondent. He almost sounded as if he were struggling to keep from crying. "I let you down, Jubes."_

"_That's not true," she had told him, growing quite frightened all of a sudden. For some reason, his words and the quality of his voice instilled a sense of foreboding inside her. There was something else that bothered him, more so than the fact that he had allowed Valentine's Day pass from his mind. _

"_I have let you down. You're just not getting it."_

"_What does that supposed to mean?"_

_Bobby had paused, as if to rack his brain for something eloquent to say. After what seemed like eons, he finally said, "Nothing… I'm just tired. I guess being my dad's physical therapist isn't as easy as I thought it would be." He had tried to laugh to introduce some lightness to the conversation, but it sounded like a sharp, rough bark. _

_Suddenly, Jubilee became inspired. "I have an idea," she had said brightly. "How about I come up and spend some days with you. I could help out. I mean, spring break is like in two weeks…"_

"_No."_

"_But, Bobby, it's no big deal."_

"_It would be to me."_

"_What are you trying to say?"_

"_I'm saying don't come here. Please. I'm just not good right now."_

"_All the more reason to come see you. I can help and maybe we can…"_

_Bobby cut her off, his voice resolute. "For the last time, Jubes, no. No. Stay away." _

Jubilee tried to blink back the tears that welled in her eyes as she remembered how Bobby hung up so abruptly. It was difficult not to be upset following that conversation. He sounded so strange, like a person she never knew. The fact that he was pushing her away deepened the wound. It was as if he did not need her, did not want her. This was not her Bobby.

Upon continued reflection, Jubilee realized that her tears were not only for her distant boyfriend. There was something else in the saline that blurred her vision at that moment. It was equally confusing and just as painful as things with Bobby.

The kiss.

Even now, tried as she did to push the moment from her consciousness, her mind would not allow her to forget what happened between her and Sam Guthrie. She could still feel the warmth of his lips against hers, his strong arms wrapped around her, and the feel of his hair underneath her fingertips. At first, she attributed the phenomenon to some sort of guilt response. After all, she had kissed another man who was not her boyfriend.

Yet, there was something else. After her conversation with Hank in the Med-Lab, Jubilee came to realize that her admission was true. Part of her did not regret that forbidden moment with Sam. Each time she thought about the kiss or dreamt about it, there was a tingling sensation that coursed throughout her entire body and a searing heat that prickled along her skin. It was as if she relished what happened despite the rational side of her that told her not to. What made things worse was the fact that she had not been able to confess what happened to Bobby.

Between this, the guilt, and the uncertainty surrounding her relationship with Bobby, life was becoming simply unbearable.

With that, Jubilee grabbed her canvas bag and her car keys. To hell what Bobby said. She was going to resolve the issues for the both of them.

After finishing his requisite cup of coffee, Sam placed his used mug in the dishwasher. The tall, lean young man from Kentucky was rather amazed as to how still and quiet the mansion was at this time in the morning. Granted, it was still early, but he had expected to run into Cook or someone else from the kitchen staff. Much to his surprise, there was no one around in the normally bustling room. In the end, he decided he preferred the solitude to being around others. The latter would only force him to act as if everything was fine when clearly he felt otherwise.

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky was contemplating a Danger Room session to exorcise some of his frustration when he heard the garage door open. Despite the reinforced walls and doors, the creaking motor could still be heard, bringing attention to the fact that the maintenance staff had yet to address this problem. Curious, Sam sauntered towards the door that connected the kitchen to the corridor that led to the garage. He opened it, realizing there was a part of him that he did not want to go through the second door at the end of corridor. Yet, his feet carried him forward, as if he were drawn to what was on the other side.

When the Southern gentleman reached the garage, he felt his heart pounding inside his chest. His hands began to sweat. He could hear his own breathing, which was all too palpable to his own ears. Still, he continued to walk. He walked towards a car—the only that was about to back out of its spot. It was a yellow, Volkswagen Beetle.

Jubilee's car.

Sam swallowed hard, not quite believing that he was beside her driver's side door. He wanted to scream at himself for placing himself in such a precarious position. Was he stupid? Was he crazy? Perhaps, it was a combination of both. Clenching his jaw, he was about to propel himself out of the garage in an attempt to make a quick escape. However, he stopped himself when the car ceased moving and the window rolled down.

Jubilee's sapphire eyes widened as she bit her lower lip. Sam Guthrie was the last person she had expected to run into this morning. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. While she intended to focus her thoughts and feelings on the situation with Bobby and her trip to Long Island, she found herself mesmerized by the handsome Southern gentleman standing outside her car window. She studied the strange, forlorn expression on his face, and wondered if he felt as lost as she did at that moment.

After what seemed like eons of silence, Sam cleared his throat. "Ah heard the garage," he said, trying to overcome the awkwardness that crept into his voice. Much to his chagrin, he could not.

Jubilee was too lost in her own sense of discomfort to notice anything was amiss with Sam. She managed to tear her gaze from him long enough to compose herself to respond. "Yeah, well, it was me," she replied in a low voice. As soon as she began speaking, her face began burning in spite of her best efforts to appear calm and collected.

He pressed his lips together, fully aware that his presence was behind the thick tension that hung in the air between them. Inwardly, he cursed himself. Short of fleeing immediately, the Southern gentleman racked his brain for a tactful exit. Unfortunately, his mind failed to cooperate with his wishes. Instead, the young man from Kentucky remained rooted where he stood, captivated by the woman he loved so much.

The woman he could never have.

Sam quickly became cognizant to the fact that he had to leave before inflicting any further pain for the both of them. He raked a calloused hand through his straw-colored hair nervously. As much as he wanted to soak up his time with her, he could not. "Ah should go," he told her quietly.

She nodded in agreement, dark hair spilling down her graceful shoulders and back. There was a part of her that was tempted to climb out of her car because she hated how things had deteriorated. She wanted to be his friend again, to listen and to empathize with him. The dejected tone in his voice ate away at her, and though she was not looking at him, she knew he wore an expression to match. This knowledge nearly evoked a shuddered cry from deep inside her throat.

Despite her need to comfort to Sam, Jubilee willed herself to stay in her car. Her lower lip trembled as she thought about what restrained her at that moment. She had to concentrate on her relationship with Bobby. There was no room for the complications that were inherent when it came to what existed between Sam and herself.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she said softly, "I should head out, too. I've got a long ride ahead of me." I _Not exactly a lie,_ /I she told herself.

Sam swallowed hard. It was quite clear she was trying to make her own exit. He stepped back, as if granting her implicit clearance for her to go. However, as he did so, his mouth suddenly operated without coordinating with his brain. "Ah guess Ah won't see ya for a while, then."

Her head jerked up as she peered at him quizzically. "What do you mean?" she inquired.

Immediately, he regretted his outburst. However, there was no turning back now. He had to carry on with the conversation, as dictated by social mores. "Ah'm going away. To Madripoor."

"Oh." One would have thought that the prospect of Sam leaving the mansion would have provided some relief for Jubilee. Instead, she found herself feeling quite sad and empty. It was as if a part of her would be going with him as well. As thought about her response to what he was telling her, she wondered why it vexed her so.

He wasn't sure how to interpret her reaction to that piece of news. Was she happy? Was it something else? It was difficult to read exactly how she was feeling.

Jubilee stared up at him with those old-soul, blue eyes that seemed to hypnotize. "I'm going to see Bobby," she whispered, feeling suddenly guilty as she responded to his question. For a moment, she thought she saw something die inside him.

Sam clenched his jaw tightly. Reality was sinking again. She did not want him. She was with someone else. Someone who really deserved her. Not him.

_Let her go, Sam. Let her go. _

After what seemed to be an eternity of silence, the Southern gentleman stepped away from her and cleared his throat. It was an awkward sound, but so characteristic of how he felt at that moment. "You should go then," he muttered, tearing his gaze from her beautiful face. His voice became flat and dull as he added, "Don't wanna keep ya."

"Sam, I—"

"No. Don't say anything else. You gotta go."

Jubilee watched him shove his hands deeply into his pockets. She sensed his misery. It was so apparent for her to see. The shadow that fell across his face was nearly enough to pull her out of her car. Observing him in such a state made the young woman despise herself a little.

Because she knew she was somewhat responsible.

But as much as she wanted to say something eloquent and comforting, Jubilee realized that she could not. The tension between them at the moment seemed to render her speechless. Then there was the fear aspect that held her back. She was afraid that she might exacerbate the situation by some misstep on her part. It was quite possible that she could make things worse by attempting to reach out to him.

In the end, she could not risk it. There was too much at stake. Jubilee knew that if she stepped out of her car and went to Sam there was a chance she could hurt him again. Moreover, it was quite likely she could let Bobby down.

She exhaled heavily. Sam was right. She had to leave. For both of them.

Jubilee took a deep breath and stared up at Sam's forlorn face for one last time. "I'll see you around," she said, all too aware of how strange her voice sounded to her own ears. She tried to shake off her discomfort, taking off the emergency brake and backing out of her space slowly. Much to her dismay, it was not working.

As he stood in the garage, watching Jubilee's yellow Volkswagen Beetle pull out of the driveway and onto the winding road that led to the iron-wrought gates of the mansion, Sam felt his heart breaking into a million pieces.

Bobby Drake found himself seated behind the desk in his father's study. The boyishly handsome young man was scrutinizing medical bills and a leather-bound ledger Maddy maintained to keep track of household expenses. The cost of his father's stay at the hospital and the first month of treatment and rehabilitation were proving to be expensive, even with his father's insurance and Medicaid. Fortunately, the situation was not dire enough to necessitate Maddy to return to work, but it was certainly going to make things a little tight. After crunching a few numbers on his calculator and writing out a number of checks to be sent out, Bobby was able to balance his parents' accounts.

Leaning back in his chair, Bobby rubbed his temples gingerly with his fingertips. He had forgotten how tedious accounting was. The overwhelming sense of mind-numbing boredom had been the reason he left the profession. Yet, pouring over numbers seemed a relief for him. It helped distract his mind from other trying issues, but not for long.

Bobby closed his eyes, as if trying to block the bombardment of pain that weighed him down at the moment. Unfortunately, there was no amount of avoidant behavior he could engage in to keep himself from ruminating about his problems. The pang that resided in his chest was a constant companion with him. It only changed when he lapsed into his brooding over the state of his life.

Unconsciously, he placed a hand over his chest. The palm of his hand was met by the chill of ice. Bobby grimaced, his gray eyes bitter. Never did he thought the cold would be his worst nemesis. But he here was, cursing the ice that was as much a part of him as his very soul. It was as if he had been betrayed by every fiber of his being, helpless and powerless to exercise any kind of control in steering his destiny.

His mind began wandering, drifting to the events that played in that horrifying dream. The poignancy of what played out in his unconscious continued to resonate with him. Bobby's limbs trembled as he saw himself in his father's role as the invalid, trapped in a body that did not allow him any sort of physical contact. He saw Jubilee as his mother, drained all of her energy and beauty. Together, they were locked in a relationship that was devoid of everything he had come to cherish about what existed between them. And, while he wanted to dismiss the dream for it was, there was one thing he could not write off.

The feeling that his life was coursing down the path outlined by the dream.

Bobby swallowed hard, his hand still over his chest. He had tried many times to revert the icy patch to skin. Even with focused concentration, he failed. What was worse was the fact that the expanse of ice seemed to be growing with each passing day. It now stretched over his chest and his belly, making his ribs and internal organs completely visible. One could even see the blood flowing through his veins and his heart beat.

Whenever Bobby looked at himself in the mirror bare-chested, he could not help but shiver. It was not necessarily the cold that brought forth such a reaction. Rather, it was the thought of his future. He was destined to be a man encased in ice—never able to touch or receive touch. How could he fathom being with Jubilee when he could not even hold her close? What could he offer her? With the exception of certain hardship as a result of his condition, he was unsure. To expose her to a life with him, where he would be nothing but a burden, was not only unfair but cruel.

Bobby pressed his lips together in a thin, taut line. He knew his fears were completely unfounded. After all, he was a witness to a similar situation with his parents. His mother was spending all of her waking moments, tending to his father and trying to keep a brave face to the world. Meanwhile, at night, when she thought no one could hear, she wept. But Bobby, unable to sleep himself, heard her. He could detect her despair, her fear, and her loss of the life she knew.

_I can't let that happen to Jubilee. I won't let that happen to Jubilee. _

He was startled out of his thoughts when he heard a soft rapping at the door. Head jerking up, he saw Maddy standing in the doorway. She looked frail in her periwinkle fleece jacket, navy T-shirt, chinos, and sandals. Her cornflower eyes were subdued in their vibrancy as they peered over at him.

"Hi, Mom," Bobby greeted, closing the ledger.

Maddy tilted her head to the side, a lock of silvery-blonde hair falling across her forehead. She brushed it aside as she studied her son. It was almost eerie how much Bobby reminded her of Bill at that moment. Granted, there were the physical similarities—the gray eyes, the boyish features. However, the commonalities seemed to go further than that. There was the furrowed, perpetually tense expression Bill used to wear that was now passed on to Bobby. The twinkle that danced his Bobby's eyes and smile disappeared. In fact, the younger Drake rarely smiled nowadays. It aged him, far beyond his twenty-five years.

The observation forced Maddy to choke back a sob. She was all too aware that this was a trying time for the family. But to see her boy, devoid of the light that he seemed to exude on a regular basis and reduced to a shell of the man he once was, made her feel like a failure. She wished she could have shielded him from all of this pain, protected him from the hardships.

Yet, at the same time, she was unsure as to what she would have done without him. Bobby had taken over the responsibilities she and Bill would have dealt with. He was the bookkeeper, the primary contact when it came to scheduling appointments with doctors and therapists, and the one who forced her to rest after her long days with Bill. It was similar to the last time Bill had been bedridden, but Bobby seemed different now. There was something missing in this situation.

Hope.

Hugging her arms around her lithe frame, Maddy drawled in her throaty voice, "Could I get you something?"

Bobby shook his head. "I'm okay." _The one thing I need, you can't possibly get. I wish it were that simple._

"Oh." Maddy nodded in the direction of the ledger. She had been too preoccupied in the last few days to even think about balancing the accounts. "Thank you. I wasn't sure when I was going to get around to that."

He shrugged. "Just trying to help out."

"Don't be so dismissive. You do so much." She leaned against the doorframe. "Why don't you relax a little?"

He gave his mother a wry smile. "I'll take that advice as soon as you follow it."

Maddy returned the dry expression. "Well, I'm taking your father to see Dr. Cavanaugh in an hour for his check-up," she said. "It'll give you a break from us for a while."

"I don't need a break," Bobby protested, shaking his head. Then he added, "In fact, I'll come with you."

"I'd rather you didn't," his mother told him gently. "There are things I need to do on my own."

"Are you sure? Because I don't mind."

"Yes, sweetheart, I'm sure."

"I'll leave my cell on, just in case."

"We'll be fine, I promise."

"Alright." Bobby was not all that convinced given how exhausted his mothers was lately. However, he knew that having her grow more and more dependent on him was not completely healthy, either. He nodded, relenting.

With her small victory in hand, Maddy began to relax slightly. "With your free afternoon, why don't you call Jubilee?" she suggested. "I'm sure the two you have a great deal to catch up on. It must have been weeks since you last saw her."

He winced, his gloominess returning to the forefront. "We talk on the phone," he said stiffly.

"It's not the same," Maddy insisted, clasping her hands together. "Listen, I know that things around here aren't conducive to having company over, but I actually wouldn't mind seeing her again. And, I'm sure that you would be—"

"No."

"Why not?"

Bobby was racking his brain for a cogent, rational answer to his mother's query when he heard a car pull into their driveway. Curious, he rose from his chair and made his way to the window, peeking through the blinds. What greeted his gaze made his heart leap—both with happiness and sheer panic.

It was Jubilee's yellow Beetle.

"Bobby, who is it?" Maddy asked as her son made quick strides from the window and towards the doorway where she stood.

He managed to squeeze past her in order to walk into the foyer. "I'll take care of this. Why don't you call Linden about Dad's therapy appointments for next month?"

She recognized that tone he used with her at that moment. Not quite dismissive, but clear that he did not want to elaborate. She had heard it so many times when he was a teenager. As much as she wanted to pry, she restrained herself. He was no longer her little boy. He was a man with his own issues, which necessitated a modicum of privacy.

"OK," she finally said, backing into the study and watching his retreating back. "I can do that."

But when she sat behind Bill's desk, she turned her head towards the window. The corners of her mouth tugged upwards as she saw a familiar figure climb out of a yellow car and walk towards her house. For that moment, Maddy believed that her son would be fine.

Carrying a fresh rosemary wreath she had picked up from the farmer's market in Westchester, Jubilee made her way towards the front door of the Drakes' home. Though she had been here before, she suddenly felt very nervous. Her mouth was dry like cotton, and her stomach performed a series of somersaults. As she inched closer to the door in order to ring the bell, she wondered if she had made the right decision. Bobby had told her explicitly that she did not have to come up here. At the same time, she could not ignore the strangeness in his voice, which belied the words he used. Taking a deep breath, she told herself that this is where she had to be, in spite of all of her anxieties surrounding their relationship.

Before she could ring the bell, the front door opened. Jubilee almost stepped back, incredulous upon seeing the person who answered it. Yes, it was Bobby, but he looked different. His gray eyes had taken on a steely quality, and there was a hardness to his boyish features that made him appear older than his years. He also seemed thinner, his red-and-navy polo shirt and chinos hanging off of his frame. It was quite clear that his family problems had taken their toll on him.

After a few seconds of absorbing this version of her boyfriend, she said softly, "Hi."

Bobby nodded woodenly. "Hello."

While she was not expecting a grand welcome, his seemingly indifferent greeting did unnerve her. Jubilee held out the wreath. "This is for your mother," she explained. "I think in the old days, people used to offer rosemary during times of sympathy."

He took the wreath from her. "Thanks." Then he opened the door wider and motioned for her to enter the house.

She watched him place the gift on the banister of the staircase as she followed him inside. When he turned around to face her, she had expected him to reach for her. To her dismay, he remained at arm's length. His face was fixed in an expressionless mask as he stared at her with those increasingly cold, gray eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked.

Surprised, she blinked. This was definitely not how she had anticipated things. "I wanted to see you," she managed to say despite the lump that was rising in her throat. "I thought you could use a visit…"

"Even after I said I needed to be alone?" He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I know you said that, but it seemed like you could have used some company. It sounded like… I don't know… Maybe you didn't want to be alone." Jubilee cringed as she heard herself fumbling.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "So you're telling me how I'm feeling now?"

"No," she protested, sapphire eyes widening in disbelief. "No, I'm not. I just wanted to be here for you." Then she added in a small voice, "Because I thought that's what we did for each other."

He inhaled sharply, aware of how right she was. However, he could not let her on to this fact. He had to stand firm. This was something he had to do.

"What we do for each other," he began coolly, "is that we listen. No one person has the right to dismiss the other's wishes."

She looked stung upon hearing his harsh statement. A puzzled frown marred her features as she asked, "Are you saying that I don't care about what you want?"

Bobby was rendered mute at the moment. He certainly knew that was not the case. However, he was unable to respond in kind.

Jubilee continued, the hurt and pain driving her to speak. "You have no idea. You have no idea how much I've agonized about coming up here to see you. I wanted to give you your space to deal with what's been going on with your dad. But at the same time, I couldn't help but feel like something else was wrong. With us. So, I came up here, hoping that we work things out so we would be okay again."

He watched her take a shaky breath, despising himself with each passing second. He hated the fact that she was suffering because of him. But in the end, this would be brief compared to the lifetime of hardship that was guaranteed in a future with him.

She peered over at him. The impassive look on his face made her flinch slightly. It was so strange to see him like that. This was certainly not the Bobby who professed his feelings for her. No, this Bobby appeared as if he could care less about how emotional she was at this moment.

Perhaps it was this façade of indifference that compelled her to make her confession, to tell him the secret that she had been harboring for so long that consumed her with guilt on a regular basis. Jubilee wanted to get some sense that Bobby could feel something—anything. Any emotion would provide some sort of building block to work with. They could heal together and everything could be as it once was.

Or so she thought.

After Bobby finished listening, he felt himself reeling. He was not concerned about the kiss with Sam Guthrie. From the way Jubilee characterized the event, it was part of a harmless prank. In fact, he felt comfortable and secure in the knowledge that she would never cheat on him. There was nothing duplicitous about Jubilee. Their relationship was a testament to that.

However, he knew that she had given him an opportunity with her revelation.

He shook his head and exhaled loudly. "I can't do this anymore, Jubes."

"What are you saying, Bobby?" she whispered, feeling the lump in her throat expand and nearly cutting off her oxygen.

He tried not to choke, remembering his dream and the entries from his father's journal. As much as it pained him to do this, he knew what he was about do was for the best. There was no way he was going to allow Jubilee to suffer the same fate as Maddy. She was not going to be tied down to someone who had no future. Bobby was damned sure of that. He loved her too much for that.

Somehow, he was able to maintain his steely composure. It took every ounce of strength to remain steadfast to his commitment. He took a long look at that beautiful face, absorbing every detail of the eyes that captivated him, the mouth that tasted so sweet, the nose that was the recipient of playful kisses throughout their time together. Memories of the past two years suddenly flooded his brain at that moment: their first kiss after Bobby finally confessed his feelings for her, their first date, the first time when they said 'I love you' to one another, and the first time they made love. Each moment he cherished so deeply, reminding him of how much he truly cared about his Jubilee.

Which was why he had to let her go.

Bobby sighed, trying to imprint those memories into his brain and heart as he chose his words. He needed them in order to draw some strength for the arduous task in front of him. "I mean I can't deal with us, Jubes," he said quietly.

"What?" she cried. She could feel her knees wobble. Quickly, she placed a hand on the wall to steady herself. This had to be some kind of joke. "You don't mean that."

He tried not to look at her, finding it painful to watch her reaction. "Yes, I do," he replied flatly. "I'm going through a lot right now, and I don't know how long I'm here for. Not only am I taking care of my dad, but my mom, too. It's a lot on my plate.

"Then you come up here, after I repeatedly told you not to," he continued, gray eyes taking on a steely quality to match his tone. "It's like you didn't respect my wishes."

"I do, Bobby," Jubilee insisted, shaking her head and biting her lower lip. She reached out a hand to place on his arm, but was crushed when he drew back from her. Her voice dropped a frightened whisper as she said, "I just thought you needed me."

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest, wincing. His response was a combination from the extreme cold that radiated from the icy patch and the poignancy of the situation. _I do need you,_ he thought, his own heart breaking with each passing second. _I need you more than you'll ever know. But I have to do this. I have to do this for you._

Taking a deep breath, he forged ahead. "What I needed was some space," he informed her, attempting to convert his despondency into anger. "What I also needed was a girlfriend who wouldn't cheat on me."

She stared at him in disbelief. "I told you it only happened once. You've got to believe me." This definitely was not her Bobby. The man standing across from her, behaving so coldly, was the not the one she loved. He looked like Bobby, but this was person was a stranger. The things he was saying and how he was saying them were foreign, flying the face of everything she knew about her boyfriend. "I would never hurt you, Bobby. I'd die first."

Bobby believed her. He pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle himself from returning the sentiment. Hearing the pain in her voice and the confusion in that beautiful face of hers almost him reconsider his decision. The last thing in the world he wanted was to hurt Jubilee. She had been through so much in her young life. To be another person imposing some kind of traumatic experience upon her seemed like the ultimate betrayal.

However, he remembered the passages of his father's journal and the all-too vivid dream he had. The idea of Jubilee's liveliness and energy being drained as a result of staying with a man who had nothing to give her was devastating. Bobby could never allow her to be tied down to him the way his mother was tied down to his father. He loved her too much for that.

With a firm and unwavering resolve, Bobby remained steadfast to his decision. "I want to believe that, Jubes," he said, trying to mask his own heartbreak by hiding behind a façade of impassivity. "But right now, I don't think I can handle what you've done on top of what else is going on. It's all too much for me."

"Please, Bobby. I've already said I was sorry and that I would never do it again. And, if you want me to leave right now, I will." Tears were stinging her eyes, blurring her vision as she struggled to speak. She was shuddering now, yet somehow she was not sobbing. "But please don't say it's over. Not because of this. I'll do anything you want. You name it and I'll do it… Just don't give up on us. I love you, Bobby."

"Jubes…"

"No, Bobby. I won't let you do this! Don't talk as if things are over because they aren't!"

There was nothing more Bobby Drake wanted to do than to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything was going to be alright. He grimaced once he remembered the icy barrier that promised to separate them. There was no way she would want to get close to that. How could anybody? No one could ever love a man who was made of ice. It simply wasn't possible.

_I love you, Jubes. You'll understand afterwards. Even if you don't, you'll be happy and that's all that matters._ He blinked back his own tears and swallowed the choking cry that had been building inside of him. "There's nothing that can be done," he said woodenly, trying not to be moved by Jubilee's crying. However, this was futile. Watching her suffer because of pain he was inflicting filled him with self-loathing he had never known before.

However, he realized that if the conversation went further, he would not be able to let her go as he planned. It had to end now. Perhaps, it would be less painful for the both of them.

Walking towards the front door, Bobby grabbed the knob tightly and pulled it open. "I think you'd better leave now," he told her, sounding eerily like his father at that moment.

Jubilee wiped her tears away with the back of a shaking hand. This all felt too surreal, as if she were trapped in some horrible nightmare. Yet, everything about what was transpiring between them was very real. The ache that was piercing her heart was too vivid to be brushed aside as a figment of her imagination.

There was a million things she wanted to do besides leave. She wanted to fight for him and for what they had. She wanted to tell him off, scream at him as to what the hell he thought he was doing. But most of all, she wanted to have things the way they had been.

Yet, she found herself complying. Her feet seemed to a have a will of their own, steering her towards the door and past Bobby. As she pushed open the screen door, the young girl stared at the boyishly handsome face she associated with so many pleasant memories. It was now set into an expressionless mask, as if nothing about the pain she was experiencing at that moment affected him. She thought about saying something to him, but her tongue seemed paralyzed in her mouth. Flashing him a wounded and angry glare, she quickly darted out of the house and to her yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway.

Quickly, Bobby closed the front door. The thudding of his heartbeat drowned out the sound of the engine starting and the squeal of the tires as Jubilee's car pulled out of the driveway and into the street. He knew he had been a bastard and that he done something so reprehensible to the one person he swore he would never hurt. In fact, this had to be the most difficult thing he had ever had to do in his entire life.

But in the end, he had to do it. Jubilee needed to be with someone who had a future, someone who could provide her with all the things that he would no longer be able to. It was her happiness that was paramount, not his own.

_"Love is not always so happy. There will be troubles ahead. It will be up to you to be strong when things look bad. Even when all hope seems lost." _

Upon remembering the old gypsy's words, he pressed his forehead against the door and began to cry.


	56. Chapter Fifty Six: Blue Side

Sorry to have been AWOL for so long. Life got hectic but now I'm back to pick up where things left off. Much gratitude to those who followed the story and took the time to leave their thoughts.

Big thanks to Jo the Phoenix and her beta-ing skills.

The characters belong to Marvel. I'm only playing around with them.

**Chapter Fifty Six: Blue Side**

"How's everyone settlin' in?" Rogue asked, entering the parlour that led to the spacious sitting room of the team's hotel suite. The Southern Belle had just finished dressing after a much deserved shower. Piloting the X-Jet from New York to the private landing strip in Madripoor had left her rather sore from sitting in the same position for the flight. Granted, the journey took less than time than it would via a commercial aircraft, and there were brief interludes of respite thanks to Gambit, who was her co-pilot. However, that was little consolation to her aching limbs, which screamed for comfort by the time they reached their hotel in Hightown.

Amara, seated on an overstuffed sofa upholstered in blue-and-white stripes, replied breezily, "If the mission involved spending most of our time here, then I think we'll be fine." She stretched her tanned arms over her head to emphasize her point. Like her team mates, the blonde Nova Roma native was eager to leave the bitter cold that continued to envelope Westchester. She liked the fact that she could trade in her bulky sweater and wool trousers for the faded, denim shorts and a mango, tank top she was now wearing.

The lavish quality of their accommodations did not hurt, either. The Golden Palace was one of the higher quality hotels in Hightown, sitting amid fifteen acres of luxuriant botanical gardens and nearby shopping and entertainment centres. The colonial-style hotel gardens boasted more than 133,000 individual plants, flowers and trees, which included ornamental flowering trees, aquatic plants, vibrant tropical flowers and shady fruit trees. There were also ponds and tumbling waterfalls which hosted Japanese koi, luminous in hues of red and gold. The interior reflected the tranquil elegance of the country's seaside with an artful combination of chic and rustic elements. The maritime palate was evident through each room, reflected in the sophisticated use of blue, white, and cream with touches of gold.

Roberto, who was sitting at the other end of the couch, snorted as he scanned through the front page of the _Financial Times_. "You wish," he commented, giving her a wry look before continuing to read about the projection of soy futures. "I doubt Scott would have sent us here to check out the status of the Louis Vuitton store. Well, unless it was a front for some sort of mob operation."

"Totally plausible given what they charge for a tiny bag," Dani remarked from the other side of the room, where she was pouring herself a glass of water from the elegant mahogany bar. Unlike her good friend and team mate, Dani was unimpressed with the designer pieces and the accompanying outrageous prices.

Amara pouted but softened when she noticed the teasing twinkle in her friend's eyes. Being away from the mansion and her friends for several years, she had forgotten about the affectionate teasing and inside jokes they used to share as teenagers. She exchanged a dry, knowing smile with Dani.

"Well, it just seems like ages since we've been together like this," she said, tucking a lock of golden hair behind a well-sculpted ear. Her eyes suddenly became slightly misty when memories of their time together at the mansion flooded her. She had not realized how much she had deeply missed them during her time in Nova Roma as she tried to rediscover her own history.

Dani took a sip of her water. "Who knew it would take a mission to secure a mini-reunion for the New Mutants?" she wondered aloud, amber eyes thoughtful.

Roberto flicked a piece of fuzz from his chinos. He nodded, empathizing with her need to reconnect. Like his friend, he, too, had left Westchester to discover life outside of Xavier's. Although he felt enriched after his experiencing the "real world", Roberto felt a deep connection with his fellow New Mutants. Their shared journeys to control their abilities and the adventures they embarked upon were things not likely to be forgotten. It was a bond that was just as strong as the one he shared with his own family.

Unfortunately, the group's overseas excursion would not allow them any time to spend time reflecting on their renewed ties or to even indulge in any tourist activities in the capital city. Based on the briefing Scott and Logan provided, the situation was rather serious. Over the past several months, there were reports of political unrest against the current regime led by Tyger Tiger. A known crime lord, the former banking executive seized control as sole ruler, promising not to follow in the steps of her predecessors who allowed themselves to be puppets for various interests. Although her firm stance against drugs and slavery was a welcomed change, the country retained its reputation as a safe haven for wanted criminals, and corruption, prostitution and smuggling enterprises still flourished.

Disturbing as these activities were, Tyger's leadership had been tolerated due to Logan's involvement. Not one to act as a diplomatic envoy on behalf of the X-Men, the loner's background made him the perfect candidate for the job. A former resident of the small, island nation, he was cognizant of the politics and culture that tied the country to its outlaw past. His prior working relationship with Tyger also helped him to exert some influence, ensuring that she did not stray too much from ethical behaviour. Not only did the arrangement allow for inside knowledge of the regime but also some semblance of stability in Madripoor's government after years of chaos and upheaval.

Recently, Tyger's willingness to listen to his counsel was waning. When news surfaced of increasing lawlessness in the impoverished part of the city, she avoided all of Logan and the X-Men's attempts at communication. This self-imposed isolation served to further exacerbate the country's difficulties, including long-standing tensions between the wealthy and powerful residents of Hightown and their impoverished counterparts in Lowtown. Efforts to call attention to the plight of the marginalized citizens were conducted through initially peaceful means. However, the protests quickly turned hostile as soon as the military police were dispatched to address the situation. Clashes between demonstrators and the police became increasingly violent as the latter expressed no hesitation to use force to impose the will of the regime.

What finally prompted Scott and Logan to become involved was the fact that Tyger was nowhere to be seen. Normally, she would be eager to capitalize on any opportunity to portray herself as being in control. Yet, as the conflict continued, there were no media interviews or press conferences. Statements purportedly issued by her were relayed by a variety of administrators within her cabinet. Attempts by Jean and Emma to reach her telepathically had failed, which further raised suspicion that something was amiss. With the Professor and Hank in Washington, DC as a part of a public relations campaign against another proposed registration bill, Scott decided that it was time to investigate. If something indeed had happened to Tyger, the repercussions associated with that could have implications for such a bill. Madripoor's international reputation was already dubious due to its criminal leanings. However, once the possibility of civil war and the resulting fallout in a nation composed primarily of mutants, it was not hard to see the appeal of such a piece of legislation.

Rogue decided to base their operations in the more developed section part of the capital. It would be easier to conduct their investigations and relay their communications back to the mansion. Most of the government's attention had been focused on Lowtown, where the majority of demonstrations were taking place. As a result, there was a heavy police presence as they searched for instigators to arrest and detain. Their location also allowed them to be close to Tyger's presidential palace, presenting opportunities to conduct reconnaissance if needed.

The team agreed that because of the uncertainty of the situation, an estimated time of completion of the mission was out of the question. In other words, everyone was prepared for a possibly lengthy sabbatical from Westchester. While this piece of information might have caused some initial distress, the group accepted the news as they did the other nuances of the assignment. It was quite fortuitous that the team was composed of new members, who had long-standing histories with one another. Due to the sudden departures of Neal and Bishop, Rogue was pressed to recruit Dani, Amara, and Shan to join her existing squad. The recent addition of Roberto, who was currently on leave as CEO of Da Costa Enterprises, provided the use of his existing business contacts with connections with the government. As for Logan, he was still in Westchester but was planning to join them by the end of the week.

Following their arrival, Shan attempted a telepathic scan for Tyger, using the portable Cerebro link. She had been hoping that closer proximity would facilitate the search. Unfortunately, her efforts turned up nothing. It was as if Tyger had completely vanished. Gambit then brought up the possibility of the dictator's death. He reasoned that the regime could be putting up the pretence that she was still alive in order to appear stable. Rogue reminded him that Jean and Emma would have been able to determine this back in Westchester. Both telepaths stressed that their readings were inconclusive. As Jean later explained, they were able to detect life but any other activity was absent. Dani confirmed this, stressing she did not sense any signs of impending death.

Meanwhile, Roberto had reached out to his contacts in Hightown. Most wanted to discuss future investments and blithely avoided his inquiries about the present domestic crisis. According to these individuals, their concerns lay with the continued modernization and prosperity of Hightown, not with those who were struggling. That, one businessman informed him, was the task of the government. When Roberto queried about the whereabouts of Tyger, he was provided with speculative replies which involved her being too preoccupied to be making public appearances or entertain outsiders.

He had been prepared to admit defeat when he received a call on his private mobile from someone claiming to have knowledge about the current events in Madripoor. Roberto was sceptical about the validity of the call given the distortion of the voice on the other end and the use of a blocked number. Before he was able to connect his cell phone to the audio equipment Shan was assembling in her room, the caller instructed him to go to The Princess Bar in Lowtown the following evening for specific details. When Roberto demanded the identity of the person, the voice reassured him that he would be meeting with "an old friend of Patch". With that, the dial tone signalled the end of the conversation.

Immediately, Roberto relayed the exchange to Rogue and the others. Because the caller invoked Logan's alias during his time in Madripoor, it was surmised that whoever it was well acquainted with the loner. With the exception of Shan, no one really knew much about his life here. Rarely did he talk about the subject unless it was relevant to a field assignment. After deliberating over the possibilities, the team decided that Roberto should meet the mysterious stranger while Rogue and Gambit monitored the situation from a nearby location. Initially, he expressed his reservations, citing that the individual had access to his _unlisted _number. His wariness soon turned to embarrassment when Rogue pointedly asked Amara and Dani to accompany him for "protection".

As the team members continued to orienting themselves to their new surroundings and time zone, they found themselves experiencing the news of the meeting differently. For the two former New Mutants, this represented their first field assignment in quite some time. Their current roles as teachers and advisors at the school limited their involvement outside of the mansion. Both were eager to see some action. Meanwhile, Roberto was racking his brain as to who the caller was. For a brief moment, he suspected a former girlfriend or perhaps four, seeking him out for revenge. He shuddered.

Amara observed the apprehension that marred his features. Gently, she patted his shoulder. "Ave, Bobby," she said, blue-green eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. "Don't worry."

"Yes," Dani agreed, taking a seat on the other side of him. "_We_ won't let anything happen to your pretty, little head."

Amara clapped her hands together and laughed. "I've never been someone's bodyguard before. This should be so much fun!"

Roberto scowled as his friends collapsed into a fit of giggles. "Hilarious," he groused. Then he flashed a dirty look at Rogue, who was grinning. "I hold you responsible for this!"

"Bonjour, mes amis," Gambit drawled, ambling into the room from the adjoining suite he was sharing with Rogue. Freshly showered and clad in only a white hotel towel, the tall, lean Cajun thief found it difficult to hide his amusement when the collective attention of the women in the room fell upon him. Although he was now in a committed relationship with Rogue, he did not see the harm in some harmless flirting every now and then. It was good for his ego.

Prior to Gambit's exhibitionistic entrance, Roberto contemplated helping himself to one of the pineapple tarts sitting in front of him on the coffee table. His stomach was yearning for some form of acceptable sustenance given the limited options on the X-Jet. However, his appetite seemed to disappear as soon as the half-naked Cajun walked past him.

Rolling his eyes, he said, "Dude, I wish I didn't have to say this…but could you please put on some pants?"

Gambit smirked when he noticed Amara and Dani glaring hotly at the swarthy Brazilian. His expression soon changed when he Rogue's reaction. Her mauve-painted lips were pursed as she gathered her hair into a ponytail. White tendrils framed her face, which seemed to accentuate her increasingly narrowing emerald eyes. When the Southern Belle's cheeks began to stain pink, Gambit realized that it would be best for him to retreat to their room and throw on some clothing.

It was Roberto's turn to be smug. His onyx eyes sparkled with amusement as his appetite made a sudden and welcomed return. Reaching for one of the pastries, he noted, "I don't think I've ever seen Gambit move that fast."

Rogue did not respond to the Brazilian's comment. Her attention was focused elsewhere—namely, the French doors that led to the suite's balcony. Stuffing her gloved hands into the pockets of her black, fitted workout pants with yellow stripes down the seams she had paired with a matching tank top, she made her way outside. While the panoramic view of the gardens and the outlying waters that surrounded the island-nation may have left most people reeling in amazement and wonder, Rogue was focused. Her green eyes surveyed the spacious balcony, searching past the blue-and-white flared vases that encased the exotic plants, the wicker chairs with plush, navy pinstriped cushions, and the bronzed, bamboo side tables.

Her gaze drifted onto a familiar figure leaning against the railing. His straw-coloured hair was rumpled by a slight breeze as he faced the direction of the ocean. He was casually dressed in a blue chambray shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, leaving his feet bare. With his shoulders slightly hunched and his head ducked low, it appeared that the young man was sombre in spite of the brilliance of the shining sun against the blue sky. It was quite a contrasting picture.

Rogue walked towards where Sam Guthrie stood. "You OK?" she asked.

He turned to face her, revealing a slightly sheepish expression. "Hey," he greeted.

"For a moment, Ah thought we'd left you on the plane," she chided lightly, standing next to him.

"Ah was just helpin' Shan with unpackin' the rest of the communication equipment," he replied, sheepishly. The two of them had gone to her room after the team made their decision to go to Lowtown in the evening. "Ah thought Ah'd stop here to take in the scenery before we get down ta business."

"How's she doin'?" Rogue asked, concerned. It was no secret that Madripoor held bad memories for Shan and her family. While she had agreed to join the mission, there was some hesitation in doing so. The years of psychological abuse at the hands of her uncle and her desperate search for her younger siblings during her time on the island continued to resonate with her. The fact that she was spent most of the morning in her room was evidence of that.

Sam's blue eyes were thoughtful. "Ah think she's just tuckered out from the trip." The Southern gentleman had noticed his friend's anxious response as the X-Jet approached the private landing pad in Hightown. Honouring her need for privacy, he took it upon himself to quietly reassure her that things were different and that she had the support of everyone on the team. He had listened as she processed her anxieties about her return to Madripoor, remaining by her side until she fell asleep.

Rogue smiled up at him, fully aware of what he had done. As they were leaving the X-Jet, she had seen Sam pull Shan aside. Even though she was unable to hear the content of the conversation, she could tell he was genuinely concerned about his friend and determined to do whatever he could to help. The fact that he attempted to downplay his actions only served to emphasize the altruistic nature of his intent.

"You're a good guy, Sam," she told him, meaning every word.

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky dropped his gaze to the gardens below, shaking his head. "Not me," he said in a low voice. "Ah ain't like that."

Her brows knitted together in confusion. Not exactly the type of response she had expected upon doling out a compliment. But then again, this was Sam, the young man who often turned beet-red whenever he was singled out during team meetings for his quick thinking and leadership abilities.

Finally, she said gently, "C'mon, ya don't have ta be modest..."

"That ain't it."

"Then what do ya mean?"

Sam swallowed hard, wishing he could retract his part in this conversation. However, it was difficult not to bristle in response to Rogue's praise. As soon as she said it, he cringed inwardly. Her assertion that he was this "good guy" was antithetical to the truth. It was so far removed from what his reality. Had she known his actual motivations for being here, she would surely change her mind. She would come to perceive him with the same contempt and disgust he had for himself.

Well, at least as far as he was concerned.

As he boarded the X-Jet for this latest assignment, the Southern gentleman had been hoping to leave his pain behind in Westchester. Sam wanted to believe that the distance placed between him and his troubles would be enough. For a brief moment, he thought he had achieved some sort of respite for his weary mind. However, as the hours passed during the journey to Madripoor, he was coming to the realization that he failed. Much to his dismay, the anguish that permeated his very existence did not dissipate. Tried as he did to clear his mind of the events that led to his departure from the mansion, Sam found himself drowning in those memories.

He was permanently residing in his own personal hell.

Reflecting on his current situation, he supposed it was rather naïve of him to assume that he could brush aside his heartache so easily. His inability to forget and move forward was a testament to his feelings. For him, this was no passing infatuation. No, the Southern gentleman was fully aware that this situation was much more complicated than that. What was happening was serious, affecting him to the very core of his being.

_I love her._

It was a simple confession; one that he often whispered to himself. The words, albeit basic, conveyed a truth that made his heart race wildly, his skin burn with fevered desire, and his stomach turn in anxious knots. Sam found himself both euphoric and overcome with sadness each time he mulled over his secret admission. These feelings were often compounded by shame and disgust, elicited by the reality of his predicament. He was a damned fool for wanting someone who was unavailable. Unfortunately, the more he admonished himself for the situation, the more intense his yearning.

There was a time when Sam thought he could continue allowing himself to be near Jubilee without revealing his intentions. The experience proved to be excruciating. Every time he was around her, he could feel his chest caving into the pain that consumed his heart. His mind replayed instances when he nearly lost his composure—dancing together last year on Valentine's Day, sharing the hotel bed in New York, treating her injuries following a Danger Room session. What held him back was the knowledge that her feelings for him were devoid of any romantic notions.

But the kiss had changed all of that.

The Southern gentleman was conflicted about the embrace that continued to resonate with him. On one hand, he was thrilled to share that kiss with her. He could still taste her mouth, feel her body melding against his, and lose himself in the sensation of her fingers stroking his hair. It was a kiss that surpassed the many he imagined in various reveries and dreams. What made it even better was that it was no longer part of act—she was responding to him. For the Southern gentleman, all of his hopes and dreams were encapsulated in that kiss. She was his.

On the other hand, Sam was upset that the gesture had caused her so much turmoil, changing the dynamics of their relationship. Their awkward dinner out, the day he ran into her in the woods, and their goodbye in the garage reflected the tension that now existed between them. Gone were the easy smiles and carefree banter that was punctuated with gentle teasing. Instead, there were nervous exchanges which were driven by the need to avoid or flee.

For that, Sam blamed himself. He hated that she was consumed with guilt in the aftermath. He hated that he caused her to feel that way.

Most of all, he hated himself for desperately wanting more.

_That's why I had to leave,_ he told himself, his mouth forming a grim line. _I wanted to spare you the confusion because you deserve better than that. Better than me._

His mind replayed the morning he saw her last. It was the day he was preparing to leave for Madripoor. Her lovely face was drawn with worry as they carried on their awkward interaction. It killed him to see her like that. As much as he wanted to be with her, it was at that point that Sam knew he needed to give her back her peace of mind. He cared about her that much.

Yet, there was a split second when the Southern gentleman thought Jubilee wanted him to stay. He could hear it in her voice as she entreated him. Those old-soul blue eyes peered up at him, hypnotic as they bore into him. She had realized his pain. Briefly, he reconsidered his decision. He thought about pulling her out of that car and into his arms. He thought about kissing that achingly sweet mouth of hers. He thought about making declarations he had only made in the darkness of night when no one else could hear.

But then Sam remembered she was not his. Not now. Not ever.

So he let her go.

"Sam? Sam?"

Startled, he found himself back in Madripoor, standing on the hotel balcony with Rogue. He shifted uncomfortably when he found her staring at him. Her green-eyed gaze reflected both concern and confusion.

Sam raked a calloused hand through his straw-coloured hair. "Sorry," he said ruefully. "Guess Ah just spaced out there."

"That's one way of puttin' it," Rogue mused, brushing a strand of white hair from her eyes. She studied the tall, lean young man beside her. Although she was no telepath, it did not require psychic abilities to discern that Sam Guthrie's mind was preoccupied. Even before they left Westchester, she saw that there was something amiss with the Southern gentleman. He was subdued, rarely speaking unless directly approached. Smiles that used to appear quite frequently were a rare sighting these days. In short, he was a shadow of his former laid-back self.

There were other signs confirming her suspicions. While the others expressed some ambivalence about being away from the mansion for a long period of time, Sam remained silent on the matter. He seemed relieved to have a reason to be away. In fact, he was the first one to board the X-Jet, arriving ninety minutes before take-off.

It was as if being in Westchester was the worst possible option for him.

But why would that be the case? What could possibly be so horrible that he would readily accept being away for an undetermined amount of time? Rogue found herself entertaining these questions as she guided the craft to their destination. As the team leader, she felt some responsibility to determine the mental well-being of the Southern gentleman, ensuring that it did not interfere with the mission. Given the ambiguities and complexities involved, she needed him to be mentally sharp.

However, it was her role as his friend that compelled her to investigate what was troubling him. She had grown close to him while they were in California. Rogue admired his sense of responsibility and ties to his friends and family, dedication, adherence to values, and loyalty. His salt-of-the-earth was refreshing, especially in this day and age where self-publicity and fame dominated popular society. But most of all, there was a genuine kindness and warmth that radiated from him.

To see someone as good and decent as him in pain was something that troubled Rogue deeply. This ultimately factored into her decision to ask, "Why are ya really here, Sam?"

The former coal miner swallowed hard. "What do ya mean?"

She shook her head at him. "Don't pretend with me. Ah thought we were better than that."

"Ah…" Sam stopped himself from dispensing with another excuse, another lie. He could not bring himself to continue with this dance. The deception was exhausting. It filled him with even more self-loathing, particularly because he was attempting to mislead someone he considered a good friend.

Finally, he said in a low voice, "Ah just needed ta get away."

"Why's that?" Her green eyes studied the glum expression he wore with concern. He looked so forlorn and lost, as if he processing some tragic loss.

The Southern gentleman exhaled deeply, rubbing his hand over his stubble-ridden face. He knew he had to be cautious here. As close as he had grown to Rogue in the recent months, Sam was also aware of her loyalty to Bobby. The two of them shared a friendship that stretched back several years. Given this, Sam doubted that fully disclosing his feelings about her friend's significant other would be well-received.

He chose his words carefully. "Ah've been havin' a rough time," Sam admitted, feeling rather awkward as he heard his voice cracking slightly.

"Is there anythin' Ah can do? Any of us can do?" Rogue inquired. She contemplated asking Remy and Roberto to take the Southern gentleman out on the town. Quickly, she thought better of it when she realized that the Cajun would probably corrupt the two with some form of debauchery, and worst of all, earning her ire. Images of the three waving money at a cockfight while smoking cigars with haggard-looking women on their arms immediately flashed through her mind.

Shaking his head, Sam replied, "No, it's somethin' Ah gotta handle on my own."

"Do ya wanna talk about it?" she asked, her voice hopeful. Surely, there must be something she could do or say to assuage his fears.

The Southern gentleman shook his head again. "Ah'd rather not… It's somethin' Ah'd like ta keep private." Then he fixed his eyes towards the ocean waters that surrounded the island. "Don't worry about me. Ah'll be okay. Maybe bein' here will help."

Rogue sighed, recognizing that Sam was not going to disclose beyond what he had already. Even though the source of his angst continued to weigh heavily on his mind, he was determined to keep the secret. No amount of coaxing on her part would pry it from him. For now, she would have to take him at his word.

She clasped her hands together, leaning against the railing and following his gaze. "Runnin' doesn't always solve your problems," she mused in an attempt to provide some sisterly advice. "Trust me. Ah know."

His pale eyes glanced at her pensive face. He was aware of Rogue's history of extended sojourns away from the mansion. Her ability, which she viewed as both an asset and a burden, often evoked feelings of isolation from others. Although she had gained more control of her powers, she was still fearful of the destruction she was capable of and the resulting damage on her own psyche. When they were in California, Rogue often talked about the need to leave in an attempt to start over. However, she was quick to acknowledge to him the futility of such thinking. After all, her troubles were tied to her skin, making escape rather difficult.

Sam knew she had a point. Despite the differences in their circumstances, he was able to appreciate the parallels. There was the same sense of fear that permeated their need to protect the ones they cared about. The threat of the harm they could inflict on these individuals ultimately factored in their respective decisions to leave.

However, unlike Rogue, the Southern gentleman was not able to reconcile the barriers to his predicament. To seek a resolution with Jubilee was completely out of the question. He could not bear the idea of placing her in a more uncomfortable position than the one she was already in. In the end, Sam was determined to do what was right, no matter the consequences to his sanity.

"No, but Ah gotta try somethin'," he finally said.

The remainder of the day was spent reading through recent press releases, psychological reports on Tyger and members of her inner circle, previous field mission statements, and briefs on opposition groups. There were also various photographs, archived footage of Tyger, and recent video uploads of the protests. In addition to these materials, Roberto and Amara were studying maps of Lowtown in anticipation of tomorrow night's meeting.

In the early evening hours, Rogue decided to adjourn for dinner. Gambit seized on the opportunity to take a cigarette break on the terrace. Amara and Roberto were in the sitting room with Rogue, mulling over their meal options. The former New Mutants were eager to venture outside of the hotel while the team leader was concerned about ensuring they had enough time to cover everything.

At the other end of the sitting room were Sam, Dani, and Shan. The three were adjusting the portable Cerebro device, which had recently been upgraded by Hank and Kitty. In addition to pinpointing the mental activity of mutants, this version also provided information about baseline humans and enhanced the user's existing telepathic abilities. Determined to locate Tyger or any psychic data pertaining to her whereabouts, Shan was convinced that it was a matter of finding the correct settings. Thanks to intensive training provided by Jean and Emma, she was reasonably proficient in using the device. However, after several attempts, it was becoming clear that they were nowhere closer in their search.

Seated behind the white, Versailles-style desk with ormolu trim and brass ferrules, the young telepath shook her head and sighed. She removed the interface helmet, revealing short, side-swept ebony locks. "I don't understand," she said, placing the helmet on the desk. "I can see everyone—from the protestors to the bureaucrats. But when I try to focus on her, there's some sort of block that I can't overcome."

"Static?" Dani inquired as she fiddled with the black, beaded bracelet she wore with a lace tunic, white tank top, grey, slouchy military pants, and Minnetonka fringe booties. She considered altering the connection between the portable link and the parental unit back at Westchester.

Her former roommate shook her head again. "No… It's like a wall." She closed her eyes, searching for the memories of the previous session in order to describe.

"What do you mean?"

"Something is there but I can't access the trace."

The young Cheyenne gave her a sympathetic look. "Maybe you need a break," she suggested gently. "You've been at it for a while. Let me and Sam check out the console again."

"I guess." Reluctantly, Shan rose from her the overstuffed armchair with nail head borders, fluted legs and gold leaf accents, and allowed Dani to take her place. She rubbed her temples gingerly as she walked over to the other side of the desk. "I just can't believe that she's untraceable."

Sam, who was standing next to the French doors that led to the balcony, looked grim. "What about shieldin' technology?" he asked, unsure if this option had been entertained during the briefings. There had been so much information covered within the last few days. It was making his head spin trying to remember it all.

Dani shook her head, braids bobbing back and forth. "Logan's contacts would have said something about that," she replied, examining a lever on the console. "Besides, there's only one person who has access to that kind of stuff and he _doesn't_ share, especially with non-mutants."

The Southern gentleman nodded in agreement, recognizing the reference to the Professor's old friend and nemesis. Like Dani, he remembered Erik Lensherr's brief tenure as headmaster. Despite his insistence that he had reformed, his wariness of the human race remained. There were often lectures about man's destructive tendencies through prejudice and violence. Such vitriolic talks made the students, notably Sam, wonder if their new mentor was just as depraved as those he railed against.

"If three telepaths can't track her, makes ya wondah what's really goin' on then," he mused, retrieving a small calibrator to hand to Dani. His pale eyes glanced over at the news program Rogue, Roberto, and Amara were watching. Images of Madripoor's Lowtown residents marching down the streets, carrying banners decrying Tyger's regime, and shouting angrily were intermixed with scenes of soldiers beating young men and dragging them into large vans. The reporter then commented how the country's head of state continued to keep a low profile in the midst of the conflict.

Shan leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. She followed her friend's gaze. It seemed like yesterday when such occurrences were woven into her everyday existence. When she and her siblings left Vietnam, she hoped that no one would have to experience what they did. Unfortunately, as she watched the coverage, she realized that no amount of wishing could counteract others' need to subjugate their fellow citizens.

"Whatever it is, I can't imagine it's good," she remarked, cringing when the camera showed a close-up of an effigy of Tyger being burned.

Sam nodded in agreement. "If this is how things are when she might be in power, Ah haveta think that the alternative would be much worse."

"It's probably only a matter of time until the protesters get into Hightown," Dani added, resetting the calibrator. Then she sat back in the chair and peered up at her friends ruefully. "How depressing are we? We haven't even been here a whole day and we're basically talking disaster already."

Sam shrugged. "Thinkin' about the worst case scenarios helps ya be prepared, Ah guess."

"Maybe we steer the discussion towards something lighter over dinner then."

"Sounds good ta me."

Sam was about to ask Roberto if dinner plans had been sorted when Shan suddenly screamed, blood dripping from her nose. Her hands flew to her head as she dropped to her knees. Immediately, Sam and Dani were by her side, kneeling. The Southern gentleman circled his arms around his friend, who collapsed against him as the other team members raced over to them.

"Shan?" Dani cried, placing two fingers under her friend's chin and tilting her head so that their eyes met. Concern mingled with fear as she struggled to ascertain what was happening. "Shan? Are you okay?"

Tears began sliding down her cheeks. Her amber eyes caught sight of the worried faces of her team mates who circled her. They were quickly replaced by other images—ones that filled her with deep apprehension and sadness.

After what seemed like eons, she finally answered her friend. "Something's wrong," she whispered, sobbing.


	57. Chapter FiftySeven: Burn

Back with another installment of this story. I thought I'd put my twist on a familiar storyline. Please let me know what you think.

Big time thanks to Jo the Phoenix, my beta, and to those of you have been kind enough to leave their thoughts.

The characters belong to Marvel but the story is mine.

**Chapter Fifty-Seven: Burn**

The heavily forested, rolling hills and twisting roads leading to Westchester were just wide enough to accommodate two Ford Model-T automobiles. Built during the infancy of car travel in this country, the architect responsible for building this road was careful to incorporate scenic views at every vantage. This was accomplished through elaborate S curves, elegant tunnels, and idiosyncratic meanderings. It was rumoured that the architect's vision was so complicated that he was forced to fire his American construction workers and import a seasoned crew from Italy, where several intricate highways had already been built.

Travelling along these undulating roads reminded many what driving was all about. The act of guiding one's car along was transformed from a means of getting from A to B while isolating the driver from the "tangibles" (warm and cold, sunshine and clouds, wind and road noise) into an invigorating experience of being behind the wheel. The historic route wended past small towns, farms, and vineyards. From hiking to kayaking to perusing the goods offered by the farmers markets, locals and tourists alike had every reason to take advantage of fresh-air pursuits in this part of the state.

For Jubilee, thoughts of visiting the many orchards and riding along the nearby equestrian trails were far from her mind. The drive from the Drake home in Long Island had been a bitterly lengthy one. There were several points during the journey where she was forced to pull over. Between the aching sensation in her chest and the tears that stung her eyes, driving was torturous. As evening touched down, she wondered if she would ever make it back to Xavier's.

"_I can't do this anymore, Jubes."_

The words echoed in her head throughout her journey. They ate away at her, burning holes into her heart and causing her stomach to twist and turn repeatedly. It was hard to believe that they came from the one person she loved and trusted the most in this world; the one person she thought would never ever hurt her.

Bobby.

For a moment, Jubilee wondered if this was all a terrible dream. The sequence of events and the manner in which they transpired was so surreal. As for Bobby, his behaviour was completely out of character. Gone was the open, loving man who made her cherish every waking moment for almost two years. In his place was his complete foil—evasive, withdrawn, and…cold. Even his eyes, those perpetually twinkling, grey eyes, had taken on a steely quality, devoid of any emotion. The impassive tone he had used with her was foreign to her ears. This man standing in front of her had to be a stranger. Surely, he was not _her_ Bobby.

To accept what occurred hours ago as part of her reality would be beyond devastating. It would mean that everything she knew about her world was wrong. It would mean that her happiness was now gone. Yet, here she was, making the lonely trek to Westchester, desperate to see the road through her tears. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Despite the chaos that seemed to permeate around her, there was one question that continued to resonate.

How did it all come to this?

In an effort to wrap her mind around what happened, Jubilee replayed scenes from her tête-à-tête with Bobby from earlier today. His response to her arrival had been the first indication something was amiss. What she had hoped for was pleasant surprise but was confronted with annoyance, turning into anger over the course of their conversation. It was as if he could not fathom why she had taken the initiative to drive out and see him. As he admonished her over her actions, it was clear how much he did not want her there. His insistence that she had somehow disrespected his wishes and disavowed his requests for privacy served to fuel his outrage. What made the exchange even more painful was his seeming indifference to her feelings, as if he could not care less that he was hurting her. The image of the pitiless expression he wore while she cried haunted her still.

At first, Jubilee suspected that the strain associated with acting as caretaker to both his parents was responsible. Bobby himself had even alluded to it. His haggard appearance seemed to be evidence of the toll. One could only imagine the pressure he was under. His father probably had a variety of needs in the wake of his stroke, including arranging medical care and assisting him with everyday tasks that had once been second nature. At the same time, Bobby was almost certainly worrying about his mother and how she was dealing with her husband's illness. The closeness of their relationship guaranteed that he was doing all he could to alleviate any stress she was experiencing. Given all of this, it was hardly surprising that he was so removed from his usually easy-going self.

Then there was her confession. Admitting what happened on Thanksgiving was difficult. The anxiety surrounding the incident had been too much to bear alone. Granted, the timing of the disclosure was poor considering what was already on his plate but Jubilee honestly felt that being open was the only way to move forward. She took care to explicitly state that the kiss was a one-time occurrence and in no way did she have any intention to hurt him. Unlike the Bobby she knew, this man was expressionless as he listened to her lay out the details. When he finally addressed the issue, this Bobby was focused on feelings of betrayal and the kiss. Her repeated attempts to express her genuine remorse fell on deaf ears. He had already decided what she had done was too much, pushing him to render his verdict regarding their relationship.

Although Jubilee understood where Bobby was coming from, the speed in which he chose to turn his back made her head spin. Considered in the context of their relationship, his reasoning made no sense. The logic he used appeared to convey that their shared experiences meant so little when compared to this single misstep. Had he forgotten all those declarations of love and devotion? What about those promises of never letting one another down? Were those conversations about a future together devoid of any truth? As these questions swirled around in her head, the more convinced she was that there something else. Bobby appeared eager to let her go. While most people would accommodate some rational discussion of the issues, he made it clear that no amount of talking would change the course.

In retrospect, Jubilee wished she had not left so quickly. She wondered why she had been so compliant with his request to leave. Taking a sharp right onto Graymalkin Lane, she began to recall the disconnect between her mind and her body. While every part of her psyche screamed at her to stay and fight for Bobby, her feet seemed willed by some invisible outside force. Perhaps there was a part of her that wanted to give him space to think things through. With time, Jubilee hoped that her Bobby would return, reassuring her that they were going to be fine. This was countered by another part of her that believed in challenging him until he saw the error of his decision. Queries could have been made with respect to other motivating factors. If she had stayed, maybe Bobby would have relented, dropped his defences, and explain what was happening. Then the two of them could work things out and be together once more.

Disconcerting as the day's events were, she found herself troubled by another matter. It weighed heavily upon her mind, resulting in turmoil she had never experienced before. Confusion, fear, guilt, and sadness competed for attention. Tried as she did not to dwell on the subject, she was finding that every aspect was never far from her consciousness. This included the individual who was directly tied to the situation, who elicited these myriad of mixed emotions, and who seemed to be just as lost as she was.

Sam.

Jubilee could still see the Southern gentleman's handsome face as she continued the drive towards home. She had never seen him look as tense as he did that morning. His pale eyes were filled with some unreadable emotion as he held his tall, lean frame awkwardly. Moreover, he seemed consumed by some deep-seeded melancholy that radically changed him. Gone was the laid-back, confident demeanour Sam Guthrie was known for. This version seemed edgy and conflicted. When he informed her of his impending departure, his voice indicated a despondency she never heard before. Seeing him in that state stirred up those feelings of confusion and guilt she had been battling for the past few weeks. However, they were quickly placed aside in favour of her sympathy for him, which almost compelled her to step out of the car. There was nothing more she wanted to do than to lift those shadows away. By doing so, things could go back to the way they were.

But something held her back. Initially, she interpreted this as doubt or uncertainty in her abilities to comfort him as a friend. Sam looked dejected enough without her making some verbal faux-pas. While on the road, Jubilee had more time to think about her reaction. Upon further reflection, she realized her conclusion was not completely accurate. Yes, apprehension motivated her restraint. However, it was not only rooted in fear of any potential gaffes but also in anticipation of another incident.

It had been several months since Jubilee and Sam shared that kiss. Yet, the sensations were as vivid now as that fateful night. Every time she thought about it, her lips tingled, her skin became flushed with emanating warmth, and her heart raced a million miles per minute. She could still feel the Southern gentleman's arms holding her tightly. The memory of his calloused hands racing up her back made her light-headed. It was the sort of kiss that was so sweet; she wanted to cry out in the wake of its wonder.

At first, she tried to purge the incident from her mind. The rational part of her was quick to point out the inherent wrong of the act, eliciting feelings of guilt and shame. Despite her determination, Jubilee was fixated. Not a day passed without the event being replayed. With her psyche betraying her, she was left confused. Why on earth was she obsessed with this? There was no reason for her ruminate. She was already involved with someone she was deeply in love with. And Sam was probably caught up in the moment as she was. Surely, Logan's observation those many months ago was wrong. He would never think about her in _that_ way. She was like another young sibling to him. Nothing more.

Unfortunately, her rationalizations did little to lessen the intrusion of the memories. Furthermore, the strength of these arguments was weakened by the depth of feeling and intensity communicated through the kiss. She could feel the power and tenderness of his heart though his touch. It evoked sensations previously thought to be reserved for someone else. For Jubilee, it was as if such an embrace was a whole new experience—changing and deepening to the point which left her overwhelmed. In the wake of the evidence, it was becoming difficult to deny how deeply affected she was.

When denial failed, avoidance seemed the next logical step. In the beginning, this was quite easy. Attending university classes and living with Scott and Jean provided convenient guises. Much to her dismay, this approach, too, did little to lessen her confusion. In spite of the distance placed between herself and Sam, she continued to think about the kiss. It was as if some aspect of her would not allow her to forget, telling her that she did not want to disavow what happened.

Compounding things further was the dinner Roberto forced them into. She had been leery about attending but her determination to clear the air between them won out. However, Jubilee's resolve faltered once she saw Sam. She quickly found herself drowning in the same thoughts and feelings that ate away her since Thanksgiving. Although nothing transpired that evening, she was mindful about the possibility. Such awareness made her wary of Sam, forcing her to put up defences she desperately wished were not necessary.

Then there was that morning Jubilee came across Sam in the woods. He seemed to project pain and vulnerability that broke down those barriers she tried to impose. Her instinct to flee was overtaken by her empathy and a need to offer him comfort. She remembered as she wrapped her scarf around his neck, how close she was to him. His breath warm against her cheek. Her eyes were captivated by his handsome, earnest face, and its guileless, yearning expression. It was at that moment she began to lose herself. She was overwhelmed by the poignancy of the moment. Memories of what they had shared before made her heart race and her skin tingle and burn with a radiating warmth. Had the X-Jet not flown overheard, she was almost certain that there would have been a repeat of Thanksgiving.

So when Sam told her that he was leaving, Jubilee thought she would have been happy. This meant that she would not have him as a constant reminder of her duplicity. Instead, the prospect of not seeing him around at all left her reeling with sadness and emptiness. Even more disconcerting was her role in all of this. Not only was she responsible for his ongoing anguish but for his exile as well.

As her yellow Beetle pulled up to the wrought-iron gates leading to the mansion, Jubilee felt as if her whole world was crashing around her. _Maybe I'm not good for anyone…_

This early spring evening found Logan in the fitness room, which was restricted to field team members and instructors only. The space had recently gone through a renovation that was overseen by Worthington. The low ceilings and harsh lighting were gone in favour of nearby lounge seating and ambient lighting. Bulky equipment was replaced with elegant devices crafted in Italy. The blond CEO of Worthington Industries consulted with various architects and designers to create sophisticated machines, which married utilitarian with sleek. There were the treadmills with touch screens that allowed the runners to watch television, use the telephone, browse the Internet, and listen to music on their iPods. Attached to the walls were the newly installed kinaesthetic machines. Parallel bands with rotating pulleys allowed for at least two hundred floor and posture exercises as well as Pilates and even Tai chi. With the turn of a digital dial, users were able to adjust the bands' resistance to challenge balance, strength, and flexibility. Some of the machines were upholstered in soft leather while others were panelled with mirror or wood.

According to some of the staff, notably Kitty, working out the machines resulted in the same addictive, endorphin-boosting tingle of a deep yoga class. After spending the last hour and a half testing the newly installed machines and equipment, the gruff loner was not that impressed. To him, a lot of money was spent just to make the room look nice. He did not necessarily feel any better following his workout. If anything, Logan was rather annoyed that he had to use a damn computer in order to exercise.

Tossing his sweaty towel into the laundry bin outside of the doors, the laconic Canadian made his way to the showers. He quickly stripped and sought refuge under the hot, cleansing waters. His mind mulled over the multitude of things on his plate, including his upcoming assignment in Madripoor. Logan had delayed his departure to help Scott, Kitty, and Piotr with monitoring duties at the mansion until Alex's team return the following day. He was scheduled to relieve Scott from the security tower in less than an hour. In addition to these responsibilities, he was also tasked with caring for Ororo's "children" while she was on assignment in Egypt with Emma and Sage. Most would find the idea of the Wolverine tending to Storm's rose bushes, calla lilies, and orchids as strange and almost laughable. But for Logan, the act was a welcome respite from the conflict his world was accustomed to.

Stepping out for the shower stall, his thoughts suddenly went to Jean Grey. Earlier, he had a paid a visit to the Summers' home to check on the statuesque redhead at Ororo's request. Prior to her departure, the weather goddess had confided in him her worries regarding their good friend's health problems. Despite Jean's efforts to deny the severity of these difficulties, there was growing evidence of the toll. Formerly a prominent fixture at the school as a teacher and administrator, Jean had recently delegated some of her duties (with great reluctance) to Emma. Meanwhile, Hank had taken over her emissary responsibilities. Even Scott, known for his ability to separate his personal life from his obligations around the mansion, seemed easily distracted and appeared more uptight than usual.

Logan towelled himself dry before reaching into his locker for a pair of faded jeans, white T-shirt, and black combat boots. As he dressed, the laconic Canadian found himself dissecting his visit with Jean. At first, the telepath brushed off his concerns, downplaying her current health issues. However, the façade of normality was shattered when she began wincing and rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand. Gradually and with some prompting from Logan, Jean admitted the true extent of her problems. In addition to her headaches, she told him about her nightmares, where the content was often forgotten but left her with a fear she had not known before. There was one night when she had moved the bed to the other side of the room while she and Scott were asleep. She also talked about the constant static of psychic feedback she received despite her efforts to filter them out. It was as if she had a radio inside her mind that was tuned into a myriad of stations. As Jean talked about the extensive testing Hank performed, her green eyes glittered with tears. Much to their dismay, results proved to be inconclusive. Without the Professor to conduct thorough telepathic scans, there was very little that could be done at this done. Although there was no tangible explanation of what was happening, Jean told Logan she was convinced that she was changing in some way. Her words that afternoon continued to echo inside his head as he made his way to the hyperlift.

"_I just feel like something bad is going to happen."_

Making his way from Sub-Basement Level Two to the ground floor, Logan remembered how he tried to reassure her that all would fine once the Professor returned. It felt strange for him to be the calm and assured one. To be talking about hope in the face of doubt and uncertainty was a new approach for the resident cynic. There had been so many times when it was Jean who was cool and collected when he was unravelling and questioning his faith in others. Now the roles were reversed, leaving him feeling almost as tense as she was.

When Logan exited the elevator, he decided to head to the kitchen. Normally, the corridor between the hyperlifts and the common areas would be busy with a flurry of activity. But with most of the students and some staff members away on Spring Break, a refreshing stillness draped the air. Opening the refrigerator, he was pleased to find a six pack of Sierra pale ale behind Cook's prepared meals. Normally, this would have been contraband but he figured the rules were relaxed because of the low numbers of students in the mansion. At least, that would be the argument to be used should One-Eyed throw a fit.

He was pulling out a bottle when he heard the door connecting the garage to the kitchen open. Turning around, his eyes widened in surprise not because of the person's identity but the state she arrived in. Her face was drained of colour, providing a contrast to her red-rimmed eyes and pink nose. The saline from the tears that streaked her cheeks was almost pungent to Logan's sensitive nostrils. Every part of her seemed to quiver and shake, from her chin to her shoulders to her hands. A mixture of sadness and bewilderment radiated so strongly from her that he could feel his own heart ache.

His thick brows knitted themselves together in confusion as he placed the bottle back and closed the door. "Kid?"

Jubilee felt her mouth become parched as she stared at him. She had entered the kitchen to splash some cold water on her face before going home. Troubling Jean and Scott as they worried over her health filled her immense guilt. The idea of talking about the events of today was not a conversation that appealed to her, either. The wounds were still so fresh and painful. Even several hours removed, she was still reeling from it all. Moreover, by verbalizing what happened would make it all the more tangible—something she was not necessarily prepared for.

As Logan leaned over the island that separated them, Jubilee considered backing out of the kitchen to flee. The concern in his eyes was apparent. It was reminiscent of her younger days when she was still a child. Back then, he was her confidant, mentor, and most of all, her protector. She could run to him for anything and he would do his damnedest to oblige. Whether it was overcoming an exercise in the Danger Room to sneaking her rollerblades inside the mansion, Logan was the ultimate problem solver. At that time, there seemed to be no dilemma too insurmountable for her Wolvie.

But this was a problem even he could not fix.

"I've got to go," she whispered, turning on her heel to leave.

"I don't think so, kid."

Although the delivery was soft, there was a commanding quality in his voice. He often used this manner of speaking just before delivering a lecture. While no longer the child who needed scolding, Jubilee was unable to ignore his request. Reluctantly, she turned around.

Logan noticed she was not looking at him. Instead, she chose to focus her sapphire eyes on the floor. He wondered what weighed so heavily upon Jubilee. This sad soul in front of him could not even meet his gaze, as if she were harbouring some secret shame. Instinctively, he reached for her but was rebuffed when she flinched.

Raising her head, her delicate features were rueful as she swallowed hard. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Perplexed, Logan shook his head. "Nothin' to be sorry about, kid," he told her. He inwardly cursed himself as he found himself at a loss for words. Seeing her like this and unable to provide her comfort made him feel helpless, which was a new and unwelcome emotion. It seemed like eons ago when his efforts could quickly address any distress she was experiencing. Now that she was an adult, Logan knew that her problems were much more complex, requiring commensurate solutions—at least ones that involved more than a hug and a trip to his cabin.

Aware that he needed to tread carefully, he finally asked, "What happened?"

Jubilee peered at the lined face of the Wolverine. To most people, he was angry, brooding, sardonic, and at times, terrifying. Very few had the privilege to see his other side. It was the facet of his personality that was fiercely devoted, and capable of genuine tenderness. Even as she looked upon him, it was clear that he wanted nothing more than to find out what was troubling her so he could take away her pain.

Yet, as much as she thought about breaking down in his arms and confiding everything, there were other considerations holding her back. Pride and disbelief were initial sources of hesitation. But these became secondary concerns in the face of a much more serious consequence.

Logan was going to kill Bobby.

Even though Jubilee was angry and hurt from his harsh treatment and the subsequent break-up, the idea of unleashing an angry Wolverine did not appeal to her. Images of Logan terrorizing Bobby flashed before her eyes. In fact, exacting revenge was the farthest thing from her mind.

Because she still loved him.

Finally, Jubilee said in a low voice, "Is it too late to say nothing?"

Logan raised a brow at her. "What do you think?" he asked flatly.

She bit her lower lip, tucking a lock of hair behind a delicate ear. The intensity of his gaze was starting to affect her. It was becoming more and more difficult to continue her evasion. "I think it is," she whispered.

He nodded. "You're probably right about that." In spite of his controlled reaction to her elusiveness, Logan was growing agitated with each passing second. _Tell me what happened, kid. Tell me so I can make it better. _

She pressed her palms against the cool marble countertop of the island. The searing heat of her skin relished the sensation. But her heart viewed it as another painful reminder of what she lost.

Immediately, tears streamed down her cheeks.

Logan circled around the island to Jubilee's side. His hand cupped the back of her head, slowly pulling her close to him. To his relief, she did not refuse him. As he held her, he wished there was some way he could transfer his healing abilities to her, and absorb her hurt.

Instead, he was relegated to offering his arms and nothing more. "I can't help you if I don't know what's going on," he told her softly, stroking her hair.

Jubilee pressed her face against his shoulder, sniffling. "Please, Wolvie. I…I don't want to talk about it."

"I think you need to."

"No, I'd rather not."

"Well, I ain't gonna let you go until you do. You know that."

"Then you have to promise…"

"Promise what?"

"That you're not going to freak out."

"I'm not gonna make any promises—"

"Please, Wolvie. I need you to keep this one. For me. Please."

Those old-soul blue eyes, brimming with tears, stared deeply into his, emphasizing the seriousness of her request. Logan was finding it hard not to waver. He did not want to give his word until he knew the root of the problem. Given how upset she was, the cause definitely warranted an appropriate response. Whoever was responsible needed to be taught a lesson—one that Logan was all too willing and able to do. However, the need to seek vengeance dissipated in the wake of Jubilee's pleas for restraint. Tried as he did to remain strong, his resolve was crumbling as he continued to look at her. It was truly astounding the power she had over him.

Finally, the gruff loner relented. "OK, you win," he sighed. "I promise not to '_freak out_'."

Jubilee drew back slightly, her gaze still fixed upon him. There was no controlled mask to conceal his rage. Instead, the man by her side simply wanted to listen. Considering the internal conflict that must have led to his decision, she knew he was sincere.

She took a deep breath. _OK, let's do this._

At first, Jubilee was fumbling for words. She supposed it was tedious to lay out all the details of the day, starting from when she first left. Perhaps, it would have been better just to blurt out everything in order to get it over with. However, the measured approach ensured that Logan had all of the facts. It was important to her that he had an accurate picture. Further complicating her retelling were the sobs that wracked her body. Somehow, she managed to fight them back so that she could continue. The rest of the story surfaced gradually—Bobby's cold welcome, her confession, and his decision to break things off. In contrast to her initial efforts, the sentences now flowed off her tongue, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Hearing the details spoken aloud forced her to acknowledge that what happened was real. No more denial.

When she was finished, Logan pressed his lips together into a grim line. His breathing became erratic and the gold flecks in his green eyes glittered. He stepped away from her. Then in the most composed voice he could muster, he said, "I'm headin' out."

Alarmed, Jubilee grabbed his arm before he could make his way to the door. She knew that look. She knew that tone. There was no mistaking what was on his mind and where he was going. "Wait," she cried, "you promised. You gave me your word."

He clenched his jaw before replying. "I just need a little air, that's all," he told her tersely. If, while he was out, Bobby Drake came across his path, then all bets were off. He was about to remove her small hand from his arm but was surprised to find the grip so tight.

"Don't do this," Jubilee whispered, shaking her head. "Don't be the cliché father figure who wants to rip the boyfriend apart. You're better than that."

Logan grunted, hesitating in his movements. "You think so?" For a moment, he felt as if he had been transported back in time. He had forgotten how her indelible faith in him humbled his soul. Since she had grown up, he thought that faith had been shaken or waned due to his multiple absences. For once, he was glad he was wrong.

"I know so."

"He hurt you. I'm supposed to forget that?"

"No…"

"Then you know that I can't stand by while you're like this."

"I don't want you to stand by, but I don't want you to go out and tear him a new one, either." Jubilee sighed as she peered over at him earnestly. "I just want you to be here for me. That's all."

Logan was about to argue with her when he thought he heard a footfall in the hallway leading outside of the kitchen. Raising a brow, he pressed his index finger to his lips. His nostrils flared when he detected the presence of another person.

Someone unfamiliar and who did not live at the mansion.

"Get down behind the counter," he told her in a low voice. "Now."

Confused but compliant, Jubilee crouched down behind the kitchen island. Based on the tension that radiated from his body, no questions were necessary. She knew a confrontation was afoot.

Logan was about to unsheathe his claws when he heard a faint whizzing sound. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain on the side of his neck. Upon inspection, he ballistic-like syringe with a fibrous tailpiece protruding. His fingers struggled to grasp the dart for extraction, hindered by immediate waves of dizziness and torpor. As he began staggering backwards, a man wearing black camouflage combat attire entered with a rifle aimed at Logan.

"Tell your friend to come out nice and slow," the soldier ordered, trying to contain the rise of panic in his voice. He could not understand why the tranquilizer dart was not working faster. Based on the briefing he had received, one dose was enough to incapacitate an elephant within seconds. Yet, the man he had just shot, though dazed, was still standing.

The soldier was about to fire another dart when he was suddenly blinded by an explosion of sparkling light. It was almost as if someone had set off some fireworks inside the kitchen and right in front of his face. Blinking and coughing violently, he stumbled and lowered his gun as he struggled to regain his vision. When the blurriness dissipated, the first thing he was able to focus his sight on was the wolf-like man's wizened countenance.

And he did not look happy.

Logan tossed the tranquilizer dart at the other man. "Welcome to the jungle, bub," he grunted before grabbing the rifle and snapping it in half. Then he grabbed the soldier by his combat jacket, pulling him close. "Who the hell sent you?"

The camouflage face paint began sliding off the soldier's skin as he became drenched in sweat. Staring into the other man's crazed eyes, he believed there was a chance he would be killed on the spot. Terrified as he was, the soldier knew his priorities. He could not and would not break.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous crash from outside, which was followed by the sound of shattering glass.

_What the hell was that?_ Narrowing his eyes, Logan realized the urgency and shook the soldier. "Who sent you?" he demanded, his voice resembling a deep growl. Though his senses were able to determine that others were now inside the mansion, he was unable to pinpoint a specific number. "How many of your buddies are here?"

The soldier swallowed hard but remained silent.

At this point, Jubilee was standing by her mentor's side, her small hand surrounded by brightly coloured globules of energy plasma. Staring at the soldier, she was quickly reminded of her own experiences with those who wore that uniform. Memories of torture, both physical and psychological, flooded her. The fear she initially experienced had now given way to anger and rage. The opportunity to exact vengeance for those traumatic moments seemed too convenient as the soldier struggled to free himself from Logan. She could easily unleash a paf in his face, one powerful enough to cause permanent blindness and severe burns. Wouldn't that be satisfying?

However, the ethos of handling such situations played a role in her restraint: to engage in that kind of violence would make her just as bad as those who caused her and others pain. Furthermore, there was a strategic advantage to not harming the intruder. Obtaining information was paramount. She watched Logan roughly grab the soldier again, repeating his questions in a tone that not only communicated urgency but his willingness to follow through with the consequences. Much to their collective chagrin, the other man maintained his commitment to silence.

Jubilee placed a hand on Logan's arm. "He's not going to talk." She emphasized her assessment with a slight squeeze. They needed to move on. There were other issues to consider—namely, the condition of the students and staff members in the mansion. Their safety and security had to come first now.

One of his brows shot upwards as he glared at the soldier's face with pure contempt. "Maybe you're right, kid." With a rumbling growl, he landed a punch across the other man's jaw before tossing him against the wall.

_Classic__,_ Jubilee thought, watching the other man's body collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Then she turned to the Wolverine and whispered, "Now what?"

Logan nodded his head towards the door leading to the hallway, indicating their next move. They needed to make their way to the second floor in order to find out the status of the other staff and students. However, based on his initial appraisal, there were several soldiers waiting for them, presumably with tranquilizer guns at the ready. He quickly gestured to her this information.

His eyes glanced at the sparkling light dancing around her fingertips. "Got enough there to cause some damage?" he asked, already aware of the answer.

She slipped on a pair of pink sunglasses from her pocket. "Does Gambit like beignets?"

Logan unsheathed his claws with a _SNIKT_ that pierced the air. "Then let's rock their world."

Jubilee edged ahead of him as they skulked their way towards the doorway. Standing under the frame, she used both hands to generate her plasmoids. With her fingers acting as a field-free vacuum, she balanced the internal pressure of the plasma with the external pressure of the magnetic field surrounding it. Once satisfied with the intensity, she released the globules as an explosion of sparkling balls and streamers into the hallway.

This was greeted with a chorus of curses and sounds of tranquilizer rifles being cocked. Some soldiers, stunned by the burst of multicoloured lights that flashed, misfired. The ensuing darts whizzed past Jubilee and Logan as they darted towards the spiral staircase. For those who were quickly able to regain their sight and aim their weapons, Logan was keen to dispense with them. He extended his arms from his sides, ensuring that they had a proper taste of adamantium. Their wounded bodies were accompanied by desperate cries of pain as they fell aside. As they ascended the stairs, Jubilee discharged another round of brightly-coloured bursts of energy to ensure their safe journey.

Unfortunately, the chaos and confusion were not limited to the first floor. At the top of the stairs, Logan and Jubilee were met with a barrage of running and screaming students in the darkness. Mixed with their cries were the loud, harsh voices of other soldiers, who were in close pursuit with their rifles aimed. Some fired, hitting a few students who shortly succumbed to drowsiness. Other darts missed, penetrating the wood panelling of the walls in the hallway.

A primal howl escaped from Logan's lips as he ran past Jubilee towards several soldiers who were waving their weapons at a group of students. With his claws extended, he rendered the tranquilizer guns useless as he sliced the barrels off. The experienced warrior then grabbed the men by their collars and sent them tumbling down the spiral staircase. The men's screams added to the existing din.

One of the students, Victor, a young boy with green scaly skin, a spiked head carapace, watched the scene unfold. His mouth gaped open, revealing a prehensile tongue. Then he turned to Jubilee, who was shielding the others behind her. He said, "Wow, Mr. Logan is one angry dude."

The young firecracker sent another torrent of plasmoids towards a few soldiers who were attempting to charge up the stairs. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Logan punching one of the soldiers. However, he wasn't satisfied with just one blow. He continued swinging, fist after fist connecting with the soldier's head. Each snap and crunch under his fist provided a satisfaction he had not experienced in a long time.

"He just has some issues to work out," she finally replied. Had they not been in the middle of fighting off intruders, she would have found her remark particularly witty. When she saw that the men below were still stumbling around, Jubilee quickly did a head count of the students. Reassured that all of were accounted for, she placed a hand on Victor's back to encourage him to follow his friends. "Come on, let's get you guys out of here."

"What about Mr. Logan?" he asked.

Jubilee peered over her shoulder, slipping off her sunglasses. The sardonic warrior was in the midst of slamming the heads of two soldiers together, producing a _POP _sound. A faint smile graced his mouth as his opponents crumpled to the ground. "I'd say he's copasetic," she told Victor.

Logan jumped over the fallen soldiers and made his way to Jubilee and the children. "Where the hell are your teachers?" he demanded, glancing at Victor.

Before the boy could reply, the wall outside of Piotr's quarters smashed open. The limp body of yet another soldier collided against the transverse wall, surrounding by a cloud of splintered wood and pieces of drywall. A towering figure emerged from the gaping hole. The glow from Jubilee's fingertips bathed the person in an eerie light. Rather than flesh, the entire body was encased in a dense, blue-grey metal. The eyes and closely cropped, black hair were the only organic features the individual possessed.

Logan retracted his claws upon recognition of this individual. "Nice," he commented, pleased to be reminded of his recently resurrected friend's capabilities. His amusement soon disappeared when he noticed an unconscious Kitty in Piotr's arms. "What happened?"

Seeing the stunned faces of the children nearby, the Russian reverted to his familiar flesh form. Clad in a pair of black sweatpants, he was still an imposing figure with broad muscular physique and generous height. "She vas at my door and dey shot her viff sometheeng before she could pass through," he explained, his eyes wide with confusion. "Vot eez going on, comrade?"

"Don't know," Logan grunted, stealing a glance around the corner to ensure there were in the clear. The only activity transpiring at the moment were other students picking up their fallen peers and carrying them to where everyone else stood. "Cyclops was supposed to be keeping watch."

Piotr grimaced. The fact that the raid happened so quickly and rather easily indicated a breakdown in security, which was a rare occurrence. "Ve have to check de tower," he told his good friend as they and the rest of the children made their way down the hall. "Scott could be in trouble."

Logan shook his head, finally pausing in front of the hyperlift that led directly to the sub-basement levels. "_We_ ain't gonna check on Cyclops," he said, pressing the down button. As the doors slid open, he said, "You're going to get these kids and the Half Pint to the tunnels. Jubilee and I will head to the tower. We'll contact you once we figure out what the hell's goin' on."

As the students crowded into the elevator car, Piotr began to protest. "I could come back and help you."

"Help them." The older man nodded in the direction of the children, whose terrified expressions intensified the need to evacuate.

Reluctantly, Piotr entered the elevator with Kitty nestled close. "Good luck," he said as the doors slid closed.

_We're gonna need it,_ Logan mused to himself. He agreed with his team mate's assessment. The mansion's defence installations were based on Shi'ar technology, which included environmental measures, video monitoring, intrusion detection, and access control. The recent addition of a tower, complete with sophisticated surveillance equipment linked to the mansion's network, also decreased the likelihood of any possible security breach. Whoever responsible definitely had extensive knowledge of the system. The realization made Logan's blood run cold.

With his mind reeling from this conclusion, he nearly missed the sensory cues relaying the status of the intruders. Heartbeats, breathing, hushed voices, and footsteps were replaced with silence. Their collective scent, which had once hung so strongly in the air, had faded.

Dammit.

Before Jubilee could complete her survey of the hallway, Logan told her flatly, "Don't bother."

With her back pressed against the wood-panelled wall, the young girl gave him a quizzical look. "What?" she whispered, eyes then darting down the corridor in search of any movement. Her breath caught in her throat in anticipation of another confrontation. Flickering light surrounded the fist she had clenched at her side.

"They're gone." Logan grunted when his gaze fell upon the soldiers he had battered earlier. Their unconscious forms were arranged in a heap next to the one Piotr had thrown through the wall. He was feeling rather disgusted with himself for allowing the chaos to distract him. "Well, at least most of 'em."

Jubilee frowned and then peered over the railing to the foyer. Sure enough, there was no one. It was only minutes ago that the mansion was being swarmed by trespassers who were both well-armed and well-organized. Her sable brows furrowed in confusion as she turned to her mentor. "Where did they all go?" she asked in disbelief.

Standing by her side, Logan scowled. While some might have felt relief upon discovering the disappearance of the intruders, experience taught him to be cautious. The rapid manner in which the invasion and subsequent retreat occurred indicated some level of sophistication involved in planning. Their movements had been coordinated for the most part, striking in areas that were vulnerable. Moreover, it seemed no coincidence the attack took place on a night when there were many members away on mission. Based on the troops' attire and weapons, it was clear that this was a professional outfit with substantial training and again, familiarity with the mansion and its defences.

After making this assessment, the laconic Canadian found himself dissecting the situation. The process was like peeling back the layers of an onion. His mind began analysing every aspect of the evening's events, starting with the general aspects and narrowing in focus.

Logan grunted, a gesture often accompanied by displeasure and suspicion. "Somethin' ain't right," he finally said quietly, scanning the hallway before heading towards the steps.

Jubilee followed him, keeping up with his brisk pace. She could almost see the wheels furiously turning in his head. Though their relationship stretched back several years, she was still in awe of his brilliant tactical mind. It was nothing short of amazing given his advanced age and traumatic experiences, both physical and psychological.

As they descended the spiral staircase, she said, "Other than our home being broken into, what do you mean?"

The Wolverine dropped to his knees when they reached the foyer. He picked up a spent tranquilizer dart, studying it under the glow emanating from her fingers. "Why would they use this?"

She crouched down next to Logan to join him in the examination. The question echoed in her brain, evoking feelings of being his student again. Taking a deep breath, she replied, "To knock us out so they can capture us." As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt hesitant.

He turned to her. "They didn't take anyone, kid. Remember?"

Jubilee nodded, recalling that the headcount she performed earlier. She watched him toss the dart back on the floor before rising to his feet. Following suit, she racked her brain. The intentions became quite murky in the face of the confusing evidence that lay before them. The troops seemed quite capable of inflicting serious harm but chose restraint. No bullets or explosives were employed. Instead, they used darts filled with sedatives rather than anything toxic.

"Didn't it seem like they were more interested in makin' lots of noise than anything else?" Logan asked, his gravel-like voice shattering her musings. They were now running towards one of the hyperlifts at the end of the main corridor. When they reached the doors, he pressed the button to summon the elevator. Fortunately, the wait was brief.

Jubilee followed him through the sliding doors and into the car. "Yeah, it was weird."

"Weird is an understatement, kid."

"Right…so what did they really want?"

Jean Grey awoke with a start, staccato-like breaths escaping from her lungs. Tendrils of coppery tendrils clung to her cheeks and forehead as her body jerked wildly upwards from its previous supine position. She was stunned to discover that her afternoon of reading was stolen away by evening's darkness. She concentrated on the light switch on the wall behind her. In response, the room was now bathed in a soft glow of warm light. After several seconds, Jean managed to reorient herself to the navy ticking stripes and tattersalls, indigo quilts, creamy wool cables, cashmere knits and shearling throws of her living room. Blinking wildly, the statuesque telepath was rubbing the heel of her hand against her forehead. Her head felt as if it were contracting and expanding at the same time. There was so much occupying her mind at that moment—pain, feelings, and sensations. It was then she realized what elicited such an intense reaction.

She had another dream.

Often, Jean was unable to recall the content. Any visual or auditory information was frequently drowned out by overwhelming emotions. Fear, happiness, rage, and sadness coalesced into a single mass that coursed throughout her entire being. It was only when she rejoined the waking world that Jean could escape the confusion of slumber.

But this time was different.

She saw fire.

She heard screams.

She felt power and hunger like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Normally, Jean would have been disturbed. She had been scared of the dreams when she could not recall specific details. There were times when she would force herself to remain awake because the anxiety that seized her afterwards was too much bear. Not knowing what caused such fear made her question her sense of control and sanity. Furthermore, she believed that this mental block affected her abilities, causing her headaches and the constant psychic static. Her distress and sense of isolation were heightened when she was forced to scale back on her responsibilities. She was particularly upset when she had to delegate some of them to Emma, a woman whose loyalties continued to be in question by a number of people around the mansion.

Emma. The name alone made evoked disdain. While the icy blonde proved herself to be an asset on and off the field as well as in the classroom, there was something about her that made Jean wary. Her prior life as a Hellfire Club member fed into her suspicions along with the dubious business practices.

However, what truly irked Jean was Emma's behaviour towards the men at the mansion, especially her husband. Initially, Jean thought she was being paranoid in her interpretations of their interactions. The dismissals soon crumbled in the face of mounting proof. Emma was particularly attentive to Scott, hanging onto his every word. The piercing stare associated with her haughty demeanour softened in Scott's presence. Even the casual brush of the hand on his shoulder had less than honourable implications. Ultimately, it was their lengthy counselling/consultation sessions that signalled the crossing of boundaries. Scott admitted discussing his concerns regarding his wife's health problems with Emma but insisted that nothing untoward transpired. Although she believed him, Jean was still upset. If anything, it should have been her he would confide in, not another woman. The fact that the other woman was Emma made the situation that much worse.

Following several days of fighting, the couple reached an understanding. It was a tense one given that Scott attributed nothing but good intentions on Emma's part. After all, he told Jean, she was a colleague and a friend who understood the complexities of being a telepath. Her insight was crucial in assuaging his worries over Jean's current difficulties. By sharing her knowledge and experience, Scott said he felt less helpless and more like the partner he thought Jean needed. In response, Jean asked him why he could not disclose those feelings and thoughts with her. Much to her dismay, Scott seemed at a loss for words.

Taken together, the telepath wondered how much more she could endure. But now that Jean could remember, the apprehension that usually ensued was gone. Instead, a sense of comfort enveloped every fibre of her being. She was also able to draw strength from what she had just experienced. Even the headache first experienced upon waking was now a distant memory. Staring at her outstretched hand, the graceful redhead felt as if she were holding the entire universe. Life and death, answers to any and every question ever postulated, and intimate knowledge of the end of time swirled in her consciousness. By comparison, the issues that ate away at her seemed so trivial and were better suited to lesser beings. While such thoughts were attributed to less ethically inclined and/or mentally troubled peers, they were simply evidence of an emerging truth.

She was changing.

Although she was a long-serving member of the team and second to the Professor with regard to telepathy, Jean never felt completely confident about her contributions. There were times when she questioned her role during missions. Specifically, she wondered if she were a liability on the field. There was little she could do in terms of mounting an appropriate offensive or engaging in defensive manoeuvring. Her telekinesis, while refined under Xavier's tutelage, was still rather limited. The headaches and psychic feedback only served to undermine what control she had to begin with. Sometimes, she could move objects at will; other times, she was at a loss to even turn a page. As a result, her insecurity seemed to reach a zenith.

Sitting in her living room with a copy of _Motherless Brooklyn_ on her lap, Jean realized her anxieties were no longer warranted. While she was unable to pinpoint what exactly happened, she felt a surge of confidence that long eluded her. It was strange to think that only earlier today that she was filled with doubt. At that moment, she felt as if she could rearrange mountain ranges within a blink of an eye.

Rather than acting on that particular thought, she chose to aim for something smaller. Her gaze fell upon the mantle on the other side of the room. Almost immediately, two framed photographs flew into her hands. A smile touched her mouth as she stared at the pictures with great affection.

The first one was of herself and Scott, which was taken on their wedding day. Their faces were bright and beaming with hope and possibilities. Only the sun shining behind them rivalled the couple's bright expressions. Scott appeared especially handsome in his black dinner jacket, trousers, and bow tie, and white shirt. As for Jean, her ornate, strapless gown was adorned with Swarovski crystals, embroidery, and a silk train, which was topped with a floor-length veil made of ivory tulle. She remembered her ambivalence towards wearing such an elaborate piece but was finally pushed into it by Storm and Rogue. Both bridesmaids reminded her that she would only get married only once and that the occasion had to be memorable.

And it was. The ceremony and reception took place on the mansion's grounds. Her family and friends outside of the institute attended, providing their unwavering love and support. With Storm's influence, blue skies and a brilliant sun prevailed. Allison, who was enjoying success on the pop charts, performed at the reception. She had even dedicated several ballads to the couple. It was one of those days where everything fell into place. Up until then, Jean believed that experiencing such happiness was not possible. She could not recall a time when she was more in love with Scott and the rest of the world for that matter.

The second photograph was taken over two years ago during a road trip to one of the nearby ski resorts. Jean, Storm, Rogue, Kitty, Lorna, and a teenaged Jubilee were standing in front of snow frosted trees that overlooked subalpine valley and the awe-inspiring mountain peaks on the distant horizon. The group had decided to embark on a ski weekend to celebrate Jean's twenty-eighth birthday. Because Scott had been away on mission, the women around the mansion had taken it upon themselves to take charge of the festivities. Even though very little time was spent on the slopes (much to Kitty's chagrin), the weekend proved to be a wonderful one nonetheless. The broad smiles the women wore were indicative of the warm bond they shared. That, and the mulled cider and hot chocolate Rogue and Lorna ordered before the picture was taken.

Jean found herself tracing the outline of the faces in each of the pictures. Her heart swelled inside her chest as she did so. Although she had her parents in Alaska as well as her sister's family in Connecticut, these were the people she truly felt the closest connection to in her life. They had seen her through so much, shared her laughter and loss, and experienced the world in the same she had. Yes, these faces reflected her true family.

_I love you all._

Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness. This was followed by a loud crash and the sound of shattering of glass from the front hall. Heavy footfalls upon the hardwood floors accompanied harsh voices and the clicking of weapons being readied. The noises grew louder with each passing second as the trespassers closed in. She could sense their apprehension and determination while they stood outside of her living room.

She should have been frightened. She should have prepared herself for a confrontation. She should have telepathically called out to Scott and the others. She should have warned them of the intruders.

Yet, Jean Grey decided against those options.

Her green eyes glittering in the darkness, she whispered, "It's time."

The sweep of the various labs, gym, and recovery areas in Sub-Basement Level One revealed nothing was amiss. No soldiers and nothing taken or broken into. The same results were obtained following a search of the facilities on Sub-Basement Level Two and the transport rail cars leading to the hangar bay. Even the power remained on. It was as if the trespassers completely forgot about or had no knowledge about these areas.

As he and Jubilee raced to the security tower, Logan was finding either scenario unlikely. The manner in which these men attacked the mansion indicated that this was not a random act. Moreover, the fact that everything was accounted for and undisturbed made him nervous. Having an idea as to what the motivation for the attack was allowed some predictability. It would be easier to determine their location and anticipate future tactics. The ignorance regarding any of these issues had them operating blindly—a situation Logan despised.

With Jubilee supplying pyrotechnic support to cover his back, the experienced warrior made a sweep of the hangar bay to ensure they were truly alone. He then signalled her to follow him. Access to the security tower was provided by a hyperlift located at the far end of the hangar. Logan quickly punched in the access code to summon a car.

Climbing into yet another elevator car, the two rode in silence. Not a word had been exchange since leaving the mansion. There was a possibility that eavesdropping equipment might have been planted to discern their movements, which would further hinder them. For Logan, it was best to rely on gestures and looks at this point. Having accompanied Wolverine on many missions, Jubilee was familiar enough with this manner of working. In spite of the years that passed, she had not forgotten any of his signals. The young firecracker was surprised that she was still able to anticipate his moves. It was as if they were picking up their partnership from it where had been left off. Had the circumstances been less dire, Jubilee would have been touched by this and made a comment. However, she would have traded in this moment to simply know that all was well.

Logan unsheathed one set of claws with a _SNIKT_ that pierced the air. He glanced at Jubilee whose small fist was surrounded by a brilliant glow of multicoloured light. His green eyes locked onto her sapphire ones, making a silent inquiry.

_You ready, kid?_

She inhaled sharply and nodded. _Don't be afraid, Jubes._

When the doors slid open, the gruff Canadian loner narrowed his eyes as he peered out of the car. His hand pressed on Jubilee's shoulder to hold her against the wall, a gesture implying that she wait for him to complete his scan of the perimeter. Unlike the Sub-Basements, the tower had been disturbed. The overhead lights were flickering on and off, as if the power source had been tampered with. Further inspection revealed that several light fixtures had been shattered. The floor underneath was littered with broken glass and wires.

It was eerily quiet as Logan focused his senses to examine the scene that lay before him and Jubilee. He sniffed quietly in an attempt to search for stench of the bastards who terrorized them. Their scent lingered in the air but was fading with each passing second. Releasing Jubilee, he felt disappointed. He was looking forward to introducing the men's heads to their asses.

Jubilee shone the light from her fingertips to guide them out of the hyperlift car. Inwardly, she expressed her gratitude that she was not alone. Experience had taught her that watching both sides was difficult while solo. Even more daunting was ensuring that no one was behind you when conducting your investigation.

Logan forged his way ahead. "Cyclops?" he called out, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. It was filled with an uncertainty that made him feel awkward and strange. "Cyclops?"

No response.

Logan's blood ran cold when he noticed the upturned chair in front of the console that monitored the television monitors and the computer system fortifying the defences. The main keyboard had been smashed in, sending small sparks flying about. Buttons were missing from nearby controllers. Mindful of the echo of his footsteps, he made his approach.

Jubilee was following close behind as her eyes darted around the room in search of Scott. She called out his name as well. Her stomach performed a series of somersaults when there was only stillness. She could feel her lower lip quiver. _Please let him be OK. Please oh please let him be OK. _

Her internal pleas were interrupted by a soft moan. She turned to Logan, who was already racing to the other side of the room. Frantically, he checked the area, his gaze falling past the storage cabinets and backup generators. The moans became increasingly louder when he paused in front of the control unit for the mansion's alarm system. Like the console, the device had been damaged. Keys were missing and levers had been snapped off.

He was about to call out to Scott again when he heard another moan. This time, his ears were able to locate the source. Immediately, he dropped to his knees and retracted his claws.

Scott was slumped against the adjacent wall. The lenses of his ruby-quartz sunglasses were slightly cracked. Blood dripped from his mouth and there was a bruise on his forehead. His hand, which was swollen, was clawing at his neck. The movements were both clumsy and wild. When Logan attempted to grab the other man's hand, he noticed a tranquilizer dart sticking from the right side of Scott's neck. The ballistic syringe was broken, sending some of the immobilizing agent through Scott's system and onto his clothing.

"Wh-who's there?" he demanded, his speech slurred. Even though he had managed to break part of the dart, the effects of the drug hindered his processing and coordination. It was as if he were swimming in a pool of highly viscous liquid. As much as he willed himself towards composure, his body failed to comply.

Jubilee, who was standing over Logan, choked back a sob. Relief and concern washed over her when she saw Scott. His battered appearance was shocking but the fact that he could speak was encouraging.

"It's the cavalry," Logan replied wryly, extracting the dart from the other man's neck. He tossed it on the floor. "You okay?"

Scott managed to nod weakly. "My glasses… I think they're broken." His fingers fumbled at his chest, tugging at the navy nylon jacket he wore over a red chambray shirt and khakis. "I don't want to open my eyes… Have my visor in my jacket…"

Logan grunted. The idea of performing a close search on Scott Summers' person was the last thing he wanted to do. Given the circumstances, however, he could hardly back out. Fortunately, he was able to retrieve the visor. "Keep 'em closed," he instructed the younger man tersely, reaching over to remove his sunglasses. "Or I'm gonna add your name to list of people's asses I have to kick."

Scott complied albeit with a smirk. He had no doubt his name was already at the top of said list. When the visor was firmly in place, he gave a grateful nod to Logan. "Thanks." He then saw Jubilee's face, a worried frown marring her delicate features. "Are you okay?"

She nodded quickly before asking, "Are you?"

"I am now." He tried not to wince as he struggled to straighten his body. His muscles cried out in agony, as if they had been targeted by the wrath of two rugby teams. His mental faculties, though fairing better by comparison, were still dulled from the tranquilizer. "Who else is here with us?"

"You're lookin' at what's left," Logan replied bluntly before quickly launching into a retelling of the night's events and status update of the areas inside of the mansion. When he finished, the gravelly-voiced warrior asked, "So what the hell happened here?"

Head swimming from a combination of the drugs and this startling information, Scott tried to draw from his internal resources in an effort to respond cogently. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the throbbing sensation from his injured hand. Seeing Jubilee's worried visage once again motivated him to persevere.

Finally, he said, "I…I was on monitor duty here when a couple of the screens started showing static. When I couldn't manually reset the cameras, I decided to check on the satellite. I was about to make my way there but got blindsided. There had to be at least two…maybe three of them who stormed into here. While I was trying to deal with the one who hit me, the other two started tearing up the room. I tried to get clean shots but my sunglasses were smashed from the initial blow and I couldn't get to my visor fast enough. I thought about just blasting them…but I didn't want to make things worse by jeopardizing everyone else's safety. When I finally took care of that jerk, I tried to grab my communicator to get someone on the horn. But they managed to trash that as well. Then one of them shot me before taking off. I tried to go after them but I couldn't make it out the door."

Logan frowned, grunting. "Did they say anything to you?"

"Nothing," Scott answered, shaking his head in confusion. "Not even to each other."

"Same here," Logan mused, sharing his puzzlement. His eyes narrowed as he struggled to paint a picture, searching for information in Scott's statement to clarify things. Unfortunately, he continued to be at a loss. Then he asked, "You okay enough to stand?"

Scott swallowed hard, his knees wobbling slightly. "Give me a second."

Jubilee knelt down beside him, taking one of his arms gently and draping it around her shoulders. "Tell us when you're ready," she said softly as Logan made his way to the opposite side, following suit.

After taking a deep breath, Scott nodded gingerly. "I'm okay now."

Slowly, the trio rose to their feet. Logan then told Jubilee to turn the chair over while he steadied their team leader. Flipping the swivel chair right side up, she steered it towards the two men. Carefully, Logan lowered Scott to his seat. The younger man started to protest, insisting that he was fine enough to stand. However, the dizziness that seized his head undermined his argument. He relented, taking the opportunity to get his bearings.

Meanwhile, Logan peered over at the closed circuit television monitors. The screens displayed black-and-white surveillance footage of various points around the mansion's property, including Breakstone Lake, the hedge maze, the driveway leading to Graymalkin Lane, and the basketball court. His eyes narrowed as he analyzed each screen carefully. The video revealed no signs of the intruders, no clues of their means of transportation. It seemed as if they had disappeared into the shadows. He nearly accepted this conclusion when he noticed that two of the fifteen screens were completely black.

At that moment, his blood ran cold.

The first screen was assigned to the pathway leading to the boat house.

The second screen was assigned to the Summers' home.

Scott followed the older man's gaze. His face paled and his lower lip trembled, realizing the implications. He felt his heart leap to his throat, nearly suffocating him. Thoughts that roused his deepest fears threatened to overtake consume his entire being. In a hoarse and uncharacteristically wavering voice, he said, "We have to go. Now."

Jubilee, who had been searching for a first aid kit, paused in her rummaging. "What?"

"We have to get to the house," he told her, grimacing as he struggled to pull himself out of the chair. His panic was increasing exponentially as telepathic calls to his wife went unanswered. _Jean, where are you?_ "Jean is out there. They could have her."

The apprehension that fell over both Scott and Logan had now overtaken her as well. _Oh please no…_

Logan was at his side, providing a steady base for the younger man to use. "You sure you're okay to go?"

Scott grabbed onto the gruff loner's shoulder. With steely determination, he managed to rise to his feet and took several steps towards the door. "Jean is out there," he repeated, trying to tamper the feelings of dread that welled up inside of him. The longer they remained in the observation tower, the more frightened he felt. "We…we need to get to her."

Logan nodded in agreement as his quick strides carried him to where the younger man stood. His eyes conducted a brief assessment of Scott's condition. He needed to know if his occasional rival was well enough to make the journey. While he empathized with the need to protect Jean, it was equally paramount that Scott had overcome the effects of the drug to anticipate whatever awaited them. Being outnumbered dictated that they had to be capable of mounting an appropriate offensive.

Breathing harshly, Scott stared at Logan's stony features. He clenched his jaw when he realized what was happening. Like his team mate, he was aware of the importance that none of them were physically comprised given the threat. Having been in a similar position many times before, Scott understood. "I'm fine," he said finally in a low voice.

The seconds that passed until Logan spoke up seemed like eons. "Then let's get goin'," he said brusquely, trying to mask his own anxiety. He turned to Jubilee who stood behind them. "Cyclops and I will take the charge. You're going to follow and watch our backs. Got it, kid?"

She swallowed hard, nodding. "Got it," she replied as sparkling lights danced around her fingertips. Inwardly, a myriad of emotions competed for supremacy—anger, desperation, excitement, fear, nervousness, and sadness. It took much of her inner resolve to subdue the intensity of these feelings. Not doing so would have undermined her resolve and focus.

Their movements reflected a quick stealth as they ventured from the observation tower to the pathway towards the Summers' home. The evening air was surprisingly cool for spring. Scott found himself grateful for the briskness. It dissolved the drug-induced fugue that had blanketed his senses earlier. His legs felt stronger, allowing him to match Logan's determined and swift strides.

Drawing upon his finely attuned senses, Logan performed a brief survey of the surrounding property as the trio continued their journey. With no sign of the intruders, he felt his stomach twist into a series of agonizing knots. The conclusion reached was disconcerting to say the least. In response, his pace quickened until he was charging towards the white, clapboard house in the distance. The dread he experienced in the observation tower had given to rage. As far as he was concerned, the attack on the mansion was a distraction.

Meanwhile, Jubilee had allowed herself to fall behind in order to maintain careful watch of their surroundings. Both Logan and Scott were already racing towards the house, which was located several yards away. She wanted to remind them that they were still unsure of the whereabouts of the intruders. However, she refrained from doing so when it was clear that only yelling would get their attention given how far they were at this point. Taking a deep breath, Jubilee prepared herself to play catch up. The surge of adrenaline flowing through her allowed the luxury of ignoring the screaming of her lungs, the pounding ache from her legs, and the sharp stinging sensation in her feet. Pain was secondary in relation to the objective.

The thundering sound of helicopter rotor blades shattered the stillness of the spring evening. The copter circled the estate, hovering briefly over Storm's greenhouse. Logan and Scott briefly paused in their tracks, nearly blinded from the mounted lighting equipment attached to the transport craft. The two of them shielded their eyes while wondering where the hell the helicopter had come from. However, the time to ponder this question was limited given that the copter was now in forward flight.

Towards the Summers' home.

Shaking off the initial sense of bewilderment, Scott placed his fingers on the side of his battle visor as he continued running. His attempt to focus the visor's aperture without his battle gloves was a difficult task. The firing studs incorporated into the material allowed him finer control than with his bare hands. When he was able to fix the aperture, he steadied himself to prepare for an optic blast.

_I won't let anything happen to you, Jean._

At this point, Logan had expected to see a beam of red light emanating from Scott's visor. He thought the helicopter would fall from the sky as a result of the concussive blast. Walls of buildings, solid rock, and even the top of a mountain had experienced the force of that blast. An armoured helicopter had very little chance given previous evidence. For the first time that evening, the gruff loner believed they were about to obtain the advantage.

Which was why he was stunned when Scott did not act.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, his thick, dark locks rumpled by the air current the copter was generating.

"I can't," Scott told him, his voice quaking with anger. He frowned in an attempt to concentrate. Perhaps his stress level was hindering the generation of energy. Much to his dismay, he was wrong. Nothing. Here he was, betrayed by his abilities at the moment when he needed them the most.

Logan grunted, disappointed with the tactical disadvantage. Apparently, those darts had something else other than a tranquilizing agent. "Then we've gotta find another way to stop those bastards."

Several yards behind, Jubilee was debating whether or not she should take down the craft herself. She was certainly capable of doing so. The intensity of her plasmoids had the potential of devastating destruction. But it was moral stance on taking life, something that some of her peers treated as trivial at times, weighed heavily upon her. No matter whom these people were and what they did, killing them was not an option.

Before Jubilee could mull over the issue further, she was tackled from behind. Wincing, her stomach was pressed against the softness of the manicured lawn as the assailant twisted her arms behind her back. Her legs were also bent at the knees and contorted behind and over her. The brilliant glow from her hands dimmed as she was deprived of oxygen from the assailant's weight on her back. Desperate, she bucked her hips slightly in an attempt to manoeuvre for leverage. Within seconds, Jubilee managed to raise her head from the ground. The new position placed pressure on her lower back, causing her to grimace. This discomfort faded once she had the height she needed. Quickly, she locked her ankles, positioning her legs completely around the assailant's waist. Based on the weight of the individual, Jubilee knew she was dealing with someone who was wiry and not very bulky in muscle mass. Armed with this information and drawing upon lessons Logan provided about pressure points, she focused her energy on forcing the air from the person's lungs in order to secure her own release.

When the assailant fell backwards, Jubilee seized the opportunity to scramble. Her chest was aching as she struggled for breath. Somehow, she managed to get on her hands and knees, crawling away and hoping to find some reserve to pull herself to her feet. Unfortunately, her attacker snaked out a hand and grabbed her ankle. She was quickly flipped onto her back. Her head was swimming from the abrupt contact with the ground but she was able to see the camouflage-painted visage of one of the soldiers.

He locked his legs against her sides while one of his hands seized her wrists, pinning them against the ground. His other hand trailed over her throat. It encircled and squeezed, testing how much pressure could be applied to force a cough. The soldier's fleshy lips curled back into a sneer as he watched her struggle.

"I don't think so, sweetheart," he said smugly, clearly deriving pleasure in her predicament. His rancid breath was hot against her cheek as he brought his face closer to hers. "What do you say about us having a little fun? No one will have to know."

Her delicate, red lips moved as if she was responding to him but the sound was trapped inside her narrowing airway. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she felt his fingers squeeze her throat. Her creamy skin had taken on a purplish-pink quality as the oxygen deprivation continued.

The soldier laughed scornfully at her. "You know, I thought you muties had special powers. Looks like I've got the best of you, sweetheart."

He was deciding his next move when the hand holding her wrists felt rather hot. It almost as if it were being burned. His eyes travelled to his hand, which was now blistered in the glow of the radiating multi-coloured light swirling from the girl's fingertips. The brilliance soon became blinding, startling him enough to loosen his grip slightly.

That was enough for Jubilee to deliver a burst of globules, aimed at his face and upper body. The force of the ensuing plasmoids knocked him backwards. His unconscious and slightly burned form was sent flying, landing several feet away from her.

Coughing, Jubilee struggled to sit up. Her fingers touched her throat gingerly, the imprint of the soldier's hand still visible. The rush of air was nearly too much but somehow, she managed to pull herself to her feet and started to run towards the Summers' home.

As she passed by the soldier's body, she rasped bitterly, "I said I'm nobody's sweetheart."

The cyclone of noise was deafening as Logan and Scott made their approach. The transport copter was hovering above the white, clapboard home. In addition to the lights being out, several windows were shattered and the door had been kicked in.

_Shit,_ Logan swore under his breath, extending his claws. He was about to charge when he suddenly heard footsteps, crushing the soft grass behind him. Whipping around, his green eyes widened when he saw a gasping Jubilee dart towards them. He was alarmed when he noticed her rumpled, grass-stained clothes and a faint handprint around her throat.

"You okay, kid?" he asked when she finally made her way to where he and Scott stood. Both wore concerned expressions on their already weary faces.

She nodded although the ache in her muscles told a different story. "Yeah, I was just handling some leftover garbage." Her sapphire eyes flicked over to the house. Trepidation suddenly took hold as their worst fears were being confirmed. "What's going on? How many are in there? Is Jean alright?"

"Don't know," Scott replied abruptly. He jerked his head towards the front door. "I'm heading in."

Logan raised a brow at him. "Can you—"

Jaw clenched tightly, the other man shook his head. Angry as he was with his body's betrayal, Scott was determined not to be helpless or a liability. There was too much at stake. He had to go. His entire world was in danger with each passing second.

Logan, although not known for his empathy, fully understood Scott's position. "I'll take the lead and you and the kid follow," he declared quietly. Then he added, "I'm in the mood to dance."

Scott peered over at the older man before nodding silently in gratitude.

As they were about to make their way to the house, a pair of soldiers emerged. One of them was holding Jean close, pointing a gun to her temple. He dragged her along while his comrade called over his shoulder to the remaining group inside.

His heart in his throat, Scott halted in his tracks. At that moment, any semblance of a plan had given way to sheer panic. All he could think about was Jean, how frightened and small she seemed, and his promise to protect her. He could not despise himself any more than he did now. Scott was failing her.

"Stay back," the soldier barked, dragging Jean along with him so that the rest of his men could leave the home. "Don't do anything stupid or I will shoot her."

Logan stared in disbelief, retracting his claws. This seemed to be part of some horrible nightmare. Yet, here he was, being forced to stand down, to be impotent at a time when he was needed. Usually, the Wolverine would not be privy to showing such restraint. It was he who was the first to strike, to draw blood, and to relish the anguish of the enemy on the battlefield.

He stifled a howl when his gaze fell upon Jean's beautiful face. To his amazement, the graceful redhead appeared serene and not at all fearful of the danger posed to her. It was as if she had resigned herself to what was happening. There was a haunting calm in her emerald eyes that made him shiver. As long as he lived, Logan would never forget that look.

A series of rescue hoists were lowered from the hovering craft above. The soldier holding Jean waited as his men scrambled. Once they were inside, all but one of the hoists were retracted. It was that last one Jean's captor used to escape, still clutching her close with the gun pressed against her head.

Jubilee, her hands glowing with what seemed like a million sparklers, turned to Scott. "What do we do?" she asked, her cerulean eyes round as saucers. Her tone seemed to plead with him, begging him to guide her in executing the appropriate response to save Jean. For all her training, Jubilee was at a loss. She was in the grips of her own anxiety and fear for Jean's safety.

He looked at her grimly. A part of him wanted to tell her to take down the helicopter. He was quite aware of the potential Jubilee had. She could easily strike down the copter. However, this was tempered by the fact that his wife was with those bastards. Granted, Jubilee had gained a great deal of control of her abilities to the point where she could vary the intensity but given the stress experienced, it was questionable as to whether or not she could maintain her focus. There was a chance that Jean could be severely injured or worse, killed as a result.

Before he could decide on a course of action, he suddenly heard his wife's voice inside his head. _I'm going to be alright, Scott, _she told him via their special telepathic link. _Don't be afraid. Everything is going to be fine._

As the helicopter began to ascend higher and higher, there was a loud screech. It sounded as if a large bird was crying out in agony. Then the craft began to wobble, jerking uncontrollably.

This was followed by an explosion.

It was at that moment Xi'an was crying out in Madripoor; Emma and Tessa were curled in fetal positions in their Cairo hotel room; the Stepford Cuckoos and Julian Keller began screaming while in the tunnels with the others students; and the Professor was slumped over the dinner table at a restaurant in Washington, DC.

The impact had slammed Scott, Logan, and Jubilee backwards onto the ground. Fiery pieces of the aircraft began to rain down from the sky. Fuel lines, control cables, tanks, rotor blades, and the engine crashed down onto the Summers' home, swallowing it in a ball of fire. The body of the helicopter had split into two pieces, where one half joined the rest of the craft in the inferno raging below. Meanwhile, the second half of the copter was sent flying before plummeting into the depths of nearby Breakstone Lake. The fire crackled loudly, replacing the rumbling din of the rotor blades that pierced the air.

"NO!" Scott screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he absorbed the fiery scene before him. The flames that engulfed the helicopter and his home burned with an intensity he had never seen before. The orange-white glow was luminous against the darkness of the night sky. Without thinking, he leaped to his feet and began to rush towards the blaze. _Jean? Jean?_

He could not hear his wife's voice anymore.

Logan jumped up and immediately planted a hand on the other's man shoulder, restraining him. His expression was blank as he struggled to process what just transpired. "She's gone," he said, emptiness seeping into his soul. He felt as if he were choking as he repeated what their new reality. "She's gone. She's gone."

Dazed, Jubilee stared up at the sky and then at the flames that were swallowing the home she had shared with Scott and Jean. Her lower lip trembled as the tears began to sting and blind her. When she was able to regain her hearing, Logan's words began reverberate. _She's gone. She's gone._

Scott jerked out of Logan's grasp before giving him a hard shove. "No," he cried, his face pinched. "No… You don't get to say that! It's not…not true!"

Logan seized him by both shoulders this time. He stared into the other man's face, amazed at how his own response was nearly identical. As much as he wanted to believe, there was too much tangible evidence to contradict what happened. "Listen," he said, becoming choked up as grief closed in on him. "She's gone. Jean is gone."

It was then that Scott collapsed against Logan and sobbed.


	58. Chapter 58: Mad World

Back with another chapter. Please let me know what you guys think. I love hearing from you!

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her expert beta-ing skills.

The characters are Marvel's but the story is all mine.

**Chapter Fifty Eight: Mad World **

"_I would never let anything happen to me, to us."_

"_I can't do this anymore, Jubes."_

Bobby Drake awoke with a start, his words echoing mercilessly. Exhaling shakily, he struggled to sit up in his bed. The room seemed to be spinning as he tried to shake off the remnants of the dream. Fear and sadness overwhelmed him, leaving a sense of devastating loss in their wake. He wanted to convince himself that it was only a terrible nightmare and nothing more.

Unfortunately, the realities of the situation undermined his wishful thinking.

As the early morning sun filtered through the blinds and bathed his bedroom in light and warmth, Bobby could only grimace. While most people would experience joy and wonder in response to such simple beauty, he felt removed from these emotions. Anything beyond despondency and hopelessness were now foreign in his world. From his perspective, he deserved nothing else; nothing better.

Because he had hurt the one person who meant everything to him.

Reflecting on the events that transpired yesterday, Bobby tried to seek refuge in the belief that Jubilee would be better off. He was sparing her a life of hardship and misery. In spite of his best efforts to revert back to flesh, the icy patch only seemed to spread, much to his growing dismay and frustration. In the face of such damning evidence, he was forced to consider the possibility of the barrier spreading, consuming his entire body until he was completely encased in ice—as he saw in one of his dreams weeks ago. He thought about the dream version of Jubilee, drained of her beauty, energy, and youth while maintaining a vigil by his bedside. It was an image that haunted him, attacking all of his sensibilities. For Bobby, she represented a fate that he would not allow for his Jubilee. Given this, being chained to a man who could not control his own body was a much worse fate than the demise of their relationship. After all, what could he possibly offer her with the exception of hardship and uncertainty? How could they continue their lives together and build a future given his predicament? These questions reverberated through Bobby's psyche as he struggled to come to terms with his choice.

For Bobby, arguing that one could be in relationship with a man made of ice was beyond delusional. First of all, physical contact would be impossible. Bobby cited his mother's reaction at the hospital as indisputable evidence. He could still see her recoiling from him after he held her, the cold sending waves of disbelief to her already shocked system. Initially, he was hurt but in time, he was able to empathize with Maddy. After all, no one wanted to be close to the cold. It was why people often sought shelter and dressed in layers to flee from the bitter harshness. Granted, Bobby knew it was not the intimate aspects that formed the foundation of their relationship, he was aware that limiting them would pose an impact nonetheless. The idea of taking her into his arms for a kiss seemed unfathomable at this point. He could instantly see her drawing away or even worse, putting a brave face despite her discomfort in order to please him.

Even emotional intimacy would be hindered as a result of the icy barrier. With each passing day, Bobby could feel his humanity being drained away by the ice that stretched across his chest. He found it difficult to experience deeper connections with the people around him. In order to mask his ongoing difficulties, Bobby was forced to maintain some distance between himself and his family. He smiled less, became wary of involved engagement, and adopted a steely façade that was devoid of his former carefree self. Unfortunately, this radical change in personality did not go unnoticed. There were several occasions when his mother made enquiries regarding his state of mind. Each time, the younger Drake provided false reassurances that he was fine, stating that he was focused on assisting the family through this difficult time. Although the lies increased his self-loathing, Bobby knew they were very necessary.

With the possibility of being trapped in ice looming, Bobby was confronted with his own naïveté. Prior to his injuries, he never gave a second thought to peers whose mutations were readily apparent. Yes, he empathized with their struggles against prejudice. He was deeply offended whenever friends like Hank or Kurt were harassed or mistreated. But to say that he completely understood what they experienced was not completely accurate. Unlike his friends and others similar to them, Bobby always had the luxury of passing as a "normal". He was allowed to blend in with the rest of society as he pleased, earning its implicit acceptance through his conformity. Concerns about being chased down, taunted, or attacked were remote. Other than the time when his abilities first appeared, Bobby never directly experienced society's rejection of individuals like him. He could remain out of harm's way, distancing himself from the dangers others' ignorance posed.

But now, the younger Drake realized he would no longer be privy to such an existence. He had to accept the possible the likelihood that he would be subjected to the same abuse his friends encountered. Revealing his status whenever it suited him would probably not be an option. His outlook on life and his place in the world had changed. Bobby was forced to accept that his former perspective of safety through normalcy might not apply to him anymore. Mulling over this piece of insight, he was quickly reminded of his father. After years of failing to grasp the motivations behind the elder Drake's insistence of living their lives in a particular fashion, Bobby found himself suddenly understanding what drove his father's actions. What had been construed as bigotry, snobbery, and borderline paranoia had actually been an overarching concern for the family's wellbeing. Bill had wanted to shelter his family, especially his only child from the intolerance the world harboured. At times, his execution left a great deal to be desired. Yet, it was the need to keep those he loved secure and under the radar that prevailed.

Reflecting upon this, Bobby could not help but feel his father's point of view resonate. Although the idea of being tormented whenever he was away from the mansion and in public was disconcerting, it paled in comparison to the implications for his relationship with Jubilee. By being with him, she would be forced to endure the same treatment. She would be tormented for her involvement with a "filthy mutie" or outed as one herself. Together, they would be besieged by society's fear and hatred of who they were. Bobby had no doubt of her resilience in the face of intolerance, especially after her experiences at the hands of those who were willing to take their hatred to the extreme. However, the thought of her being punished by society because she chose a life with him made his stomach turn. As the one who loved Jubilee more than life itself, Bobby knew it was his duty to protect her from this fate—even if it meant losing her.

The sandy-haired young man leaned back, sinking into the softness of the pillows propped against the distressed iron and steel headboard. Despite the welcoming comfort of his bed, Bobby felt drained and restless. Every part of him ached. He was haunted by words he had spoken during periods of happiness, by a beautiful face with sapphire eyes that gazed upon him lovingly, and by grief and torment that he was forced to inflict. It was as if slumber were cruelly denying him respite in order to punish him for his actions.

It had taken every ounce of resolve to let Jubilee go. His rational mind was battling against his heart, which desperately wanted to hold on to her. Seeing how deeply hurt his love was only threatened undermine his resolve. As he looked into her hypnotic, old-soul blue eyes, Bobby recalled all the promises he had made to her, the declarations of love and devotion, and the assurances that he would be her sanctuary from the sometimes unforgiving world. Memories of their time together flooded him. Almost immediately, he was taken back to the past where the events of their first kiss, first date, and first time making love played before his eyes. Reliving these moments, Bobby was aware of the deep connection that bound them together. It was something he had never experienced before with anyone else. He had sworn to himself and to Jubilee that he would do anything to protect their love.

But in the end, he had to destroy it.

For her.

The details of that moment were still etched into his brain, refusing to fade with the passage of time. He could still see her beautiful face, wearing that loving and trusting expression reserved just for him. He could hear the bewildered and later, pleading tone in her voice as she attempted to persuade him to reconsider. He could sense her heart breaking when he told her to leave. All of it ate away at Bobby, filling him with infinite depths of self-hatred. Because he swore he would never hurt her and here he was, shattering their world. Not even the altruistic motivations of providing her a better life alleviated the anger, guilt, and pain that consumed him.

For a moment, he had thought about going after her. But in the end, he refrained from doing so. Bobby was at a complete loss as to what he might say. He had just been unbelievably cruel towards her. There were no words to follow up what he had done. Moreover, there was no guarantee that any attempts to explain would assuage her. It was quite possible that he could make matters much worse. Then there was issue of what he was looking to gain by talking to her. Bobby had already made up his mind to let her go. To pursue her again would only send mixed messages and ultimately, lead to further confusion and pain. In the end, he resigned himself to remain at the house, allowing her to think that he was a bastard. After all, such a conclusion was not completely removed from the truth.

As the hours passed, Bobby tried to rationalize what he had done. Not doing so would mean that his actions were groundless and that he had caused her grief for no reason. That was simply something he could not and would not accept. Bobby tried to tell himself that her pain was temporary. Jubilee was a strong person whose ability to overcome the many obstacles laid in her path was nothing short of amazing. Whether it was being tortured by Bastion or experiencing near death at the hands of Friends of Humanity, Jubilee's capacity to recover and march forward in life was a testament to her inner resolve. There was no doubt that her trademark determination and strength would see her through this. Eventually, she would move on and find happiness with someone else. As for Bobby, he resigned him to the position of being a brief encounter—possibly a mistake—in her past whose memory would hopefully fade with time.

_"Love is not always so happy. There will be troubles ahead. It will be up to you to be strong when things look bad. Even when all hope seems lost."_

The hauntingly prophetic quality of the old gypsy's words seemed to eloquently summarize his current predicament. It was hard to believe that she had given him this pearl of wisdom months before. Back then, Bobby tried not to think much about it. There was a part of him that was afraid of the implications. He and Jubilee had been so happy together. In fact, it was difficult for Bobby to recall another time when he felt so ecstatic with another person who made living each day wonderful. To entertain the possibility that such joy could be in jeopardy was out of the question.

Bobby closed his eyes, trying to drown out the brightness of the spring sunshine that enveloped him. There had been a time when they were mulling over a more serious commitment together. It had not been too long ago when the subject of children came up. Thanks to his mother's overt desire for grandchildren and his father's less-than-stellar example, Bobby had come to view the prospect of parenthood with some wariness. The closest encounter he had with the idea was when he believed Bobby Tanaka was his. Even then, he struggled with the perception of himself as a father. Although he had promised Opal that he was ready to tackle his responsibilities, such a role remained enigmatic and foreign to him.

However, when discussing the subject with Jubilee, he could not believe how relaxed he was. It seemed only natural that they talk about their future given everything they had been through as a couple. Granted, their conversation had been theoretical in nature without any concrete plans on the horizon. But the fact that he was able to participate in this sort of discussion without wanting to flee or lapse into panic mode was nothing short of miraculous. Bobby found that with Jubilee, there was no trepidation. He knew he could draw strength and support from her without being judged, making him a better man for her and whatever the future might hold for them.

"_I can't do this anymore, Jubes." _

Tears flowed freely as he came to accept his new reality. He had never felt as lost as he did following Jubilee's departure. Even though he was the one to instigate the events, it did not mean he was immune to resulting heartache. Behind the ice that encapsulated his chest, he could feel his own heart shattering into pieces. He was letting go of the one person who made him feel complete, allowing him to experience joy he never imagined was possible. She saw beyond the pranks, the cheeky remarks, and the loud Hawaiian shirts and loved him all the more. For the first time, he was with someone who wanted nothing more than to be by his side. His happiness had been hers. The idea of never being able to be with her again was almost too much bear. He was no longer privy to gazing into those sapphire eyes, kissing that sweet mouth, breathing in her perfume of bubblegum and cinnamon, sharing his innermost thoughts, and relishing the suppleness of her skin as he made love to her. All of those things were now in his past.

Sighing, he opened his eyes. Competing with the dull and raw ache of his sadness was the muddled confusion that addled his brain. Bobby needed clarity and perspective. As much as he wanted to keep the situation private, there was a part of him that yearned to discuss what transpired. He was not necessarily seeking out approval for his behaviour. Rather, it was simply the desire to keep his feelings of loneliness and isolation at bay. Bobby believed that being heard by another person would accomplish this.

Confiding in his mother was not even an option. The Drake matriarch had enough on her plate and did not need to be burden with the intricacies of his love life. After Jubilee left, Bobby engaged in further deception, telling his mother that his girlfriend was called back to the mansion to cover for someone and issuing false reassurances that everything was fine. He strongly doubted Maddy actually believed him but it was enough to render her silent for the time being. It was as if she knew.

Bobby mentally ran down a list of other possibilities. Although Hank and Warren were his closest friends, he ruled them out as well. Warren was dealing with his own relationship issues and Hank often analyzed emotional difficulties as he would a complex equation. As for other choices, Rogue was currently away on mission. Given how protective the Southern Belle was of Jubilee, a tongue-lashing was certainly in store for him once he told her what he had done. Kurt, not having been involved in many relationships, would probably be at a loss in terms of giving advice.

No, Bobby needed someone who was knowledgeable about these things; someone who would listen without judging. This individual had to be sensitive and empathic but remain firm as to what the right course of action was. There was only person he could trust to fit those requirements.

Jean.

When it was just the five of them, she was the first one to reach out to him. While her interactions with the others were characterized by romantic tension or unrequited affection, the bond she shared with Bobby was different. Theirs was more sibling-like in nature. She coddled him as she would her younger brother, a role he came to cherish. As an only child, Bobby was eager to embrace the dynamics of such a relationship. In turn, he would strive to make her laugh through his terrible impressions, one-liners, and pranks. As time went on, their interactions evolved, giving way to deeper conversations about growing up, their abilities, imagining life away from the school, and the future. During these moments, Bobby could confess insecurities he struggled to conceal from the rest of the world. Jean's attentive listening and empathic abilities were only matched by the sage counsel she provided.

Despite the passing years and differences in lifestyles, Bobby found he could still depend on Jean. She did not possess Warren's cynicism or impatience, Hank's need to rationalize each detail, or Rogue's mercurial nature depending on the topic. Rather, she was the sympathetic ear who was more inclined to provide guidance rather than chiding him into doing what she believed was appropriate. Unlike her icy blonde peer, Jean was often hesitant to use her abilities to explore the issues. She found the idea of invading the integrity of another person's consciousness distasteful.

There were times Bobby considered contacting his friend. A myriad of reasons held him back from doing so. Prior to his departure, he had heard stories from various individuals, including Hank and Jubilee, about Jean's ongoing health problems. According to these accounts, the severity of these difficulties had even forced her to scale back on some of her responsibilities around the school, as a field team member, and as one of the Professor's trusted emissaries. Anyone who knew the telepath well was aware that she would perceive such developments as distressing. Regretfully, Bobby had been unable to check in on her himself due to his field assignments and later, his father's stroke. Even now, he continued to feel remorse about not seeing her before leaving.

Although he was unclear regarding the details about Jean's condition, Bobby felt quite guilty about burdening her with his troubles. For all he knew, she could be dealing with a serious illness. In any case, it was more important for her to concentrate on her health. His problems, as serious as they were, were viewed as relatively minor in comparison. To distract Jean from the road to recovery and wellness filled Bobby with an inordinate amount of guilt.

Then there were the other intricacies of the situation—namely, the fact that Jean, along with Scott, practically raised Jubilee. As an only child, Bobby was cognizant of the fierce protectiveness that fuelled maternal instinct. He witnessed how a mother's love and devotion could make the most level-headed completely irrational. Even though Bobby wanted to believe that their friendship could weather what happened, there was a part of him that feared her reaction.

Bobby exhaled deeply, raking a hand through his rumpled, sandy hair. He remembered there was a time when he believed that listening to her gentle, soothing voice and peering into those kind green eyes revealed the answers to his many questions. Had the circumstances been different perhaps things would be different. There was a chance that Jean would understand his point of view, or even better yet, assist him in devising a solution to stop this pain.

If only.

Maddy Drake pulled her lavender, terrycloth robe close to her slim form as she stood in the middle of her kitchen. The morning hours found her preparing for the day, mulling over the schedule for herself the rest of the household. However, her thoughts drifted away from the realm of her husband's ongoing care and treatment. As she made her way to the cabinets, the Drake matriarch was almost blinded by the brilliant sunlight that streamed through the bay windows. She narrowed her cornflower blue eyes. The brightness seemed incompatible to the gloom that now enshrouded her home.

Opening one of the white panelled cupboards, she retrieved a bag of her favourite French roast coffee and began brewing the first pot of the day. The sounds of the built-in grinder were drowned out by reflections of the previous day's events. She remembered being relegated to the study while Bobby went to the front door. It took every ounce of self-control available not to wander into the hallway in order to observe the reunion. Her child was now an adult, whose affairs merited some level of privacy. Still, as his mother, she could not help but be concerned. There was nothing more in this world she valued than his happiness and wellbeing. As she stood inside the study, Maddy had placed all of her hopes on Jubilee's visit as a catalyst. Perhaps, the perpetual cloud of despondency that hung over Bobby would dissipate.

Unfortunately, this was not to be.

When Maddy saw Jubilee leaving the Drake home in tears, she felt any semblance of hope slip away. Even now, the Drake matriarch could still hear the squeal of the tires as the yellow Volkswagen Beetle peeled out of the driveway and away from the house. The sound served to emphasize the devastation experienced on all sides. Maddy remembered the sharp pang of her heart sinking as she witnessed the chances of her son returning to his normally carefree and playful self disappear.

Her despondency was soon accompanied by confusion. She had been expecting to shepherd Jubilee into the kitchen for Earl Grey tea and rugelach cookies. She was looking forward to having a conversation that did not centre on her state of mind, how Bill and the rest of the family were adjusting, and stroke rehabilitation. She wanted to see Bobby in a role that did not require him to be so grave and restrained. Instead, Maddy was reeling in disbelief, unsure what to make of the events that unfolded. Almost immediately, a multitude of questions raced through her brain. What happened? Why was Jubilee leaving so suddenly? How could Bobby simply let her go?

Once the initial shock had faded, Maddy was able to compose herself. The journey from the study to the foyer where her son stood had been an agonizingly slow one. She wanted to hide the fact that she had observed what transpired. There was that nagging voice in the back of her mind reminding her that Bobby was no longer the child who required her coddling whenever he encountered some dilemma. Moreover, by feigning ignorance, the Drake matriarch thought Bobby would have been more likely to confide in her. Although she had no illusions about having the answers, Maddy was willing to do anything she could to help.

She supposed much of her desperation stemmed from Bobby's uncharacteristically distant behaviour in the days that followed his return to Long Island. There were countless times Maddy tried to reach out to him, telling him that it was acceptable for him to vulnerable. She told her son that it was not necessary to shoulder the burden alone. Her gentle reminders that he did not have to be the rock were often dismissed. Even attempts to hug him were rebuffed, exacerbating the heartache she was already experiencing. If there was ever a time when she needed to feel the reassuring touch of a loved one, it was now.

As the weeks passed since Bill's stroke, Maddy noted that the young man who was sharing the responsibilities of caring for Bill was not the Bobby she knew. He was reticent, rarely laughing or joking. The conversations he participated in were geared towards aspects pertaining to Bill's therapy, household expenses, or day-to-day chores. Anything beyond those topics was never broached. Whenever Maddy attempted to introduce other areas into their discussions, Bobby quickly closed himself off. His tone became curt and his eyes took on a more steely quality. The resemblance to his father during those moments was uncanny.

This was particularly evident when his mother inquired about Jubilee. The younger Drake was often evasive, refusing to address her questions and issuing false assurances that all was well. Tried as Maddy to press him, Bobby stood his ground. His relationship and Jubilee were not to be discussed. He further argued that Bill's recovery should be the primary focus at the moment. When confronted with this line of reasoning, it was difficult for Maddy continue her questioning.

Still, the Drake matriarch was troubled. As much as she appreciated her son's support, it pained her to see him acting like a shadow of his former self. Bobby's devotion to his role as the sole caretaker for the household had taken its toll. The fact that he was blind to or denying the impact was even more disconcerting. It was as if he depended on playing this part, no matter the cost to his own wellbeing.

But why did he feel compel to act this way? Bobby was aware, as Maddy was, of the fatigue many caretakers experience. In fact, he often reminded her to take some time for herself. He encouraged his mother to reconnect with her friends or pursue her hobbies. However, whenever he was asked to take some time for himself as well, Bobby refused. Queries as to why were met with vague replies, which were followed by his insistence that he was fine to continue.

But that was a lie.

Maddy remembered the moment she found Bobby at the front door. Her stomach twisted inside as she was confronted with an image no mother wished to see. There was her child, crying as if his heart had broken into a million pieces. Gone was the controlled exterior he was determined to portray to the rest of the world. He was now vulnerable, his need for comfort emanating with each sob that wracked his body. Instinctively, Maddy did what any mother in her position would have done—she tried to wrap her arms around him.

What he did in response was utterly disheartening.

With almost catlike reflexes, Bobby ducked out of his mother's reach. His grey eyes resumed their steely quality as he abruptly brushed away his tears with the back of his hand. The expression he wore was a mixture of various emotions—indignation, surprise, and misery. It was nothing Maddy ever witnessed before. Simply observing her son's wounded state sent a shiver through her soul.

What seemed like eons was merely a few seconds as she made another attempt to comfort her son. Again, her efforts were rejected. Maddy recalled feeling rather bewildered. There was nothing more she wanted to do than to ease Bobby's suffering, assure him that there was no need to play the hero all the time, and tell him that he had her love and support no matter what. But he would have no part of it.

Feeling increasingly helpless, Maddy had devised another approach. She willed to keep her arms at her sides as she began to implore her son to talk to her. Great care was taken in order to ensure that she was not seen as badgering him into disclosing. Rather, her throaty voice conveyed her sympathy and her unconditional regard for him as her child. She started with the most obvious of questions.

"_Bobby, what happened?"_

"_Nothing. I'm fine, Mom. Really. Don't worry about it."_

"_I have to worry about you. I'm your mother."_

"_Well, I'm telling you there's nothing to worry about. I'm OK."_

"_I thought she was going to come in and…"_

"_Yeah, well.. I guess things changed. She had to leave."_

"_Why?"_

"_I… She was called away."_

"_Is that why you're upset?"_

"_Mom, I told you I'm fine. Please, can we just drop this? I really don't feel like talking about it."_

"_Bobby, it's perfectly alright if you just after her and—"_

"_Mom, it's over. Just stop." It was now his turn to plead._

Against her better judgment, Maddy had allowed him respite from the onslaught of questions. Seeing him so lost and forlorn then undermined her resolve. Ending the conversation seemed like the merciful option. Looking back, she wished she was more persistent. Perhaps she could have done more.

If only.

Her reverie was shattered when she heard footsteps across the pine floor. Turning around, she saw Bobby sauntering into the kitchen. He was pulling on a navy-and-white striped, crewneck sweater over an olive-green T-shirt and seersucker shorts. His face was pale and haggard as he ran his fingers through his rumpled, sandy locks.

"Morning," he said in greeting, grey eyes dull as he made his way to the coffee maker. The promise of caffeine after another restless night was something his system desperately craved.

Maddy should have been taken aback by her son's distressed appearance. Unfortunately, what met her perpetually concerned gaze had become a regular sight these days. "Good morning, sweetheart," she replied, trying to mask her dismay as she went to the cupboards to retrieve two porcelain mugs and saucers. "How did you sleep?"

Bobby grimaced. It was quite obvious that his mother knew full well what the answer was. She was taking great care in not looking directly at him. Her movements seemed uneasy as she prepared to serve coffee alongside the sticky buns she had baked last night. The fact that she was still able to read him quite easily should not have surprised him. She was, after all, his mother.

However, that did not mean that he would consequently break. Bobby was very much determined to keep his turmoil to himself. "OK," he lied, realizing the dark circles under his eyes told another story. "And you?"

Maddy was pouring coffee into the mugs while continuing to avert her son's eyes. "Oh, the usual," she replied, her voice sounding huskier than usual. "Could you get the cream and sugar out, dear?"

The younger Drake tried not to wince while he made his way to the stainless steel refrigerator. These days, "the usual" meant roughly four hours. He often heard her pacing back and forth in the nearby guestroom with the light escaping from underneath the door.

"There we are," she announced, bringing the coffee and sticky buns to the solid maple kitchen island. She set everything on top of the butcher block table top before seating herself in one of the white-washed stools.

Bobby placed the carton of cream and the sugar bowl in front of his mother and took a seat across from her. He began to tear apart the pastry, the caramelized pecans falling onto his plate as he popped a piece into his mouth. The sweetness of the glaze was a perfect complement to the buttery texture of the dough. Apparently, the pressures and added responsibility of overseeing Bill's care did not diminish Maddy's culinary talents.

She quickly stirred in the cream into her coffee, watching the dark liquid lighten. Then she raised the mug to her mouth and took a sip. "Do you have any plans for today?" she inquired, appreciating the flavourful notes of dark chocolate, nutmeg, and caramel.

He peered into his mother's genteel face, searching for any hidden meaning to her words. _Do you plan on calling Jubilee? Are you going to see her? Can't you tell me what really happened yesterday? Why are you holding back from me?_ The beseeching quality in her cornflower blue eyes served to accentuate her desperate need for answers.

As much as he hated to disappoint Maddy, he found himself doing so once again. "No, I don't," he said flatly, spooning sugar into his own cup of coffee. "No plans at all."

Maddy bit her lower lip, trying to keep it from trembling. It was frightening how much Bobby reminded her of Bill right now. Physical likeness aside, the manner in which he withdrew himself during times of duress was something his father would do. Often, Bill justified his actions by purporting to be shielding his loved ones from harm or stress, from a world he sometimes viewed as threatening. There was no doubt that the younger Drake was operating in a similar fashion. As noble as the intentions were, the effect of the behaviours were still devastating.

She put her mug down and placed her hand over that of her son. "You know you can tell me anything," she began in her froggy but soothing voice. "Just because of what's happening now with your father…it doesn't mean I'm going to fall apart. I'm your mother and I love you. I want you to come to me with whatever's bothering you. I can't promise you that I'll be able to make your problems go away but I can say that I will do everything in my power to help you and support you. Please know and remember that, sweetheart."

Bobby did not think it was possible for him to feel any worse. However, when he saw his mother's anguished face, his contempt towards himself seemed to increase ten-fold. Inwardly, he wished for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. In his efforts to safeguard Maddy against any additional stressors, he had achieved the exact opposite result. The imploring tone that coloured her voice and the worry lines etched into her face provided evidence of that.

It was difficult for him not to be affected by her words and the comforting hand that covered his. He was reminded of times when he was a little boy, scraping his knees and dolefully running to her to be soothed. As he grew older, his needs changed in response to the complexities of his life. However, there was never a doubt of his mother's love for him. It was one of those rare things Bobby knew he could depend on. As he studied her face, he was aware she genuinely meant everything she had just said.

Briefly, he considered obliging Maddy, sharing the details of his own hellish ordeal—the icy patch consuming his upper body, his resulting fears, and his motives for breaking up with Jubilee. However, Bobby restrained himself. Although he wanted to alleviate his mother's anxiety, the younger Drake knew this was minor compared to the stress she was experiencing from her already full plate. Again, he could not bear to pile his problems on top of all of that. With a weary smile, he took her hand and pressed it against his mouth before leaving the table with his coffee.

Bill Drake was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows laid against the high-panelled headboard. The late morning sunshine streamed in through the blinds and cast a soft glow to the room's mustard-coloured walls. Unlike his wife and their son, he did not have any misgivings towards the brilliance of the springtime rays. While he did not embrace their presence, the Drake patriarch held no contempt for them, either. They were just part of the days that passed along and nothing more.

Weeks had passed since the stroke that rendered him a prisoner in his own body. The initial shock soon gave way to frustration as he struggled to come to terms with his new existence. Things that had been second-nature to him were now part of a rehabilitation curriculum or required assistance. Even basic communication proved to be arduous. His body was cruelly betraying him, disappointing him in almost every way imaginable. The patronizing tone from the doctors, counsellors, and nurses, who told him that it was normal to be angry and that he was not alone in his experience, enraged him even more. They had control over their bodies. They were not relegated to therapeutic activities that were at times, demeaning. They were not burdens to their families. They did not cause their loved ones immeasurable amounts of anguish.

Bill's irritation with every aspect of his treatment was further exacerbated with what he perceived as his lack of progress. Granted, he was now farther along than he was when he first arrived home. At least now, he was able to use the restroom, get dressed, and eat without assistance. There were also improvements in his reading and writing, where he no longer inverted words or scrambled letters. But from the elder Drake's perspective, such gains were insufficient. He yearned to feel whole, to be the man his family had known, and to be the source of strength that held them together. The fact that he was removed from any of those things made him feel powerless and filled him with shame.

Not being able to move parts of his body, the constant numbness on the right side of his face, difficulties retaining newly learned information and feeling as if his tongue were constantly tied in knots made him wonder if he would ever return to his former self. With the therapeutic results appearing more and more minimal, Bill was finding himself discouraged. He felt drained as he contemplated the road ahead. The Drake patriarch concluded that he had reached a plateau and not much more would be achieved. Any more investment of energy would be futile. It was too exhausting to fight.

So he became passive participant in this process. Bill allowed Maddy and Bobby to be the decision-makers, following their directives pertaining to his care and treatment. It was rare for him to express an opinion despite their attempts to engage him. Rather than try to speak, he relied on scribbling his responses on a notepad or utilizing simple gestures. During his therapy appointments, it was not uncommon for him to simply sit back and pretend to listen to the clinician. Apathy had seized him in its insidious grasp.

Yet, for all of these disappointments, there was one consequence of the stroke that continued to leave Bill reeling. Since his return from the hospital, he felt as if he were an outsider in his own home. During his interactions with Maddy and Bobby, he could detect something was amiss. Although they were engaged while attending to his needs, the Drake patriarch harboured suspicions that both were holding things back from him. For Maddy, it was clear she was struggling to maintain her genteel front in the face of what happened. She seemed afraid of allowing her fear and frustration to surface. Her weary eyes that appeared as if they spent many nights crying, her skittish movements, and the constant trembling that affected her lower lip provided evidence of the fragile façade. There were times when Bill had expected her to break down in front of him only to excuse herself and flee to another room to sob. Seeing his wife drowning like this and knowing there was little he could do to save her made him consider the pleasantries of dying that day.

As for his son, Bill had noticed changes in the boy's personality early on. He was reserved and serious. There were no more of those jokes or terrible impressions that elicited cringes from his father. Rather, their conversations were restricted to issues regarding his care or more neutral topics, such as preferences for meals. Smiles or laughs were rarer in comparison. Even more striking was the physical transformation. Bobby's eyes, which seemed to perpetually twinkling with mischief, had taken on a dull quality that appeared steely at times. His face was often haggard, revealing the sleepless nights that must be plaguing him. He also looked older now, his boyish face possessing harder edges after some weight loss. Unlike Maddy, there was an eerie self-possession and control Bobby put on display. It frightened Bill to witness such a radical change in his child. At times, he seemed to be looking into a mirror, gazing upon a reflection of himself from years ago.

The sacrifices Bobby had made were not lost on his father. The Drake patriarch was aware that his son left behind his life in Westchester to assist with caretaking duties. He was probably worried about his responsibilities around the school, yearned for activities that were not depressing or mundane as overseeing therapy, missed his friends and colleagues, and…_her_.

The nostrils of Bill's slightly crooked nose flared as he inhaled sharply. Bobby's girlfriend. The very idea of her roused a myriad of emotions for the elder Drake. It seemed like eons ago when they first met that Thanksgiving weekend. What had been a turbulent beginning during dinner soon gave way to some mutual understanding. Granted, it was an uneasy one but it was an understanding nonetheless. It had turned out that both parties had a single commonality—Bobby's wellbeing. At first, Bill was shocked by this revelation. Her brilliant eyes were grave as she confessed her feelings to him, uttering words that conveyed the attachment she had to his son. The elder Drake's behaviour did nothing to change the intensity of emotions or the degree of devotion to Bobby. Her sincerity was humbling, forcing him to re-evaluate his initial appraisal of her, which was a difficult feat. Although there was no doubt that she made his son happy, there was still the fact that she was a mutant, an outcast in larger society. Her status placed herself and by association, Bobby, in constant danger. No amount of rationalization would change that truth. While the younger Drake would argue that he and his girlfriend were quite capable of defending themselves, his father wished that they would not have to resort to such options. Life would be so much easier and safer if they were able to be…normal.

He remembered the day of Ellie's christening. Watching Bobby and Jubilee with the baby immediately summoned thoughts about their future. It was not that Bill detested the idea of grandchildren. Deep down, he shared his wife's desire for little feet tumbling about their home. However, this wish was tempered by a sense of dread. While he was no expert on genetics, it was reasonable to assume that any children would be like…_them_. It was one thing for two adults who were trained to handle the ignorance and perils posed by others but including a child in the equation seemed so reckless. However, as Bill continued to observe the couple, he noticed how natural they were with the baby. His son's protective arms around the child and the smiles he exchanged with Jubilee made it clear that both were prepared for whatever lay ahead.

Ambivalent as he still was about the girl, he needed to put Bobby's happiness first. Efforts had to be made. While Maddy's gentle prodding helped him towards this course of thinking, it was seeing his son's fierce protectiveness and his own admission regarding the serious nature of the relationship that sealed things. Listening to his son talk about her during the holidays, Bill was reminded of himself. It was not too long ago that he experienced comparable feelings when he and Maddy were dating. With his son acting in a similar role, Bill suddenly felt a connection he thought was lost when Bobby manifested his abilities.

The aftermath of yesterday's events left Bill in a state of puzzlement. Although he was upstairs in his bedroom during Jubilee's brief visit, the Drake patriarch was able to hear the voices, the crying, the closing of the door, and the squealing of tires. Like his wife, he had been expecting the arrival of their son's girlfriend to draw Bobby out of his withdrawn existence. After all, this was the girl his son professed to seriously care about. She was the one who was worthy of wearing his mother's ring.

So why? Why did she leave? Why didn't Bobby go after her?

In the hours that followed, Bill's curiosity intensified. He was anxious to learn anything about the encounter. Unfortunately, it was Maddy and not Bobby who came by his room later day. Bobby had closed himself off in his bedroom. As for his wife, she seemed at a loss to explain what transpired. She merely mentioned that according to Bobby, Jubilee had stopped by before being called back to the mansion for some urgent business. However, the wariness in her cornflower blue eyes relayed her doubts about the veracity of this.

"Do you have any threes, Dad?" Bobby piped up, shattering his father's internal musings.

Bill blinked as he returned to the present. His grey eyes narrowed as he peered down at the cards clutched in his hands. He and the younger Drake were in the midst of another round of Go Fish. Bill's occupational therapist, Linden, had recommended that the family try playing games to supplement his treatment, as well as improve skills unaffected by the stroke. While he was hesitant to participate, the elder Drake found himself looking forward to these activities. The repetitive nature of certain games, notably Go Fish, was a welcome reprieve from the intensity of rehab.

Upon discovering he did not have the requested cards, he shook his head. "G-g-go…f-f—" His lower lip quivered as he struggled to force the muscles inside his mouth to formulate the words. The familiar heaviness of frustration settled upon him when the simple phrase would not pass from his lips. Angry, the Drake patriarch sat back and scowled.

Bobby, seated on a padded bench by his father's bedside, swallowed hard. Linden instructed that the family encourage Bill to work on speaking and to rely less on writing things down. Before leaving to run her errands for the day, Maddy had confiscated her husband's notepads. While Bobby understood the therapeutic rationale, he could not help but wonder if it was doing more harm than good at the moment. He was afraid his father's growing levels of disillusionment would cause him to retreat further into passivity.

Still, Bobby was determined to follow through with the therapist's advice. There was a part of him that held out hope for his father. He wanted to believe that he would get better and that this depression, which held the elder Drake back, was transient.

Taking a deep breath, Bobby asked, "Should we keep going?"

His father placed his cards on the ebony, one-drawer nightstand nearby. He was aware why Bobby wanted to press on. However, given his stumbling and pathetic attempt at stringing together a simple phrase, Bill was no longer in the mood. Silently, he shook his head, appearing small in his orange-and-blue plaid shirt and pressed chinos.

Deflated, Bobby felt his shoulders sink. He quickly regained his composure and began to collect the cards. "OK, then," he said in a calm and even voice. "What do you want to do? We've got some time before Mom gets home with lunch." Already, Bobby was running through his mind as to what other games they could play.

The thought of another round was less than appealing at the moment. As he focused on trying to relay his sentiments, Bill suddenly thought of something else—something he wanted to address. Shaking his head, he forced his lips to move. "Ju…Ju…Billie."

The younger Drake was taken aback, his mouth nearly gaping open. For a second, he thought he had misinterpreted his father's response. His sandy brows furrowed together, trying to overcome his shock. Bill, the only member of the Drake family who expressed reservations about Jubilee, was now expressing a desire to talk about her? Could this really be true?

Before Bobby could obtain clarification, his father licked his chapped lips and pointed a finger at him. "Ju…Billie… Here." Then his steely grey eyes softened slightly as he stared at Bobby.

_How does he know?_ Bobby wondered, incredulous. _How could he possibly know that she was here?_ As far as he knew, Bill was upstairs in his room during Jubilee's brief visit. Was it possible that he heard her or seen something? Perhaps his mother had mentioned something to him yesterday? Immediately, Bobby searched for clues from his father. He was dismayed when his gaze met his father's unreadable mask.

The younger Drake began to rack his brain, fumbling for something to say in order to move away from the topic. For some reason, evasive manoeuvring was easier with Maddy than with Bill. She was always ready to allow him some slack under the pretence of respecting his autonomy. This was in spite of her need to coddle him, doting on him as she did many years ago.

However, the dynamics with his father were vastly different. Bill was quick to directly flesh out the issue in order to address it accordingly. The pretence of tact was often lost in the pursuit of the truth. Even now, under the scrutiny of his father's stare, Bobby realized that the stroke did little change that aspect. It was becoming increasingly clear that he would not be afforded the luxuries of denial and deception.

He placed the deck of cards onto the nightstand and mulled over the situation. The thought of confessing everything to another person would have been daunting. After all, he had pushed others away under the guise of protecting them from his harsh reality. His mother and Jubilee had been hurt because he wanted to keep them safe in their ignorance. With his mother, it was fear of further burdening her with more heartache over his deteriorating state. For Jubilee, this reason was also accompanied by his desire to allow her a better life, one that did not include being tied down to his defect.

However, Bobby viewed things differently with Bill. He should have been extremely wary to confide in his father, especially given his current condition. Yet, he was not. Out of everyone, the elder Drake was the most likely to understand his perspective. He could relate to Bobby's fears, the desperation, the guilt, and the self-loathing. The past several weeks during which Bill shared his inner most thoughts with his son through that journal entry, revealed commonalities between the two men. It was strange but comforting at the same time.

Bobby realized he was not alone.

Leaning forward in his seat, he clasped his hands together and began to talk. He started with the injury and the terror that seized him when he was unable to transform himself. Bobby choked back tears as he went into detail about his attempts to find a solution—asking Hank to intervene, his own efforts to concentrate and focus. His tone was increasingly despondent when he discussed the extent of the ice patch and how it was spreading further and further. The younger Drake found himself shaking while talking about the implications of the mutation, leading to his decision to let Jubilee go. Disgust, guilt, and shame clouded over him when outlined the events that transpired the day before. It had taken every ounce of determination to finish his admission.

Finally, Bobby glumly concluded with, "So I ended things with her… Because she deserves better and I can't make her happy anymore."

Bill stared at his son, stunned. There was so much running through his mind at the moment but he was reeling from everything Bobby had just revealed. It was difficult to immediately put it all into words, especially in the context of his current disabilities. But he knew no matter what, he needed to respond.

He swallowed hard, summoning the effort to respond to his son's confession. "F-fool," he finally spat out. His grey eyes flashed at him as he pursed his lips with what could only be construed as disgust.

Bobby stared at his father in disbelief. This was definitely not the reaction he had been expecting. "Dad?"

Much to their collective amazement, Bill continued. "You're a g-goddamn fool, Bobby." The elder Drake scowled, emphasizing the anger and irritation in his tone and in his words. _What are you thinking? Were you thinking? Why would you do such a thing?_

Normally, Bobby would have been deeply wounded to hear such words from his father. However, this was overshadowed by the utter amazing nature of the moment. This was the first sentence Bill had put together since the stroke. It was difficult not to be reeling.

"Bill?" Maddy's throaty voice cut through the silence. Standing in the doorway, she had made her way upstairs after returning from their favourite deli. When she heard her husband speaking clearly in that voice she thought had gone, her vision became blurry from the tears welling up. Trembling hands flew to her cheeks, brushing the saline away.

Bill felt his chest tighten as his wife made her way to the bed. When she sat down, she took his hand in hers. Her weary features suddenly brightened as she stared deeply into his eyes. For the first time in weeks, there was something beyond fear and sadness. He sensed the presence of this new sensation, vowing not to allow it to slip away. Managing a crooked smile, Bill squeezed Maddy's hand gently. His smile broadened when his wife laughed and rested her forehead against his.

Meanwhile, Bobby was still overwhelmed by the moment. Never in his wildest dreams would he dared to imagine something like this would happen. In the aftermath of the stroke, he and the rest of the family, including Bill himself, had given up on hope. There seemed to be an unspoken acceptance among the Drakes that nothing would improve. Even his mother's seemingly eternal optimistic point of view had been undermined. The Drake patriarch's difficulties with oral expression had rendered him a resentfully silent shell of his former self, one that was lost to the family for what seemed forever. But, after hearing him speak his first sentence, there was a sense of change in the air. The world was now full of possibilities.

It was all too much.

The trio were startled upon hearing the doorbell at the door. Jumping to his feet, a nervous Bobby announced that he would answer it before scurrying out of the room and down the stairs. He had to leave that room. The air had grown thick and suffocating. There was also the possibility of questions—questions he was not completely ready to address yet.

He was too preoccupied with Bill's startling outburst that he did not wonder who was on the front step. When he opened the door, Bobby felt another blow strike him as he was surprised once again. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Warren and Hank exchanged perplexed looks before returning their eyes to their friend. Both were disturbed by the image that confronted them. This person purporting to be Bobby was a far cry from the perpetually mischievous and boyishly handsome man they knew. The man standing before them looked much older. He was thinner, and his face pale, drawn, and ravaged from stress and lack of sleep. The carefree air about him was replaced by one that was characterized by cautious reserve. Surely, this was not Bobby Drake, the man who thrived on laughter and levity.

Recovering from the initial shock, Warren was the first to speak up. "Can we come in?" the tall, blond Adonis asked quietly. He looked especially grave in his finely tailored, black wool suit, crisp blue shirt, and burgundy-and-navy striped tie.

Bobby wanted to tell him that it was not good time, which was not completely far from the truth. But given that his friends had driven quite some distance to see him, he could only conclude that their reasons were important. The sombre expressions both men wore also conveyed the serious nature of their visit. Opening the door wider, he motioned for them to step inside.

"Thank you," Hank said softly as his young friend closed the door behind them. He stuffed his large, blue hands into the pockets of the grey overcoat he wore over his navy pinstriped suit, white dress shirt, and red silk tie.

"So, how are things going, Bobby?" Warren asked, running a tanned hand through his golden waves. It suddenly struck him that he had not been to the Drake residence in several years. He had forgotten how welcoming it was with its tan walls and wainscoting, accented by the scent of Canadian pine needles, cedar, cinnamon, and thyme in the air.

Bobby frowned quizzically as he led his friends into the living room. Since leaving the school to care for his father, he had allowed himself to lag behind in his emails to his friends. Seeing his friends here now elicited a pang of guilt for not being more thoughtful. However, that was not what elicited his reaction. It was the manner in which Warren posed his question. There was something in the other man's voice—something that filled Bobby with a sense of unease.

"It's been a challenging couple of weeks," he admitted, gesturing for them to sit down on the chino-upholstered sofa. "But I guess that's to be expected." His voice sounded uncharacteristically harsh as he spoke, causing him to wince.

Neither Warren nor Hank seated themselves. Instead, the two men chose to remain on their feet. Their choice struck Bobby as rather odd but then again, there seemed to be very little normalcy in this visit. He initially suspected the motive for their arrival might have stemmed from concern over his wellbeing and state of mind following his father's stroke. Years ago, they had paid him a similar visit in the aftermath of the assault, offering whatever support they could provide. But as he peered over at his two closest friends, he was growing aware that this was not necessarily the case. No, something else brought them here.

"So," he drawled after several tense seconds of silence, "what brings you guys over here?"

Hank's head snapped up. It was then that Bobby saw the other man eyes were red, welling with tears. "Something happened last night," he began, finding it difficult to speak. His normally calm demeanour seemed to be a distant memory given his current state. He felt as if he were choking on each word uttered.

Bobby's brows shot upwards, alarm coursing through his veins. "What happened?" he demanded.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to continue with his disclosure. "The school was attacked…"

"What?" Bobby felt his face drain of all colour. Almost instantly, his thoughts went to Jubilee. The thought of her being hurt, particularly following their last conversation, made his insides twist and turn. Inwardly, he pleaded for her safety, placing his own life as a bargaining chip. "Is everyone alright? Jubilee…" He placed a hand over his mouth, panic seizing him as he said her name. _Oh please no…_

Hank shook his head ruefully, wiping the tears away from a handkerchief retrieved from his pocket. "Jubilee is fine," he assured Bobby, his voice cracking. "But…"

Relief washed over Bobby once he learned Jubilee was safe. However, this was short-lived when he saw that the larger man's body was being racked by shuddering sobs. "But what? What happened?" he asked, feeling as if the suspense threatened his sanity.

Warren placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, sensing the pain that kept him from finishing his sentence. His own grief nearly overwhelmed him as he struggled to speak. Somehow, he was able to summon the strength to deliver the devastating news. "Jean's dead."


	59. Chapter Fifty Nine: Promises Broken

Hey. Back again with the latest. Thanks to those of you nice enough to leave a review. I love hearing what you think about the story and the characters.

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her input. She rocks.

Finally, the characters belong to Marvel. I'm only messing with them.

**Chapter Fifty Nine: Promises Broken**

Underneath the overhead lighting in the mansion's Ready Room, a battered and weary figure leaned back in a plush, black leather upholstered swivel chair. Normally one to ensure he presented a clean cut image to the world, the man's chestnut hair was rumpled as were the clothes he was wearing from the night before. His chiselled features were marred by a cut to his lower lip, where dried blood had collected. There was also a vibrant bruise on his forehead. An ice-pack, now melting, was wrapped around his swollen, right hand. The other hand was tightly clenched in a fist by his side. Disbelief, rage, and sadness coalesced, draining him with each passing second.

Behind his ruby-quartz battle visor, his eyes darted ahead towards the other end of the conference room as if searching for an explanation what transpired last night. The manner in which events unfolded was quite surreal, defying the reality he was familiar with. There was a part of him that wondered if it all had been part of a dream or some kind of illusion perpetrated by telepathic adversaries. However, his physical injuries coupled with the aching sensation that tore away at his heart bitterly disproved these theories.

_"She's gone. Jean is gone."_

Scott's mouth formed a grim line as Logan's words echoed inside his mind. They reminded him of a devastating loss—one that was just too impossible to accept. His wife, his first love and a person whom he loved more than anything in this world, was now dead. He would never see her beautiful face, hear her laugh, touch her hand, or inhale her lavender-scented hair again. Gone also were plans oriented towards their future, involving starting a family of their own and seeing Jubilee through college. No more excited conversations about their visions for the school. No more confessions that only partners in life could share. No more security in the knowledge that another individual understood you completely and without any judgment. All of those things disappeared as soon as that helicopter exploded.

Because he had failed.

Choking back a sob, Scott found himself obsessing over those last minutes before the aircraft flew towards his house. He had been unable to provide much in terms of defensive support. The optic beam he often regarded with some ambivalence had been neutralized due to the drugs injected into his system. The field team leader could not recall a moment before that evening when he was so desperate to be in possession of his trademark optic blast. He remembered the anger and disgust that overtook him in the wake of his body's betrayal. For the first time in several years, he felt helpless and out of control—feelings he thought had been left behind once he found the Professor.

Equally disconcerting was the drug-induced fugue that had settled over him, interfering with his ability to plan. Known as a master strategist and tactician, Scott was always the one his team mates and others around the mansion looked to for a decisive course of action. It was one of the reasons why Xavier viewed him as his prized pupil. Although he preferred to carefully study all facets of a given situation when preparing, he was equally adept under pressure, especially when time was an enemy. Yet, that night, Scott found himself uncharacteristically at a loss. He was unable to anticipate the soldiers' subsequent moves or provide Jubilee with direction when confronted with the copter that loomed over them. Instead, the field team leader was overwhelmed by what was happening and his emotional response to these events, his head swimming.

Had he not been rendered powerless, he would have taken down the helicopter. After destroying the soldiers' means of escape, he would have stormed the house. With his head clear, he would have quickly devised a plan to rescue his wife. Then he would have dealt with the rest of the trespassers accordingly, preventing them from taking Jean. She would have been saved.

However, that was not to be.

The image of the helicopter, engulfed in flames, continued to haunt him even several hours later since the incident. He could still see the brilliance of the fire against the darkness of the night sky, the body of the aircraft being ripped in half from the force of the explosion, and the portions of the copter raining down over them. Horror and shock overwhelmed him as he watched half of the copter land over their home and swallowing it in the destruction, while the other half plunged into the waters of Breakstone Lake. All of these vivid scenes seemed to undermine Jean's last words, her soothing tone, and the genuine love relayed through them.

Scott began to ruminate about what proved to be his wife's parting words. _I'm going to be alright, Scott. Don't be afraid. Everything is going to be fine_. Jean had seemed so sure as she telepathically communicated with him. It was clear that she believed what she said with every ounce of her being despite the obvious evidence of the soldiers' advantage. Somehow, she was confident that things would ultimately work out—that he would find a way to rescue her.

Just as striking was his wife's serene demeanour in those last moments. With a gun pointed at her head, the beautiful redhead remained calm. The apprehension that had seized Scott, Logan, and Jubilee did not impact her at all. In fact, Jean appeared to be immune to it. Upon further reflection, he wondered if she was aware of her fate. If so, then why would she say such things? Didn't she know that her death would unequivocally mean that everything _would not_ be alright? Wasn't she cognizant of the effect her loss would have on their family, their friends and team mates, and their students? In the face of such questions, surely Jean would not have embraced her own demise.

Would she?

Granted, the couple had been experiencing their share of difficulties as of late. Most of these problems concerned the onset of Jean's headaches and the accompanying difficulties. As her husband, Scott was supposed to be her protector; the person who could and would do everything in his power to keep her safe and well. Being in a position which removed him from that familiar role also prompted feelings of impotency as he was relegated to stand by and watch her suffer. Moreover, there were times, Scott felt as if he, too, were affected by the pain and panic that often paralyzed her. Finally, the fatigue that often accompanied these headaches left his wife unavailable, exacerbating his helplessness and ultimately leading to increasing feelings of isolation.

It was around this time that he began to seek Emma's counsel. Unlike others around the mansion (notably Jean, Kitty and to some extent, Jubilee), Scott chose keep an open mind about the former Hellfire member. It would have been easy to attribute his relaxed stance to the revealing outfits or Emma's surgical enhancements. Yet, for him, there was something else that drew him to the telepath. Her cool façade and willingness to straddle the moral high ground in the name of loyalty to her students were intriguing. Initially, this assessment took him completely by surprise. As someone who espoused portraying a positive example, Scott was mindful of operating under a specific set of rules. It allowed him to retain some perception of control in a world that seemed chaotic and frightening at times.

In general, Scott's patience with individuals who flagrantly disregarded the rules was limited. In some ways, Emma very much met this description. She was not one to remain within the boundaries of the Xavier philosophy. Depending on whose opinion was being elicited, her methods of achieving her objectives could be construed as either efficient or completely ruthless. However, Scott found a surprising connection between himself and the latest addition to the teaching staff and field team. She shared his devotion to the students as well as a keen insight with respect to planning. While some around the mansion were wary of talking to Emma given her personality and her past, he found it quite easy to share his thoughts and feelings about Jean's situation. Behind the indifferent front she displayed to the rest of the world was empathy and understanding. As a telepath, she was able to provide clarity and perspective as to what was happening with Jean—something that was particularly comforting.

Although Scott disagreed with his wife about her blonde rival, he did empathize with her point of view after she explained why she was vexed. While nothing of a physical nature entered into his interactions with Emma, he later understood how confiding in a woman who was not his wife could be upsetting. Once he was able to convey his own frustrations with their relationship as well as his concerns in regards to her health, they reached a shared understanding. The arguments had ceased and the strain between them was gradually disappearing. They were making their way back to one another.

Looking back, Scott was immediately filled with guilt and remorse. He should have placed his own fears on the backburner given the Jean's difficulties. He should have invested his energies in providing more support sooner. Turning to another woman at that time, despite the interactions being of a platonic nature, was completely wrong. While Jean had granted her forgiveness, Scott held himself accountable for adding to her level of distress. For him, his lapse in judgment represented yet another way he had let his wife down.

Adding to the guilt already weighing heavily upon him was the fact that the mansion was under siege under his watch. In addition to his duties as a field team leader, Scott considered overseeing the security of the school as part of his responsibilities. He had made an implicit oath to the Professor that he would be the one to take care of everyone at the school. Upon seeing a shaken Jubilee in the control room and later, witnessing his wife's capture, Scott understood the extent to which he failed again.

Scott grimaced. _I'm sorry, Jean. I should have been the husband you needed. I let you and everyone else down._

He stopped himself, a single tear sliding down his cheek when he realized there was no longer someone who could hear his internal musings.

His gaze dropped down to his uninjured hand, which was still balled up into a fist. He relaxed it, allowing the blood to freely flow once again. The gold wedding band on his ring finger contrasted against the pink of his skin. Scott studied the piece of jewellery glumly. At that moment, he felt as if the ring were acting as a gleaming reminder of his wife and all that was lost that night.

Scott had been so absorbed in his depression that he did not notice that was Logan was standing in the doorway or hear what the other man's words. He only became aware of the gruff loner's presence when he heard him call out his name. Startled, his head jerked up and turned to the direction of his team mate. "What?"

A freshly showered Logan raised a brow. Normally, he would have been taken aback upon seeing Scott in his current state. But given the circumstances, the other man's condition made sense. The last several hours were a blur not only to Scott but to everyone who had been at the mansion that night. Logan felt as if he were in dream, his movements slow and his thoughts foreign to his own person. Even now, it was difficult for him to remember the sequence of events that followed the helicopter's crash to earth. There were hazy memories of the spring winds suddenly surging with enough strength to tame the fires brought about by the explosion, allowing himself and Scott to conduct inspections of the wreckage. When they were unable to find anything or anyone salvageable, their efforts focused towards the lake. At some point, Scott directed Jubilee back to the observation tower to call Piotr and the others from the tunnels.

Once the men reached Breakstone Lake, Logan was unsure as to how he convinced Scott to remain on land. Hell, he didn't even remember diving into the waters, guiding his body away from the flames that flickered along the lake's surface. The details of the actual search were as murky as the lake itself, including how long he was submerged for the purposes of his investigation. Rather, the only things that struck him was the fact that he found no sign of Jean and the resulting distress that threatened to weigh him down.

The exact words used to convey to Scott the results of his search escaped Logan's memory. Instead, it was the other man's crushed expression that seemed to be permanently etched in his mind. The fact that the gruff loner could not even deliver a body to focus feelings of closure around intensified their collective grief and shock. By the time they joined the others at the mansion, the reality of Jean being gone was sinking in for both men. Despite the heaviness that settled upon them in the wake of their loss, Scott and Logan were determined to plot a course of response to the attack. Once Jubilee had settled the children in the emergency living quarters, Scott convened a meeting in the nearby Ready Room with Logan, Jubilee, Piotr, and a conscious but slightly groggy Kitty. During the meeting, they compared accounts of what transpired that evening as well as what was discovered in later searches of the mansion (notably, that all of the soldiers who had been rendered unconscious and left behind were now gone), outlined the next steps (whether or not to involve local law enforcement and calling team members back to the mansion), and sifted through a cursory list of possible culprits. Although the mechanics of the meeting were familiar given their occupations, there was something about this particular gathering that now felt strange.

As he continued studying Scott Summers, Logan was immediately taken aback by their new common ground especially in light of their history. To say that the two men often disagreed was quite an understatement. As complete foils, their differences seemed to bring them to the brink of violence. Much of the conflict and tension included many issues, including leadership style, Jean's affections (prior to her marriage), and the manner in which Jubilee was being raised. Yet, as he ventured inside the Ready Room, it was difficult to deny the similarities. Both were reeling in the wake of a painful loss—one that shook each man to his very core. They shared a grief over a person who had been many things to many people—a wife, a friend, a maternal figure, a sister, a team mate, a student, and a teacher.

Even though the romantic tension that existed between himself and Jean had long since faded, Logan found himself mourning her death just as intensely as Scott. Before Ororo, Jean Grey was the first to welcome and understand him. She had been the one to forge past the irreverent and rough exterior to empathize with the battered psyche beneath. To her, he was more than the feral rage. Jean helped him to realize he was someone who deserved to be regarded with dignity and respect. She was the one who paved the way towards acceptance and healing, ultimately allowing him to be with someone else again.

Now she was gone.

While he was no telepath or a brilliant reader of others' emotions, Logan could sense the thick cloud of guilt looming over Scott. The self-directed blame and doubt were palpable. He could almost hear words such as 'failure' and 'regret' reverberating inside the other man's head. What made the experience all the more poignant was the fact that Scott was not alone in his anguish or in his perceived culpability.

For Logan, indecision was not a familiar companion. Known as someone who relied on his instincts, he often viewed hesitation with disdain. Faltering even for a second could have dire consequences, particularly to one's survival and that of those around him. He was all too aware of how this manner of operating could be interpreted as savage at times. However, Logan remained unapologetic. It did not matter to him that some of his team mates were often wary or even frightened of him. There were countless times when "going with his gut" proved to be a valuable asset.

But last night was different. For the first time in quite awhile, Logan was rendered impotent in the face of danger. He did not act first as he was accustomed to doing. Instead, for some unknown reason, he delayed his reaction. Rather than charge towards the men holding Jean captive, Logan remained rooted where he stood only to stare helplessly at his friend. Even though his pause was brief, it cost him dearly.

It would have been easy to implicate a multitude of issues. He could have been experiencing residual effects of the drugs injected into his system. Then there was the ensuing chaos of the attack, where the students were scrambling to flee from the invading soldiers. Jubilee's tear-filled confession about her relationship with Drake earlier that evening had elicited a myriad of feelings and intentions he had not experienced since she was young. Perhaps, it was seeing how peaceful Jean was even with a gun pointed at her was an image that was forever seared into his memory. Hell, any one of those if not a combination of these potential confounds would have easily distracted the most experienced team member. However, acknowledging the impact of these factors did little change one important and obvious truth.

He had failed Jean Grey.

Rather than confide in Cyclops regarding his musings about his own culpability, Logan decided to repeat his progress update. To him, the misery that engulfed them both was enough. Highlighting their feelings in response to previous evening's events would only serve to exacerbate the pain both were already experiencing. If there was ever a time when both needed to be focused, it was now.

"Half Pint's got the computers back online," Logan said, attempting to maintain a Stoic front despite his internal agony. His voice remained flat and even as he continued speaking. "She's cross-referencing the files based on the intel we have. She wants to pare down the list of possible suspects we came up from the meeting. Colossus is still checkin' out the damage upstairs and collectin' anything those bastards left behind. Might be helpful to Kitty in her search."

Scott nodded woodenly, pretending to stare at the stainless steel walls that surrounded them. He was cognizant of the need to harness his energy into launching an investigation. The fact that everyone was looking to him for direction in this time of crisis was not lost on him. A role he normally embraced, Scott now viewed the position with some wariness. He was the one who was adrift at the moment, in need of a steady lifeline to guide him. Unfortunately, the only person who fit the bill was no longer available.

Taking a deep breath, Scott realized he had to think beyond himself and to be the leader everyone needed. Rather than dwell on his own heartbreak, he had to compose himself. The time called for him to reassure everyone through a façade of strength and discipline. It was what was expected.

More importantly, it was what Jean would have wanted.

"How are we on contacting our people who aren't on mission?" His voice sounded rough and foreign to his own ears. The experience of hearing it almost made him cringe.

Logan was so deeply entrenched in maintaining his own front of impassivity that he failed to notice the other man's tone. "Just got off the horn with Kurt. He and Tabitha are drivin' back up from Virginia. Paige and the Professor are taking a private car from DC. They should be back later this morning. Northstar and Juggernaut are catchin' the first flight outta Montreal. Evangeline called Kitty about half an hour ago. She and her assistant are figuring out how to handle local law enforcement and the district attorney's office. Rahne's workin' a case with Jamie and Monet in Detroit. She probably won't be able to make it back any time soon. I also left some messages for Allison and Jono but haven't heard back from those two."

"What about Hank?" Scott asked, rubbing his temples wearily as if trying to press the information Logan had just relayed into his brain. "With Cecilia taking that position at Columbia, I need him here to oversee medical exams and analyse samples from those darts." Although he, Kitty, and the students who were shot had recovered and regained their powers several hours later, there was still concern about possible lasting effects.

Logan pressed his lips together into a grim line before replying. "He and Worthington should be here soon. They're makin' a detour into Long Island first to get Drake." He scowled as soon as soon as Bobby's name left his lips. Despite his hazy memory of the past several hours since the attack, the gruff loner had not forgotten about what Jubilee had told him. He made a mental note to take the young man aside for a private chat.

This time, it was Scott's turn to be oblivious. He simply focused on the facts conveyed rather than the simmering rage emanating from his team mate. "Once we brief everyone, you can join Rogue and the others in Madripoor," he announced quietly. "I told Kitty to let them know to expect you soon."

Brows furrowing together with confusion, Logan took a second to determine if he had heard correctly. "Shouldn't I be here to help out?" he inquired. Desire to seek out and exact vengeance against those involved coursed through his veins.

"We have to think of our other obligations," Scott pointed out grimly as he shook his head. He knew exactly why his occasional rival was insistent on remaining in Westchester. While he understood the motivations, the bespectacled leader was aware they needed to be separated from the tasks at hand. "You're the one who's the most familiar with how things work over there, not to mention your relationship with Tyger. Rogue can't afford to be without you, Logan."

The older man narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he continued his protest. "I can provide support from here. It's not like we don't have the technology to do that." If pressed, Logan was prepared to bring up the high-speed communications system Hank and Kitty constructed two weeks ago, which was successfully piloted with Alex's team.

"And you know that's not as good as being on the ground with the team," Scott countered, his irritation rising. Given what he had been through, arguing with Logan was the last thing he wanted to do. He was already physically and mentally taxed beyond belief. What little energy was left needed to be directed elsewhere.

In addition to overseeing the investigation at the mansion and operations abroad, there was the prospect of addressing the attack in the press and subsequently, to the parents and students. Even more daunting were the tasks of a more personal nature. Thoughts of making the calls to Jean's family, planning her funeral, and processing the news with the team and the students filled Scott with an overwhelming sense of dread. Moreover, all of these things seemed to make Jean's loss all the more real and permanent.

Logan's nostrils flared slightly upon detecting the faint scent of saline in the air. His head turned in the direction of the source. A grimace touched his mouth when he saw Scott Summers brush an errant tear away. The sight struck the experienced and wizened warrior as incongruous. Granted, the man had suffered a devastating loss. But to actually witness him display some emotion other than shock and disbelief was astounding given how much Scott revered maintaining control.

As much as he wanted to insist on remaining in Westchester, Logan soon became aware that fighting was counterproductive in the grand scheme of things. What was needed from him was a demonstration of solidarity. If backing down to Scott (something he disliked greatly) was necessary, then so be it.

Finally, he relented. "Fine. I'll go."

Scott was taken aback. It was rare for Logan to acquiesce so easily. If anything, his occasional rival relished in arguing and flaunting his veneer of rebelliousness at Scott. Normally, Scott would have devoted some thought on the other man's motives. However, his current state did not allow such a luxury. Rather than dwell on it, he simply nodded his gratitude.

He was about to inquire about Alex and his team's estimated arrival when there was a soft rapping at the door. Both men turned their heads to find Jubilee standing expectantly with two steaming mugs. Her coltish legs carried her into the room wearily, handing one to Logan. Then she set the other on the polished aluminium conference table in front of Scott.

"I thought you guys could use some coffee," she said quietly. "I couldn't find any cream or sugar. I guess we don't consider that sort of thing part of the emergency supplies stash." She chewed her lower lip ruefully. "Sorry."

Logan's green eyes roved over the young firecracker as he took a sip of the much needed caffeine. Jubilee had showered and changed into some extra clothes from her locker—a yellow linen shirt, a pair of agate shorts, and strappy, hot-pink suede sandals. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which emphasized the delicate nature of her features. What was the most striking were her eyes. Sparkling sapphire had been replaced by a dull blue and now rimmed with red, making her appear years older. It was an image that made his chest ache even more.

Scott allowed the hot, bitter liquid pass down his throat before speaking. "It's great," he told her in the most reassuring tone he could muster. With Jean gone, he knew he was what remained of their little family now. It was up to him to keep things together. The fragile veneer of strength emanating from Jubilee warranted it. "Thank you. Really."

She tried to force a smile but it was distorted. The lack of sleep coupled with the events of the day before seemed to interfere with her usual ability to conceal her pain. "No worries," she said, clasping her hands together. "I'm just glad you can keep it down."

Logan extended a hand, placing it on her shoulder. "How are you doin', kid?" he asked gravely.

Jubilee peered at her mentor's lined features, which arranged themselves into a concerned expression. She then stole a glance at Scott, who wore a similar look. While she was touched, the fact that both men were focusing their worries over her consumed her with guilt. As the most senior members, Logan and especially, Scott surely had more important things to deal with. They had lost a friend and team mate, and for Scott, a partner in life. By comparison, her problems and reactions to what happened seemed quite small. Instead of seeking their comfort, Jubilee felt obligated to make her sacrifice—at least for now.

Her overwhelming sense of guilt regarding her role last night also would not allow it.

It was difficult for her to reconcile the fact that Jean was now gone. The graceful redhead had been one of the pillars of support in the wake of her traumatic past. When Jubilee first arrived at the mansion, she was quick to use her barriers to preserve her sense of security. This often meant shutting people out through a rebellious act, which bordered on caustic. Jean was the one who was determined to reach the child behind the wild behaviours. Although one would quickly assume that much of this was achieved through her telepathy, Jean preferred to make use of her graduate training in psychology and empathic nature. While engaging in this manner was slightly arduous, it ultimately laid a solid foundation for a relationship between the two of them.

In addition to Logan, the telepath became a trusted confidant, who never judged and was quite willing to offer whatever guidance she could. She was protective without being overbearing, concerned about Jubilee's wellbeing while maintaining an open mind, and capable of being an authority figure sans intimidation. When Logan began his lengthy sojourns away from the mansion, the redhead took it upon herself to fill the void. For Jubilee, Jean was the maternal figure she missed when her own mother was murdered. Striving to be a better student and more importantly, a better person, were goals she came to view as important because of Jean. Yes, they were important to Jubilee from an individual level. However, there was a part of her that wished to make the telepath proud, as if to demonstrate gratitude for her unconditional and unwavering encouragement throughout the years.

Meanwhile, Jean had come to see Jubilee as the child she yearned for. Scott had been wary of the idea given his traumatic childhood. While he did not rule out the possibility, he did ask his wife to wait. Following the closure of the Massachusetts Academy, she was the one who opened the Summers' home to the recently displaced firecracker. Initially, the plan had been to provide a temporary home while Jubilee re-adjusted to life in Westchester. Things changed as the dynamics of the household evolved. Rather than viewing the girl as a boarder whom she scarcely knew little about, Jean discovered her nurturing instincts when they were together. She came to empathize with Logan's need to protect and care for her. To her surprise, the defences (notably, the sarcastic mouth) Jubilee was known to employ were abandoned in favour of fostering another type of relationship. Adding to her delight was Scott's response. Unlike his interactions with other students, she observed him doting on Jubilee, talking to her with such kindness that most around the mansion believed he was incapable of.

The instances when it was simply the three of them seemed to be the ones that Jean was the most happy. Jubilee recalled that it did not matter what they were doing at the time, Jean always seemed to be smiling so broadly. Even the mundane, such as eating a meal together in the dining room while talking about their respective activities, earned a radiant expression from the graceful telepath.

But like Jean, these moments were now gone.

Swallowing hard, she finally answered, "I'm just beat. It's been a long night, you know." _Not completely untrue._

"Why don't you go lie down?" Scott suggested gently. Like Logan, he hated seeing the young woman in her current state. He hated the fact that there was very little he could to alleviate things for her. "There's really nothing else to be done until we have some of our people back."

_It won't do me any good to lie down because I can't sleep,_ Jubilee thought, choking back a sob._When I close my eyes, all I can think about is how my world has become completely different. Two people whom I love very much are now gone from me. I don't think I've felt this lost in a very long time. And it's killing me inside._

After what seemed like eons but merely seconds in reality, she finally responded. She shook her head. "I think we've used up all the beds," Jubilee lied. In fact, there were enough cots that she had even allowed Julian to push two together for himself despite finding the act rather obnoxious. However, she decided to continue with the deception as it was the easiest route for the time being. There was a part of her that feared if she broke down in front of them, she would never be able to compose herself. "Besides, the kids are finally sleeping. I don't want to bother them. Not after what they've been through."

Logan and Scott exchanged wary looks. The two of them were quite aware that there was a surplus of beds given how most of the students were away for Spring Break. But as they returned their attentions to Jubilee, they realized that pushing her on the issue would prove fruitless and possibly, detrimental. It was clear that she was lost in her own anguish and was struggling to cope as best she could at the moment. Naturally, they wanted desperately to do whatever possible to console her and if possible, take away as much of the pain as they could.

Before either one could speak up, Jubilee drew back from Logan. She simply was not ready to have a heavy discussion with either one of them. Her sanity was already quite frayed as it was. Wrapping her arms around her lithe form, she said, "I—I should go. I promised Kitty I'd help her out with some scans. Do you guys need anything else?"

The two men glanced at one another again, conveying their mutual surprise. While both were aware of her defence mechanism of projecting nonchalance to the world in the wake of loss, it was still surprising nonetheless. Logan, particularly, was shocked. Given Drake's actions coupled with Jean's death, there was an expectation of something other than the mask she was presenting. However, both Scott and Logan reminded themselves Jubilee had long relied upon deflecting. Having witnessed her use this defence, it seemed to be her way of processing and making sense of whatever misfortune she came across. In time, she often sought their assurance and counsel. As they watched her wring her hands anxiously, both men hoped history would repeat itself.

It was Scott who finally answered her. Shaking his head, he said, "No, I think we'll be okay for now." Then he swallowed hard before continuing. "Just let us know if _you_ need anything."

To emphasize the other man's point, Logan peered deeply into Jubilee's face and nodded silently. _I'm here for you, kid. I promise._

Her eyes soaked in the countenances of the two men who had played her surrogate father during her formative years. Jubilee was aware of the sincerity in their sentiments. Had she been that teenage mallrat, she would have allowed herself to cry and seek out relief from them. But that girl was now an adult; one who knew tragedy too well for someone of her age. Unlike her younger self, she was cognizant of circumstances and situations beyond her own experience. Such considerations required her to handle herself and her emotions differently.

Jubilee managed to tear her gaze from them and headed to the door. Before leaving, she turned around and gave them a reassuring nod. "I will."

Then she rushed out, hoping neither detected the tears now flowing freely.

Scott stared after her, furious with himself for disappointing yet another person he was supposed to protect. He hated being so damn helpless. Shoulders slumping slightly, he said, "I should talk to her…but I'm not sure what to say."

"She's been through a lot," Logan mused quietly, green eyes narrowing. He, too, cursed his inability to provide comfort to her. Then he muttered, "Drake being around will only make things worse."

Scott frowned at him. "What does that mean?" he demanded, voice coloured with alarm.

The older man raised a brow, remembering that he was probably the only person who knew about what happened between Jubilee and Drake. However, Logan wasn't distressed over divulging the information to Scott. Her preconditions only involved an oath not to cause any bodily harm to the young man—something he was now wishing he had not accepted. Even now, he was entertaining thoughts of using Drake as a target for his aggression.

The gruff loner was also keenly aware of Scott Summers' continued unease with the relationship. His wariness over seeing them together simmered beneath his attempts to be neutral. Just because Jubilee was now an adult who was able to make decisions about her relationships, it did nothing to lessen the need to guard her heart from harm. It was another piece of common ground the two men shared.

"He broke up with her," Logan replied flatly, scowling. Immediately, he was transported to the last night in the kitchen and Jubilee's tear-filled admission. His stomach turned when he saw her despondent face again.

Scott's brows shot upwards. "He did what? When?" Although he had his reservations about Jubilee's involvement with Bobby, there was a part of him that wanted to be wrong. He was hoping that Bobby's streak had ended with her. Granted, it had taken some convincing on the part of Jean, Hank, Warren, and Jubilee herself. However, it did not change the fact that Scott was willing to reconsider his initial assessment. His jaw clenched upon learning that was not the case.

"Yesterday. She went to see him at his parents' place and he told her it was over." Logan's words tasted bitter as he uttered them.

Confused, the other man frowned. After almost two years of dating, this development seemed bizarre—even considering Bobby's track record. In addition, it was only weeks ago, that the two seemed very happy together. Hell, there had even been talk about her meeting his parents again for the holidays until the elder Drake's sudden illness. This was surely a turn in events. "Why? What happened?"

The normally laconic Canadian grunted. He was not normally keen on sharing information like this. Discussing the affairs of the heart was not something he was accustomed to. The fact that the subject was the girl he considered his daughter only served to compound things. But as he peered over Scott Summers, he soon recognized the importance of disclosure. The desperation to know mingled with a need for redemption. It was as if the equally distraught man was hoping for a way to make up for last night's tragic consequences. Scott had failed Jean. He would be damned to hell if he failed Jubilee.

Again, Logan found himself relating.

Taking a deep breath, the gruff loner relayed the particulars of what happened. He touched upon Drake's bizarre reception, as noted by Jubilee. This was followed by a brief synopsis of the conversation the couple had, including her confession about Thanksgiving. He tried to swallow down his anger as he talked about Drake's response. The image of the younger man mistreating his Jubilee made bile rise in his throat.

A thick silence hung in the air after Logan finished speaking. Scott found himself reeling. In all the years he had known Bobby, such behaviour seemed completely out of character. Always one to be the carefree prankster, Scott knew of Bobby's fierce devotion to those he cared about. In observing the couple together, he was quite aware that this loyalty was amplified. Granted, the young man had been under an inordinate amount of stress in recent days. But given that, why on earth would he push someone he cared about away? Why would he choose to shatter her faith during this most desperate of times?

As he mulled over these questions, Scott noticed that his confusion and disbelief were transforming into something else. Then in an even and quiet voice, he said, "I'm going to kill him."

"Take a number, bub."


	60. Chapter Sixty: I'm the Man Who Loves You

Posting the latest instalment before heading out of town to celebrate husband's birthday. All I gotta say is that I'm a cool wife for planning the trip.

I've posted the non-explicit version of this chapter.

I've included an appearance by someone who's had history with Logan. Hope I've done justice with the depiction.

Bigtime thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her input and support and to those who've been kind enough to leave reviews. As a writer, it's great to know people are still following this.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Sixty: I'm the Man Who Loves You (Non-explicit)**

Heralding the birth of a new day, the sun rose over the tiny country of Madripoor. Given its close proximity to the Equator, the land and its inhabitants were often subjected to uniformly searing temperatures. This was coupled by the often high humidity, which was attributed to the monsoon winds that visited Madripoor six months of the year. Such conditions often prompted locals, many of whom lacked access to air conditioning, to sleep on their balconies under the shelter of large umbrellas.

The more prosperous section of the capital, known as Hightown, seemed to bear the brunt of the extreme climate conditions. Much of this was traced back to the rapid development of the city's infrastructure, producing pollution levels that rivalled Beijing. Eschewing environmental concerns, the government often boasted that the projects resulted in services representing twenty years of advancement. With the concentration of wealth situated in Hightown, hotels, bars, and restaurants frequently competed to bring the newest, most opulent, or most outlandish attractions to wealthy locals and foreign visitors alike. Breathtakingly towering and ultramodern pavilions mingled with classical and modern Western architectural styles—art deco, Gothic, Beaux-Arts.

This late spring day was proving to be an uncharacteristically pleasant and tranquil one. The skies overhead were clear, devoid of the smog that often shrouded the city and its inhabitants. Those already venturing outside were surprised by the lack of humidity in the air, replaced by a crispness not usually associated with Madripoor. Noise from bustling crowds and vehicles fixated in the complicated network of surrounding highways were operating at a lowered volume, which made the chirping of native birds audible. In short, this new day was appearing to be a refreshing start for all in Madripoor.

With the exception of one person.

Sam Guthrie awoke with a start, his heart slamming against his chest violently. The white cotton sheets clung to his long, lean frame, which was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Exhaling shakily, the Southern gentleman leaned against the upholstered headboard of the antique-style hotel bed. As the sunlight filtered into his room through the gauze-like curtains hanging from the windows, the shackles of slumber began to loosen their grip.

For most people, being roused from consciousness in such a jarring manner would have left them unnerved but later relieved that such an occurrence was rare. However, the Southern gentleman failed to experience either one of these responses. For him, joining the waking world like this had become customary. It was part of an inescapable cycle which consumed the young man from Kentucky, taunting and punishing him to the brink of sanity.

He had another dream.

About _her_.

The former coal miner raked his calloused hands through his straw-coloured hair—the same hands he could have sworn had been buried in silky raven locks with midnight blue streaks and touching soft, creamy skin. Tried as he did to escape the torture inflicted upon him by his own psyche, Sam was helpless. No amount of physical distance or distraction of any kind would allow him that luxury.

The Southern gentleman closed his eyes in an attempt to shield them from the brilliant light streaming in from the hotel window. He cursed softly at himself for what seemed like the millionth time. The deep recesses of his mind betrayed him, instilling an unending sense of torment that penetrated his soul. It was as if there was a part of him that was not satisfied with the pain of realizing she was completely out of reach and that she would always choose another over him. Rather, it seemed this toxic aspect of Sam Guthrie wanted the agony of her absence to be further intensified through the incessant repetition of unfulfilled desires.

Not surprisingly, these nocturnal disturbances did little to assuage the internal turmoil that constantly tore away at him. The rational portion of his mind argued how inherently wrong it was to want someone who was not available, and to harbour feelings that could never be realized. However, this facet of his psyche was soon overwhelmed by a part that was driven by powerful feelings of ache and desire. They threatened to shatter what little control he had left these days, unwilling to abate until Sam could have what he desperately wanted for so long.

Unfortunately, cogent thought soon prevailed, reminding him that this could never be.

Jubilee had gone after Bobby.

Sam pursed his lips in disgust. Here he was, waking up alone and the fool yet once again. As painful as the illusions were, he found his reality even more excruciating. He was not only reminded that Jubilee would never be his but also of his own futility and hopelessness.

Bitterly reflecting upon his predicament, Sam chided himself. How could he be so naïve? One of the reasons he was so eager to leave Westchester was to alleviate his anguished mind. The Southern gentleman honestly believed that if he could place some substantial distance between himself and Jubilee, his feelings would diminish. Perhaps by not seeing her beautiful face everyday, he could have some semblance of relief.

Much to his disappointment, the former coal miner found the very opposite to be true. Despite his best efforts, his ambitions of being honourable were falling short. Since his arrival, Sam felt as if he were being bombarded with reminders of Jubilee. The colour of the waters surrounding the island was reminiscent of the blue in her eyes. The spicy sweetness of the tea Xi'an drank elicited memories of the combination of bubblegum and cinnamon permeating from her. The satiny smooth feel of the silk sold at the nearby outdoor markets Amara and Rogue visited evoked sensations of her hair and skin under his fingertips.

When he first arrived in Madripoor, he set out a goal to purge the memories of these dreams from his mind. His attempts to resolve his predicament included re-reading his dog-eared copy of _Starship Troopers_; listening to his iPod shuffle of Neil Young, Johnny Cash, Bob Seger, and Wilco; watching several minutes of some Orlando Bloom movie with Rogue, Amara and Dani before admitting to himself that option was even pushing the envelope too far; and sitting through a discussion between Roberto and Gambit about where the best gambling houses were located.

In spite of his best efforts, the Southern gentleman was disappointed again when he was haunted by the restrained hopes and desires once he succumbed to slumber. What made things worse was the fact that each dream was more vivid than the last, leading him to believe that he was experiencing reality. He felt as if all his consciousness had distorted his encounters with her, warping them so that they were aligned with his deep-seated wishes in order to punish him.

Peering down at the empty space next to him in the king-sized bed, the Kentucky native was overcome with familiar feelings of despondency. Almost immediately, his mind was inundated with vivid images. Even now, in spite of attempting to utilize every ounce of mental strength to focus his thoughts elsewhere, Sam found himself reliving the night time reverie.

The content of the dreams were unchanged from one night to the next. Almost as soon as he drifted to sleep, Sam would find Jubilee lying next to him. She often greeted him with one of her dazzling smiles, lighting up her entire face with an ethereal glow that humbled him. The only barrier that separated them now was the cotton sheet draped strategically over her lithe body. It was enough to evoke a rare smile from the Southern gentleman.

_Sam swallowed hard. Although the circumstances of Jubilee's presence stirred feelings of ecstasy Sam had not known for some time, he was keenly aware that there were many incongruous things about this situation. So many questions pulsed through his brain, including ones that yearned to know why she lying naked in bed with him. As badly as he wanted to vocalize this and other queries, his tongue failed to cooperate. _

_After what seemed like eons of being rendered speechless, Sam mustered some semblance of coherent thought to question the peculiarity of the circumstances. "What are ya doin' here?" he finally asked her. _

_The smile faded slightly, giving way to an earnest and thoughtful expression. Those old-soul blue eyes were shining as they peered at him. "It didn't feel right to leave things like we did," she replied softly, biting her lower lip ruefully. "I hurt you, and I'm sorry for that."_

_Sam shook his head, wishing he could lift the guilt from her and add it to the existing burden that weighed upon him so heavily. At the same time, he could feel his heart swell inside his chest when he learned of her concern for him. Her capacity to be so loyal to those around her was one of the reasons he loved her so. "No," he told her, "ya could never hurt me. Ya never have ta worry about that, sweetie."_

_This time, she was the one shaking her head. "But I do," she insisted, her sapphire gaze still fixed upon his handsome face. "Back in the garage, I was scared and confused. I…I felt like I made you leave."_

"_Ya didn't," he lied, finding it increasingly difficult to retain his veneer of control. It was taking every ounce of willpower not to gather her into his arms. He could hear his own heart beat wildly as he struggled to compose himself. _

_Jubilee edged closer to him, the space between them diminishing to the point where he could feel the heat emanating from her with fierce intensity. It was amazing her obliviousness to the effect she had on him. Otherwise, he would have considered her actions beyond cruel. _

"_It's just that back in Westchester, you seemed so…down. I did that to you, didn't I?"_

"_No, ya didn't."_

"_Sam—"_

"_No. Ya could never hurt me. Don't ever think that, sweetie."_

"_It's hard not to. I mean, the timing of it all, especially after that dinner date. I couldn't help but think you were too willing to volunteer to go here."_

"_There are other reasons for me bein' here and ain't none of 'em have anythin' ta do with you."_

_Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she frowned. "But I felt like I drove you away by acting so weird. That's the last thing I wanted. It's just that…after Thanksgiving, I had a lot of stuff going on in my head. You know, with Bobby and all."_

_The Kentucky native bristled at the mere mention of his romantic rival's name, which was then followed by a pang of guilt. Why did he have to want her so desperately? She was already with someone, who, unlike Sam, was good enough to deserve her and be everything he was not. In the end, Sam knew he had to resign himself to this simple truth._

_Drawing back from her, the Southern gentleman tried not to grimace as he willed himself to do the right thing. "Ya ain't responsible for anythin'," Sam whispered, struggling to tear his eyes from her lovely face. "Ya have ta know that, sweetie."_

_Jubilee's frown deepened further upon his attempt at deception. She moved closer to him until they were separated by mere inches. "I know you're lying," she chided gently, "I don't deserve it, though. Not after how I've been around you."_

_He tried to protest yet again but found himself silenced under her crystalline gaze. _

_She continued speaking, sapphire eyes shining underneath her thick lashes. "I shouldn't have left so fast. I should have stayed so we could talk. I shouldn't have made you do this… But now, I'm here." _

_His eyes widened in disbelief as his stomach dropped. Had he been standing, it was quite probably he might have stumbled backwards. Finally, he licked his lips nervously as he verbalized the only things racing through his brain at that moment. "What? Why?"_

"_Because I don't feel bad about what happened," she replied, her small red mouth trembling as the corners lifted upwards in a shy smile. _

_Sam's breathing quickened when he heard her words. They nearly echoed the ones she had during her conversation with Hank several weeks ago. Back then, that statement had been accompanied by confusion. However, this was different. The Jubilee making this confession was not consumed by awkwardness or uncertainty. There was a confidence and sincerity behind her declaration that nearly chipped away at the last of his armour of self-control. _

_Yet, there was just one outstanding issue—one that would not allow him to completely surrender. His pale eyes roved over her delicate features gently as he summoned the courage to make his query. "What about…him?" Making the effort to even utter Bobby's name was proving to be difficult at that moment. _

_Then Jubilee provided Sam with the answer he longed for during all those lonely nights. "I want to be here with you."_

_Instinctively, the Southern gentleman pulled her close to him. His fingers tangled in her raven locks, pulling her head towards his. With closed eyes, Sam could feel Jubilee seeking his lips with a fervour he shared. His tongue pressed to her lips and parted them, tenderly exploring her mouth. He could not help feeling pleased when she moaned softly in response._

_Meanwhile, his other hand wandered to her hip and pressed her against his burgeoning arousal. As they continued their frenetic kisses, Jubilee's fingers slid over his chest. Sam groaned as he raised himself over her. He had almost forgotten how wonderful she felt. Thanksgiving night seemed so long ago._

_He drew back slightly as his calloused fingers traced a line from her jaw to the supple skin of her throat. "So beautiful," he murmured, pale eyes staring deeply into those hypnotic sapphire depths. The journey continued on to the smooth line formed by her collarbone, to the hollow in between, and pausing at the edge of the bed sheet draped over her. _

"_Ya have my whole world here," Sam declared huskily, taking her small hand and placing it over his heart. "Ah ain't got anythin' left. It's all yours."_

_Jubilee smiled when she felt it beat faster. "Really?"_

"_Yeah." Realizing he was at the point of no return, the Southern gentleman bared her breasts. His gaze once more followed his fingertips, which now traced a path over her supple skin. _

_She exhaled shakily, her fingers gliding from his chest to his stubble-ridden face. "Are you sure? Are you sure you really want me?"_

_Bewildered, Sam stared at her to discover she was there was nothing duplicitous about her query. As if to reassure her, he first kissed her and then murmured against her sweet mouth, "Ah do, Jubilee. More than anything. Ya never have ta doubt that."_

_Jubilee smiled up at him as he stroked her silky hair affectionately. "Things are going to be different now."_

_The Southern gentleman was taken aback slightly by the cryptic nature of her remark. "What do you mean, sweetie?" he inquired. _

_Staring intently into his eyes, the young firecracker brushed his straw-coloured hair from his forehead. "There's been a lot going on," she answered, her tone softening the enigmatic quality of her response. _

_Before Sam could obtain clarification about what she meant, Jubilee pressed her mouth against his. He could feel his resolve melt away as she cradled his face in her small hands. Any semblance of rational thought disappeared in the wake of the ardour that seized upon him. Just the slightest touch from her elicited shivers of desire that wracked his body._

_The former coal miner broke the kiss gently. "Ah'm yours," he told her huskily, trembling slightly from what was transpiring. "Ya have me no matter what happens. Ah'd rather die than let anythin' or anyone hurt ya."_

_She moaned softly, her hips shifting under his touch. _

"_Ah love ya," he murmured against her skin, allowing himself to give in to intoxication of her. There were so many other confessions the Southern gentleman yearned to make. Yet, he was finding himself more and more entranced by the feel of her softness, the taste of her, and the sweet cries she made for him. As he began making love to her, Sam believed he could die happy. He had everything he wanted; he had Jubilee._

Reflecting upon the dream now, Sam shook his head in disbelief. It was as if everything about her was forever imprinted in his brain so that she would always be with him. To the Southern gentleman, it was a torturous existence one that he was coming to accept.

The former coal miner found himself reflecting on last night's dream as the sunshine continued pouring in through the windows. Sam began to realize that there were some genuine aspects to what played out his mind. He _did_ love Jubilee and he was more than willing to pledge his heart and himself completely to her. There was nothing more he wanted in this world than to make her feel treasured and loved. In fact, he would have done anything to ensure Jubilee's happiness.

Even it meant, for him, dying a little inside.

Xi'an Coy Mahn pulled on a lightweight, orange crewneck sweater over a pair of khaki chino shorts. The waif-like, former New Mutant was enjoying a rare of moment of solitude in the hotel room she shared with Dani and Amara, who had decided to check out the rooftop pool this morning. It was not that she was irritated with her friends. No, quite the contrary was true. Like Amara, Xi'an relished the reunion with the others after years of living separate lives under the guise of establishing independent identities from the Professor. As someone whose early experiences were rooted in tragic loss, Xi'an had come to love each and every one of her team mates as if they were members of her family.

Since their first night in Madripoor, when she received the sudden and intense psychic backlash, Xi'an felt as if she were being smothered by her friends and team mates. In the hours that followed, Dani and Sam had appointed themselves as her caregivers. Together, they sought to ensure that their friend was resting properly given the physical trauma of the experience. Their zealousness towards their roles nearly saw them accompany her to the restroom, fearing she would collapse once left alone. Thankfully, Amara intervened on her behalf, pointing out the ridiculousness of said plan. But then she insisted on standing guard outside of the door should something happen. Even the self-centred Roberto expressed his concerns for her welfare by arranging for a doctor's visit at the hotel through one of his contacts. Although the examination revealed no presence of serious injury or any negative residual effects resulting from the backlash, Rogue and Gambit were reluctant to allow her access to the portable Cerebro uplink for the time being. Much to Xi'an's chagrin, the others supported this decision.

As altruistic as their intentions were, Xi'an did not care for the role of the frail patient requiring special treatment. It was completely antithetical to who she was. Life forced her to grow up quickly, developing strength and maturity beyond her peers. As a result, she became used to shouldering a great deal on her own, including raising her younger siblings, grieving for her parents, and coping with her own trauma while fleeing Vietnam. Despite the hardships encountered during her young life, Xi'an never engaged in self-pity or lost faith in other people. Rather, she was able to derive lessons learned from these experiences, which allowed her to flourish and grow. To be treated as someone who could not even be trusted to use the restroom without falling apart discounted all of that.

The constant attention also served to interfere with her ability to analyse the nature of the telepathic feedback. Her mental faculties had been overwhelmed by the flood of images and thoughts. At the time, it was difficult for Xi'an to discern where this information was coming from or what was behind the phenomena in the first place. It was like being struck by a truck on a deserted road.

Further compounding matters was the heavy sense of dread engulfed her as she collapsed against Sam and Dani. Not since her mother's death had Xi'an felt such anguish and fear. It twisted her inside, prompting a visceral reaction not usually associated with the reserved Vietnamese refugee. As the tears and blood flowed, Xi'an struggled to identify the source of this pain but found herself at a loss. Instead, she could only provide the others with a vague statement that something was amiss.

The following evening had been Roberto's meeting at the Princess Bar with the mysterious contact. He had been trailed by Dani and Amara, who managed to keep their amusement at bay in order to monitor the situation from inside. The co-leaders on the assignment, Rogue and Gambit, had decided to keep abreast of things from their base in Hightown. Rogue had insisted that Roberto wear a wire during the conversation as well as keep his communicator switched on. The Southern belle had argued that whoever this individual was, her use of Logan's past alias made it likely that she had some sort of history with Tyger as well.

This had left Sam and Xi'an as the odd ones out for that evening, although she later suspected that Rogue asked the eldest Guthrie to continue watching over his friend. Without the Cerebro uplink or the files related to the assignment (Gambit had decided to pour over them while he and Rogue were listening in on Roberto's meeting), the two former classmates had found themselves in the hotel restaurant for a late dinner. The choice had been a compromise, borne out of Xi'an's increasing restlessness from being confined to the suite and Sam's wariness to venture far from their lodgings for fear of compromising her health.

The setting for dinner had been strange one for the two long-time friends. An authentic bistro adjacent to the concierge desk, the restaurant exuded a cosy—almost romantic vibe. This had been evident in the atmosphere of dark wood floors; dimly lit, bare Edison bulbs; classic brasserie tables; and leather couches. Both glanced at one another with amused expressions upon observing couples whispering intimately over their meals. There had been a moment when they reconsidered their decision but this was ultimately cancelled out by their collective desire to be away from the suite. Once they had been seated, their waiter, a bald and round-faced man named Paul, presented them a single wood-framed chalkboard, which contained a menu of classic dishes.

_Sam's brows furrowed underneath his straw-coloured locks as his pale eyes roved over the choices. "Ah can't understand any of this," he pretended to grouse. "All Ah know is that French folks like frog legs. Just steer me away from that and everythin' will be fine."_

_For the first time since their arrival in Madripoor, Xi'an smiled. She had forgotten how refreshingly unpretentious Sam could be. Despite his experiences travelling this world and others, the Southern gentleman refused to become jaded like some members. Rather, he seemed all the more determined to be loyal to his Kentucky roots. It was a distinction he was proud of. _

"_Well, you are lucky you are dining with someone who is very fluent," she remarked, unfolding her napkin and placing it across her lap. Having grown up in the French-dominated part of Vietnam, Xi'an had mastered English, French, and Vietnamese. "Don't worry. I will make sure your dinner is frog-free."_

_Flashing her a grateful look, the Southern gentleman said, "Thanks, Xi'an. You're a nicer guide than Bobby and Nate. When we were in Rio, they tried to get me to order raw sweetbreads in Portuguese." _

_She made a face before providing her dinner companion with a brief introduction to the menu in English. Her amber eyes widened at the prices listed. Normally, the extravagance of such a meal would have deterred the pragmatic Xi'an. Fortunately, the expense account for the mission allowed for the occasional treat. After deliberating with Sam for several minutes, she provided Paul with their selections: baby clams stuffed with spinach and walnuts as the shared appetizer, the hanger steak served with red-wine sauce and buttery chanterelles mixed in with golden potatoes for Sam, the chicory salad with mustard dressing and snips of bacon for herself, and the white chocolate mousse sandwiched by elegant, wafer-thin tuiles for dessert. _

_Taking a sip of her Gigondas, Xi'an leaned back in her seat and sighed contently. In the faint glow of the restaurant lighting, she felt quite relaxed. The physically taxing experience of the psychic backlash was dissipating. _

_The corners of Sam's pale eyes crinkled as he smiled. "You seem ta be doin' better," he observed, reaching across the table for a piece of bread. _

"_I am," she replied, watching him slather some butter onto baguette slice. Then she added dryly, "I think it's been the coddling by everyone that's made me tired more than the attack itself."_

_A slightly wounded expression drifted across his handsome face as he placed his butter knife on the small plate along with the piece of bread. "We were just worried about ya," he told her earnestly, "What happened last night… That looked mighty intense. Ah ain't seen anythin' like that before. Worst of all, it was happenin' ta someone we all care about."_

_Xi'an bit her lower lip ruefully upon hearing her friend's touching remarks. Yet, she found the need to communicate the frustration of the past several hours following the incident. "I appreciate that," she said, mulling over her words carefully. "It's just that treating me as if I might break at any moment made me believe all of you doubted me and what I could contribute. I was beginning to feel a bit suffocated, too, with you and Dani never leaving my side. I mean, the first few hours were okay but now, it's just been a bit much, don't you agree?"_

_Sam popped the piece of bread into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It was apparent that he had not considered his and Dani's actions as being detrimental towards their friend. The last thing they had wanted to do was to undermine Xi'an's abilities. "Ah guess," he agreed after swallowing. "Ah'm sorry. We all are. We were just concerned for ya, that's all. And also, there ain't ever been a moment when any of us thought ya weren't an equal on this mission. Ya gotta believe that, Xi'an."_

_Sensing the sincerity present in the Southern gentleman's apology, she nodded. There was no need to make use of her abilities to grasp the lack of duplicity in his words, voice, and expression. He was genuinely contrite as well as deeply concerned for her as a friend. Studying him now, Xi'an was amazed that despite the years that had passed and the life experiences Sam accumulated, he remained the kind-hearted soul she came to depend on. _

_Then she took a deep breath, hoping to inject some levity between the two of them. "I suppose I should be grateful," she observed as Paul returned with their appetizer, "that I have great friends who care about me. Even Roberto. I could not believe how fast he had that doctor come to the hotel."_

_Sam grinned while the waiter set the plate between them before wishing them 'Bon appetit' before darting back into the kitchen to retrieve another table's orders. "He had his moments," the former coal miner said, amused. It was rare for the CEO of Da Costa Industries to reveal his compassionate side. In fact, he went out of his way to hide his charitable contributions and activities, insisting he had a reputation to maintain. Rather, the former Hellfire member seemed to pride himself on being opportunistic, using his understanding of human behaviour to manipulate situations to his advantage (primarily directed towards new business acquisitions and girlfriends). This reputation prompted Dani and Amara to half-jokingly suggest the possibility of their friend washing up on shore one day, with no teeth or fingerprints after being attacked by ninjas hired by business rivals or former girlfriends._

_The remainder of dinner was spent talking about other topics unrelated to the mission at hand. It was as if they decided, on a subconscious level, to capitalize on what was a rare free evening. Sam talked at length about his new interest in motocross racing which developed after catching the last minutes of a televised event in Chile. He was so taken with the sport that he was planning to purchase a bike upon his return—a Maico 360 cc with air-cooled engine and twin shock absorbers on the rear suspension. Meanwhile, Xi'an confided in the Southern gentleman her ambivalence over a date Dani set up prior to their departure with the owner of the Grind Stone, a popular coffee shop frequented by the students. While there was no doubt of their friend's altruistic intentions, the execution left much to be desired (namely, the fact that Dani did not consult Xi'an before approaching Luna). _

_As the meal concluded over snifters of cherry-flavoured brandy, Sam suddenly looked grave. He took a deep breath as the pianist began to play Debussy's 'Reflets dans l'eau' softly over the din of customers and wait staff. Then the Southern gentleman asked quietly, "Do ya remember anythin' about…what happened?"_

_Xi'an stopped swirling the brandy when she noticed the change in her friend's demeanour. His attempt at broaching the subject of last night's events was tempered by a need to be cautious. Despite Sam's assurances earlier, it was obvious he was still anxious_ _over her well-being. Again, she was touched but knew she had to press forward in order to understand what happened to her._

_The young woman otherwise known as Karma shook her head. "Not really, no," she finally replied, still cupping the glass in her small hand and studying the caramel-coloured liquid. "I remember talking with you and Dani. And then my head became full of these…things."_

"_What kind of things?" he inquired, brows furrowing underneath his straw-coloured hair. Though his friend and team mate emanated calm as she spoke about her experience, Sam was still concerned. He appeared as if he were mulling the option of changing the topic._

_Upon perceiving his trepidation, Xi'an decided to feign ignorance. She needed to talk about this in order to try to make sense of it. What transpired had been an unusual occurrence to say the least. Since the manifestation of her abilities, she had never experienced anything remotely like that. The sudden and overwhelming influx of psychic information followed by searing pain and fear was something that both confused and unnerved her. Had she been allowed to access the Cerebro unit, Xi'an could have consulted with the Professor, Jean, or even Emma. However, given the constraints imposed by a cautious Rogue, the former refugee found her options limited. _

"_I was hearing and seeing other people's thoughts—but it was like watching twenty television programs at the same time." She raised the snifter to her nose but did not take a sip. "Normally, I can shield myself from that kind of attack but last night was…different."_

"_What do ya mean, Xi'an?"_

"_I couldn't defend myself at all. It was so sudden. And then, within seconds, it was over."_

"_Do ya think it had anythin' ta do with Tyger and whatever's been happenin' with her?"_

"_I don't know. Perhaps."_

"_Maybe we should talk ta Rogue and see if we can get the uplink back."_

"_Wait. Let me try something."_

_Narrowing her amber eyes, Xi'an began to sort through the psychic static that clouded her mind. She placed the snifter down as she focused on separating and organizing the material. Instantly, she was confronted with a miasma of information, relayed to her through projections and internal voices. Separating and compartmentalizing each item would take a great deal of concentration. _

_As the mental haze started to clear, Xi'an was beginning to relate material to the origins. There were the thoughts of the hotel staff, who were concerned about the security perimeter around Hightown. The internal voices of some residents from Lowtown followed, bemoaning economic conditions in their part of the capital while denouncing the ineptitude and corruption of the current administration. _

_Her focus soon narrowed, concentrating on the projections from those in the suite. It was then that she became privy to Rogue's suspicions about a new student named Foxx and the resulting tension between the Southern Belle and Gambit. Next, she heard the Cajun thief's deep-seated insecurities about their relationship after Rogue's powers subsumed the inhibitor collar's effects months ago ("Mebbe dis no touchin' t'ing is gettin' to me…more dan I t'ought."). Dani's internal monologue followed. Xi'an could sense her friend's concern over the events leading to Rahne's departure from the school and the painful rift that resulted. Amara, meanwhile, was shaken by memories from a week prior to leaving for Madripoor. The sight of her roommate, Tabitha, cornering Kurt Wagner in their kitchen with a can of whipped cream left the Nova Roma native considering other living arrangements. As for Roberto, his thoughts centred around the rendezvous with the mysterious caller. She could hear him mentally voice his wariness, especially in light of his recent break-up with a volatile swimsuit model from Berlin. _

_For Xi'an, unwittingly stumbling across these private thoughts and feelings was quite shocking, to say the least. Yet, her astonishment was not about to end there. In fact, it seemed to exponentially increase upon deciphering the secrets of the last remaining individual in the room. _

_Sam. _

_Suddenly, her mind was inundated with information previously embedded deep in the Southern gentleman's psyche. Xi'an observed the events of the last year and a half from his perspective. She experienced his angst as images of Jubilee and Bobby together flashed before her eyes. Sam's euphoria pulsed through her veins in the wake of his memories with Jubilee—passing conversations around the school, dancing together on Valentine's Day, attending the concert with her in New York, and the kiss they shared on Thanksgiving. His dreams and reveries, where Jubilee was free to be his, also evoked a sense of poignancy she never knew was possible. This was rivalled by the guilt and shame associated with wanting Jubilee as well as his own transgressions—sleeping with the waitress, kissing Jubilee, and being responsible for her ensuring confusion. In response, the moral voice of his conscience bitterly rebuked him on what seemed to be a never-ending basis. What ultimately trumped his feelings of despondency and self-loathing was one simple truth. _

_God help me, I love her. _

"_Well?" He looked expectant and worried._

_Startled, Xi'an blinked and racked her brain for a response. Having experienced heartache similar to her friend, she was quite empathic to his struggles. Yearning for someone who was unable to reciprocate and then being forced to see that person everyday—it was a predicament she was well acquainted with. Sensing her friend, a good man, in such pain made her want to reach out and reassure him that he would find peace. However, the matter was complicated by the manner in which Xi'an learned of his turmoil. How could she possibly explain this invasion of his privacy? Granted, she had not sought out this information but her awareness of his secret could be inimical. Knowing him as well as she did, the mortification would possibly drive him further into his hell. _

_In the end, she decided on what she believed was the appropriate course of action. "Nothing," she lied, averting her eyes and taking a sip of her brandy. "Nothing at all." _

Settling herself on the brown leather cushions of the lavishly scaled, barrel chair woven in heavy wicker, Xi'an was still affected by her dinner with Sam Guthrie. She began to slip on a pair of bronze moccasins, feeling very uneasy about what transpired. While she hated lying to him, the prospect of confessing to him that she knew about his feelings was even less appealing. Known for his genial nature, the Southern gentleman could also be very reserved, particularly in regards to his relationships. Given this and the fact that the object of his affections was not available, it was no surprise that Sam was desperate to conceal things. The intensity of the emotions surrounding this secret only provided further evidence. No one else was meant to know.

Xi'an sighed. Upon further reflection, peculiarities about his behaviour were now making sense—his eagerness to leave Westchester, his seemingly neutral stance on the open-ended nature of this assignment, the passing expressions of sadness, and the slightly nervous presentation whenever anyone attempted to gauge his state of mind. Even more disconcerting was how determined Sam was not to disclose what was troubling. Despite the efforts of his friends to press him, the Southern gentleman believed he deserved to suffer in silence.

As for the revelations, Xi'an was unsure as to what to think. Recalling the gathering of the Lonely Hearts' Club last Valentine's Day, she now understood why Sam had been so pleased when Jubilee appeared. Back then, it struck her as somewhat strange. The two rarely spoke and seemed to have very little in common given their different status around the mansion (he as an active field team member and she as a part-time mentor to the students). But when his thoughts and feelings entered her consciousness, this view changed. Seeing Jubilee from his eyes, Xi'an experienced his fascination with her resilience, playful charm, kindness, intelligence, and stunning beauty. The rush of euphoria evoked from a simple smile or her voice calling out his name was addictive as any drug, forever ensnaring him.

Following this, she understood his passionate devotion to Jubilee and the ensuing internal struggle to reconcile these feelings with what was appropriate. This was especially true in regards to the kiss they shared on Thanksgiving. While the event was initially viewed as one of the most thrilling ones in his young life, his emotions took a turn once Jubilee attempted to distance herself from him. Xi'an felt his guilt for inflicting confusion and guilt upon the woman he loved. Her sympathy increased when she saw how deeply he cared for Jubilee, allowing her to follow Bobby even though he hoped for otherwise.

Rubbing her temples gingerly, Xi'an wished for the millionth time she had not been able to access the contents of her friend's psyche. In the hours that followed, she tried to purge what she had gleamed. It felt completely odd to be partaking in what seemed to be regular activity for Sam. While the motivation for doing so was different, the desire to be free of the burden associated with those memories was a commonality.

_This is torture_, Xi'an mused, shaking her head as disbelief mingled with admiration when considering the Southern gentleman's position. _I can't imagine living like this. I don't know how you've managed all this time, Sam._

There was a part of her that understood his heartache. A couple of months ago, she had been in a similar position. When Kitty returned to the mansion, Xi'an was immediately taken back to their time in Chicago together. The months spent cultivating their friendship had given way to something more profound. In her fellow X-Man, she believed she had found her soul mate—someone who understood and accepted her completely. Unfortunately, her confession of undying love did not receive the reaction she had longed for. Although haunted by what could have been, Xi'an was able to move forward—something she hoped Sam would do in the future.

Finally, the former refugee rose to her feet and made her way to the door connecting her room to the main suite. Her friends' voices floated from the other side. While the content of their projections were innocuous compared to Sam's, Xi'an still felt awkward and guilty. The prospect of facing them following her discoveries was daunting. Yet, avoidance was not an option at this point. Gripping the doorknob tightly, she braced herself for what lay ahead.

When she entered the room, Amara was the first to greet her. "Good morning," she chirped warmly, appearing every bit the Roman aristocrat she was. Her honey-hued hair spilled down her bronze shoulders in loose waves, anchored by a single bobby pin. She wore a white, strapless cotton maxi dress which bloused at the waist, and gold, strappy sandals. "Did you sleep well?"

Xi'an nodded, watching her pour water into two glasses. When the Nova Roma native held one out to her, it was received gratefully. "Yes, I did," she replied, taking a sip. "How was the pool?"

"Crowded with trophy wives," Dani remarked, making a face. The young Cherokee's wiry frame was cradled in the deep, navy-and-white cushions of the English sofa. "I couldn't even get a lap in. Trust me, you did not miss anything."

Amara rolled her sea-blue eyes. "Ave, Dani, we were not there to swim," she pointed out as she and Xi'an joined their friend on the sofa. Having grown up with tropical temperatures, the lithe blonde was quite appreciative of the mild conditions afforded to her at this time. While she missed the mansion, she definitely did not care for the blustery nature of spring there.

"To catch rich husbands then?" Roberto wagged his brows rakishly. He was stretched out on the champagne cushions of the French gilded mahogany chaise lounge.

Dani tossed a gold throw pillow at him, nearly causing him to drop his iPad. She stifled a laugh when he gave her a warning look. Then she turned to Xi'an and asked quietly, "How are you doing?"

It was difficult for Xi'an not to flinch under the focused and worried eyes of her friends. She could discern their continued anxiety over her condition. Nodding slowly, she began to issue her reassurances. "I'm fine, really," she told them with a small smile. "While you three were out on your clandestine operation, Sam and I enjoyed a quiet and relaxing dinner. After a good night's sleep, I am feeling very refreshed. There really is no need to be concerned."

Upon hearing this, Dani, Amara, and Roberto looked relieved.

Xi'an took another sip of her water and peered around the room. "Where are the others?" she asked. When she noticed Sam's absence, her forehead wrinkled slightly as her features arranged themselves in a troubled frown. Having experienced his existence in that brief moment, she could only speculate what the Southern gentleman would be doing after another tortuous night of dreams.

Amara observed her friend's vexed state, misreading it as apprehension over an aspect of the mission. "Relax. Rogue and Gambit are picking up Logan from the airport. And Sam is probably still asleep."

"I don't know why he would be," Roberto said grumpily. "He wasn't the one who was in the ghetto last night, meeting up with some strange lady and risking his life. I was a real hero."

His friends exchanged amused glances while trying to bite back smiles. Granted, the Princess Bar was located in Lowtown. Amid the debauchery and squalor, the Princess Bar was an oasis of elegance and style. Reputedly modelled after the Madripoor salon of an eccentric, colonial-era socialite, the establishment was known for its over-the-top design featuring paintings, travel artefacts from across the globe, and objets d'art. Frightened by the surrounding area's dangerous reputation, tourists often avoided the Princess Bar after dark. However, for local residents from both Hightown and Lowtown, it was the local gathering place to eat and drink, be entertained, conduct illegal business dealings, and seek out illicit vices.

"Don't be so dramatic," Dani chided playfully, fingering the necklace Josh had given her before the mission. It was ring-linked, pink-beaded chain with colourful feathers and carved leaf charms, an early Mother's Day gift. "It wasn't that bad. Besides, when you get worked up about it, you hardly sound heroic."

Amara nodded in agreement, enjoying the good-natured ribbing. She had forgotten how much fun it was get under Roberto's skin. "And you needed protection."

He snorted as he finished reading an article about Russian commodities. "Some protection you two were. While I was talking to our source, you and Dani decide to order chocolate martinis and flirt with those cabaret musicians. Thanks a lot."

Xi'an smiled when her roommates rolled their eyes. "Well, you're alive so I suppose the meeting went well," she observed wryly. Then her tone became serious as she asked, "What exactly happened? Could someone get me up to speed?"

The trio took turns detailing the events of last night. Once the group arrived at the bar, Roberto sat alone at the bar as directed by the caller while Dani and Amara took a nearby booth with clear sight of him. Ten minutes later, he was joined by a tall, voluptuous woman with long, chestnut tresses that tumbled down to her waist. Despite the warm summer air, she wore a white, double-breasted trench coat and black stiletto boots. Her facial features were difficult to make out given the dim lighting and the oversized sunglasses covering she wore.

According to Roberto, she spoke with a British accent and initiated the conversation by asking questions about Patch. Based on the nature of her inquiries, the relationship had been a close one, spanning Logan's time on the island nation years ago. Roberto, who was not very close to the gruff loner, tried to answer as best he could but was forced to lie when she queried about a possible return to Madripoor. Although she seemed like an ally and confidante of Logan's, Roberto decided it was best to be cautious. After all, he hardly knew her.

Quickly, he steered the discussion to the reason behind their meeting. His request was met with an enigmatic smile followed by a hand to his thigh. While such a gesture would have normally been received with flirtatious banter, Roberto was determined to stay the course. The woman then took him into one of the bar's four semiprivate, themed alcoves. Dani and Amara managed to secure the adjacent alcove after convincing a group of German businessmen to give up their reservation. Despite losing visual on Roberto and the source, they were able to maintain audio surveillance through the use of the communication equipment all three wore.

Once settled, the woman leaned in and informed Roberto that Tyger had been compromised for some time as were members of her inner circle, including her bodyguards. The only person unaffected was a recent addition to the dictator's advisors, a young woman named Claudine Renko. It was rumoured that after striking a close friendship with Tyger, Ms. Renko was provided with access to the inner workings of government. She quickly moved up the ranks and soon became Tyger's closest confidant and counsellor. Over the next several weeks, the former banking executive turned crime lord became reclusive, choosing to only to speak through Ms. Renko who allegedly relayed the leader's directives to the rest of the advisors and the press. Access was granted through Ms. Renko alone, and it was rarely provided. No one had directly seen or heard from Tyger in quite some time. However, the source was doubtful that the head of state was dead.

Reaching into the pocket of her coat, she retrieved a flash drive and passed it to Roberto. The woman told him that every piece of intelligence she gathered was contained there, including photographs and biographies of major players, new schematics of the presidential palace, and internal memos. When the Brazilian queried her as to how she was able to obtain this information, she smiled again and kissed him before whispering, "A good PI never gives away her secrets."

After that, Roberto said he suddenly felt a wave of pleasure wash over him. The sensation had been so overwhelming that he could not tear himself away from his seat to follow the woman as she was leaving. He tried to vocalize other questions that had been racing through his brain during her briefing—"Why do you think I want this?", "How did you find me?", and "Why are you doing this?" However, he found himself completely enamoured with the feelings of ecstasy that he was rendered speechless.

Amara then disclosed she and Dani had attempted to confront the woman when she left Roberto in the alcove. As soon as she walked by their alcove, the young women were suddenly frozen to their seats. At that moment, they were suddenly seized by a heavy sense of terror. Dani remarked that she was baffled by this as there was no immediate threat to elicit such a response. Yet, the intensity of these feelings was enough to cause herself and Amara to remain in their chairs, allowing the source to slip into the crowds and make her exit.

Within moments of her disappearance, the three friends were able to shake off the strange haze that had descended upon them. Reflecting on their transient experience, all three were certain that no psychic manipulation was involved. What occurred was quite different from that as far as Dani could determine. Unfortunately, they were at a loss as to how their behaviour was manipulated. A search of the bar for the woman proved to be fruitless. Roberto then called his local driver to whisk them back to the hotel.

"I wish I had been there," Xi'an said when her friends finished their accounts. "Perhaps I could have helped…at least identified this mysterious woman. Maybe I knew her."

Dani was rolling up the sleeves of her blue-and-orange plaid shirt which she wore over a white, mesh camisole, dark flared jeans, and suede clogs. "Once we give Logan the rundown, I'm sure he'll come up with a list of probables," she said, shrugging. "On the upside, Rogue and Gambit checked out the contents and everything she told Roberto would be on it was."

Xi'an was about to ask about the authenticity of the documents when Sam entered the room. The tall, lean young man from Kentucky looked exhausted but tried to mask this by plastering on a smile across his handsome face. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans which he wore with a black-and-blue, rugby T-shirt underneath an olive green, long-sleeved shirt and maroon Chuck Taylors. His blond hair was rumpled, brushing against the collar of his shirt.

"Morning," Roberto greeted, raising his eyes from the Bloomberg feed on his iPad. When he gaze fell upon his haggard friend, the swarthy Brazilian shook his head. "Man, you look terrible."

Dani, Amara, and Xi'an glowered darkly at him.

"Are you alright, Sam?" Dani's onyx eyes roved over his stubble-ridden features with concern. She, too, had noticed the change in his personality. Along with Rahne and Xi'an, Sam was another person she managed to keep in contact with once they had left the school. Having been close during their formative years, it was disconcerting for her to see him so bogged down lately. There were times she had meant to approach him but was quickly embroiled by the Rahne-Josh situation. She made a mental note to approach him in private.

Sam nodded, fighting the urge to blush. The idea of lying to yet another person was something he was not ready to deal with in his current state. Yet, he had no choice in the matter. "Ah'm still jet-lagged." He tried to sound nonchalant.

Xi'an's amber eyes soaked the floor, feeling as if she were a co-conspirator in the deception.

Amara motioned for him to join them in the sitting area. "We were just talking about Roberto's meeting last night and how brave he was," she said, smiling as Sam seated himself in a royal blue armchair.

"Hey, I can be heroic," Roberto protested indignantly.

Dani smirked. "What about the time we drove by that car accident and you pretended to be blind when we were talking to the police?" she asked.

Roberto rolled his onyx eyes, clearly irked. "You know we were running late for that movie," he huffed. "I didn't want to miss the previews. Honestly, why must you bring that up?"

Dani and Amara giggled hysterically. This further intensified when Roberto shot them a nasty look. Then he proceeded to bemoan his status as the group's whipping boy.

The former coal miner yearned to join in on the light-hearted repartee and laughter. Never did he feel more like an outside than he did at this moment. Here, he was with his closest friends, and rather than enjoying their time together, Sam wanted to hide. Knowing that he was responsible for their concern increased his guilt. Dodging the sympathetic gazes, deflecting questions, and lying—these were things that had become integrated in his everyday existence.

Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed that Xi'an was the only one not laughing or smiling. In fact, she was studying him, a shadow of sadness falling across her face. Her brown eyes seemed to be filled with could only be construed as pity. It was then that he froze as he was forced to make a devastating conclusion.

_She knows_.

Sam's mouth suddenly became parched as his stomach lurched. A plethora of questions flooded his brain. How did she find out? Did he do something to give himself away? What was her opinion of him now? Did she see him as contemptible, pathetic, or both? Would their friendship change based on what she knew? Given his embarrassment and shame, how would he ever summon the dignity to work alongside her for the remainder of the mission?

The answers to most of these were elusive. However, he was utterly certain of one thing: Xi'an would never invade violate anyone's trust by invading their privacy. It was a principle she strongly adhered in the wake of her own traumatic history. In all the years they had known one another, she had never used her abilities against any of her friends. Instead, Xi'an preferred to capitalize on her communication skills, which were refined by her empathy, maturity and life experiences.

Despite this knowledge, Sam was still unnerved. He thought it was bad enough that Paige discovered his secret. She had gazed upon him the same way Xi'an was at that moment. While the younger Guthrie refrained from passing judgment about the matter, her efforts to provide him support (notably, repeatedly broaching the subject of his feelings and suggesting that he ask out other women) exacerbated his mortification. When Sam departed for Madripoor, he was hoping to leave that behind. At least while on assignment, the ignorance of the others regarding his struggle would be one less thing weighing him down. But as he deciphered Xi'an's thoughtful gaze, the Southern gentleman resigned himself to this predicament once again.

Meeting his friend's eyes, Sam nodded glumly. It was as if he were serving Xi'an with confirmation. As far as he was concerned, there was no point in deceiving her. Now, he was left to dread her response to the discovery of his secret.

Xi'an bit her lower lip ruefully. _I'm sorry_. Her telepathic voice was echoing inside his mind as a faint pink glow surrounded her head. _I…I didn't mean to, I swear. You must believe that._

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Sam nodded again.

His friend continued. _That night—just before I collapsed, I was assailed with other people's thoughts. The static I was telling you about…that was it. I could hear everyone at that moment, including you._

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky sheepishly cast his gaze away from her. It was obvious how contrite Xi'an was. He did believe her when she told him that she did not intentionally pry inside his head for this information. Although he was relieved to learn of her continued integrity, it did nothing to lessen his sense of embarrassment and shame.

_Don't worry_, she quickly told him, _I'm not going to say anything to anyone else. You don't have to be anxious about me passing judgment on you about your feelings. I think you know why that would be_.

Sam frowned quizzically at her. At first, he was unsure as to what she might be referring to. Then a series of images flashed before his mind as Xi'an gently guided him through the narrative. He saw his friend with her younger siblings and Kitty Pryde. The four of them were laughing as they traipsed through the University of Chicago campus during _Summer Breeze_. What struck him was the pure and unadulterated joy in Xi'an's face as she walked alongside Kitty, Leong and Nga following closely behind them.

When the projection faded from his consciousness, Sam peered over at Xi'an. She nodded and gave him a small, sad smile. He found himself returning the gesture.

The others, who had been oblivious to this exchange, were discussing the events of surrounding the mysterious ally when the main door to the suite opened. A morose-looking Gambit was the first to enter, his sculpted lips forming a thin, taut line. He was followed by Rogue, whose eyes were red-rimmed and slightly puffy nose contrasted against her alabaster skin. Closing the door firmly was Logan. The laconic Canadian appeared preoccupied, his normally stony expression replaced by one that reflected a rare vulnerability.

Perplexed by this scene, the former New Mutants became alarmed. By no means were the three experienced veterans immune to human emotion. But it was Logan's reputation for being completely Stoic or embroiled in the throes of feral anger that made what they were witnessing incongruous. This version of the wizened warrior seemed lost, devastated and unfocused—a complete foil to the man they knew. Whatever was affecting the trio had to be quite grave, indeed.

Dani was the first to speak up. "What happened?" the young Cherokee inquired, nervously fiddling with one of her braids. Already, she was bracing herself for the worst. Her thoughts immediately went to the school and the students, particularly Josh. "What's wrong?"

Rogue fished a tissue from the pocket of her black, drawstring Capri pants, which she paired with a form-fitting, black jacket with ruching. The Southern Belle blew her nose, fighting back the tears desperate to flow down her cheeks. "The school was attacked last night," she explained, eliciting gasps and horrified looks from the younger team mates. "Folks back home are tryin' ta figure out who's behind it all."

She swallowed hard before continuing. In an effort to assuage the fears of her audience, particularly Sam, Dani, and Xi'an, she said, "All of the kids are alright. Colossus got 'em inta the tunnels before anythin' else could happen."

Relief washed over the three upon learning that the children in their lives were safe. This reprieve was temporary as they prepared themselves for the news to come. Rogue's shaking shoulders signalled something grim on the horizon.

When it was clear the Southern Belle was encountering difficulty composing herself, Gambit placed a comforting arm around her. It was then that Logan decided to step in. Summoning some inner reserve of strength, he found his voice and began to describe the events of that night. Logan was finding that by focusing on the facts of what happened helped him, he was not hurting as much. In a flat and wooden voice, the gruff loner told of the mysterious soldiers invading the property, shooting off tranquilizer darts and rendering those hit helpless. He detailed the investigation he and Jubilee had conducted in search other men while making their way to the observation tower.

His resolve to remain emotionless for the sake of the briefing began to crumble as he edged closer to the tragic conclusion. Logan was unwillingly taken back to that moment, when he, Scott, and Jubilee stood in front of the house as Jean was being taken away by the soldiers in the helicopter. Again, he could see stunningly beautiful smile while one of those bastards pointed a gun against her head before they were engulfed in flames. It was a sight that continued to haunt him, forcing him to confront his ineptitude and impotence. To Logan, he was just as culpable as those soldiers were in Jean's death.

When he finished, Logan turned towards the bay window at the other end of the room. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides. The urge to scream or knock something over to the ground was overwhelming. Somehow, he managed to maintain his mask of composure.

"_Incroyable,"_ Remy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. The Cajun thief was still reeling from the devastating news that Jean Grey was gone. He pulled Rogue closer to him, stroking her hair gently as she began to sob.

Stunned silence blanketed the room. The younger members of the team sat back in their seats, bewildered in the face of what had just been shared with them. It was not as if death was a foreign opponent to them. Over the years, they had experienced their share of tragic losses, individually and as a group. Although none of them had been especially close to the Titian-haired telepath, her gracious and kind spirit had made a positive impression. Until recently, she had been a prominent fixture at the school, balancing her duties with her obligations as a field team member and the Professor's emissary. In short, Jean represented a shining example of what training under Xavier could accomplish.

The laconic Canadian shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans, grunting. An overnight flight from JFK combined with fatigue and grief were proving to be taxing on his already frayed nerves. Even though he understood his obligations to Rogue and this assignment, Logan was desperate not to be here. In retrospect, he should have made more of an effort to fight Cyclops on this one. As far as he was concerned, he should have been back at Westchester. His expertise in covert operations and familiarity with various military organizations would have been ideal in conducting the investigation. Granted, those assets were needed in Madripoor as well, given that he was the only member of the team who had intimate knowledge of the workings of the tiny island nation. But for this assignment, Logan did not have much emotional investment to achieve the objective. Had he been allowed to remain in Westchester, his rage and need to exact vengeance would have provided a singular focus to smoke out those sons of bitches and unleash hell.

Also troubling Logan was the fact that he would not be able to properly pay his respects. Preparations for Jean's funeral were already taking shape as he was leaving for his assignment. While the normally brusque Logan had become accustomed to grieving privately, there was a part of him that felt remorseful for being absent. This was not based on any desire to seek solace from others who were mourning for the telepath. Rather, as he told Ororo on the phone while he was waiting in the airline lounge, Logan felt as if he were dishonouring Jean's memory and their friendship by not attending the services. Despite the weather goddess's protestations to the contrary, he continued to be hounded by regret and a desire to replace his final memory of saying good-bye with one that was more serene and dignified.

Finally, his reticence to depart was also complicated by Jubilee. He hated leaving her behind again, especially given the circumstances. Her sad, old-soul blue eyes haunted him, leaving him as heartbroken as she was. By not being available to her when she needed him the most made the gruff loner feel as if he failed yet again, repeating a pattern from their past he had vowed to break. Granted, the current circumstances were quite different and she understood that. But that did little to diffuse the intensity of his remorse. His chest felt heavy with guilt, recalling her arms around his neck and the smell of bubblegum and cinnamon as she bid him good-bye at the airport.

For a moment, he entertained the idea of bringing her along. Westchester was currently a place tied to pain and despair. She would not only be haunted by the memories of Jean but also forced with the additional burden of facing Drake. It was expected that the young man would return to the mansion given his long-standing friendship with Jean. Logan knew Jubilee was very much aware of this reality. Even though she tried to immerse herself in her current responsibilities (counselling the students, providing logistical support in the investigation, and helping Lorna and Ororo plan the funeral), there were cracks in her brave façade when hearing her former boyfriend's name. The restless quality in her movements, the lost and panicked expression that marred her lovely face, and the screams and sobs of frustration that were released when she believed no one could hear were all indicators of the hurt Drake had inflicted. While Scott was in complete agreement of the younger man's culpability and shared in the experience of anger towards him, Logan did not trust him to handle the situation in the firecracker's best interests. What Drake had done was cruel and unforgivable, which required a response that went beyond Scott's standard lectures—promises or no promises.

But in the end, he left her behind.

Abruptly, Logan turned around and began to head for the door.

Rogue's emerald eyes widened incredulously as he brushed past her and Gambit. "Hey," she said in her Mississippi drawl, "where ya runnin' ta?"

Logan bristled when he reached the door. "I gotta get some air," he answered flatly, refusing to meet her gaze. "I can't think in here."

The Southern Belle's mouth gaped open in disbelief while her brain attempted to reconcile what was transpiring. While she empathized with Logan and those who were mourning (she, too, was deeply affected by Jean's death), the luxury of processing the emotional devastation was not a luxury the team could afford now. There was still the matter of the assignment to contend with. Although Roberto was able to obtain crucial information last night, there were still many unknown variables at play. These uncertainties made her feel as if she were operating blindly in spite of the hours spent in preparation. It was a feeling she truly disliked.

With Logan's arrival, she was counting on him to guide her and the rest of the team. Having spent several years living in Madripoor, the laconic Canadian had intimate knowledge of the land and its people—an asset she and the others did not have despite hours of pouring over documents and photographs. When Logan announced that he was not interested in delving into the task immediately, Rogue perceived this to be not only unproductive but also insulting.

"Ya can't go now," she told him quietly, drawing away from Gambit who looked instantly alarmed. Normally, her response would have been characterized by anger and indignation. However, given the nature of the events preceding his desire to leave and her own emotional investment in grieving, the Southern Belle was struggling to expend the energy to talk. Following Logan to the door, Rogue shook her head and placed her hand over the knob. "We have work ta do."

He arched a stony brow at her, clearly displeased as to where this was going. Had this been One-Eyed or Worthington pulling this nonsense, there would have been a torrent of choice words to follow. Given that he was dealing with a close friend and the emotionally draining nature of the circumstances, Logan willed himself to be disciplined. They were all feeling stressed. The last thing needed was an internal meltdown.

Leaning in close, he said quietly, "I need to clear my head."

She cringed. The last time Logan said that was several years ago after Jubilee was kidnapped and tortured by Bastion. Blaming himself for what happened, the Wolverine stayed away from Westchester for two years. Following what happened to Jean, who was to say that the same thing would not happen again? The anguish simmering beneath his veneer of calm indicated he viewed himself as culpable. "Ah can't have ya runnin' off," she insisted, shaking her head and wishing she could articulate something beyond that. At the moment, Rogue, too, was hurting.

"Ah'll go with him," Sam volunteered, rising from his seat. He rubbed a calloused hand over his stubble-ridden face, his long, lean legs carrying him from the sitting area to where Logan and Rogue were facing off. After the revelations regarding Xi'an's discovery, the Southern gentleman was empathizing with the older man's need to escape from the hotel for a while. "Ah can give him a rundown of what's been goin' on while we pick up some food. Sound good, Logan?"

Logan was both surprised and irritated with the proposition. He had been looking forward to some reflection in solitude. The gruff loner soon realized that without the younger man accompanying him, the likelihood of leaving the hotel was almost nil. After a few seconds, he found himself nodding stiffly in agreement.

Rogue peered over at Sam and then at Logan. She was not in the mood for an altercation either. If the Southern gentleman was offering her an out, then she was going to take it. The two men had built up a reasonably good working relationship, with the eldest Guthrie being one of the few earning the laconic man's respect. Should Logan attempt to flee, Sam could be trusted to reason with him. However, she was still irritated. "Fine," she relented, backing away from the door and making her way to where Gambit stood. "Ya got an hour and then it's back here. Understood?"

At Logan's suggestion, they went into the centre of the capital for _xiao long bao_, traditional soup dumplings. The former Madripoor resident steered them into a Taiwanese restaurant located in a somewhat drab area of Hightown. Seated a long counter, the two men watched the dumplings being made by hand by a tiny woman with silvery hair and a smattering of freckles across her perpetually smiling face. Then she covered the delicately wrapped pork filled dumplings in a shot of flavourful broth.

Sam provided Logan with a cursory briefing of the events since the team's arrival. Scooping off the top of the soup to release some steam, the Southern gentleman touched upon the mysterious call Roberto received. When he told the older man that the contact referred to his seldom-used alias of Patch, Logan appeared surprised. There was only one living person who called him by that name. Adding some bracing vinegar sauce to his soup, he suddenly became nostalgic as memories associated with that individual flooded his mind. He had forgotten how much fun _she_ had been. The laconic Canadian made a mental note to confer with Roberto to confirm his suspicions.

The conversation then turned to the telepathic attack Xi'an experienced. Sam highlighted the severity and used his friend's words to describe the type of feedback she had experienced. When he heard about the unusual intensity of the psychic assault, Logan was reminded of his conversation with Ororo, who had told him about something similar happening to Emma and Sage when they were in Cairo. Their reactions had been nearly identical to that of Karma. After Sam informed him of the timing, the likelihood of what transpired being a coincidence was looking quite unlikely.

Logan swallowed hard, placing his bowl and chopsticks down. The gold flecks in his green eyes glittered. He thought about the graceful redhead and her last moments. What did this all mean? Was this her way of reaching out before dying? Why would she unleash a telepathic attack upon everyone else? Everything about what transpired that night was still a damn mystery.

Sam's Kentucky drawl broke through his musings. "Ah guess we should head back ta the hotel," he said, peering down at his olive, flight chronograph watch. "When Rogue says one hour, she means it." He tried smile but could only manage a grimace instead.

Logan pulled out his wallet and peered inside. He grunted when he realized that in the frenzy of the past several hours, getting proper currency had slipped his mind. "Think you can spot me, Hayseed?"

The former coal miner nodded. "Sure thing," he replied, reaching into his back pocket. With the cheque sitting in front of him, Sam fumbled through the bills to retrieve the appropriate amount. Then he tossed the money onto the counter before nodding at the smiling cook. "OK. Let's head out."

"Wait," Logan said, fingering through the cash before pulling out a strip of paper measuring 40 mm wide by 205 mm long. "You forgot this."

Sam felt his heart stop when his gaze travelled to the item in Logan's hand.

He was holding the photographs of Sam and Jubilee from their New York trip.

If there was ever a moment when the Southern gentleman wanted to be swallowed up by the earth, it was now. Inwardly, he cursed his luck. Of all times to be careless, why did it have to be now and with Logan? The man was like a father to Jubilee and fiercely protective of her. Sam had first-hand experience of the Wolverine's paternal instincts after giving Jubilee a brief hug several Christmases ago. This seemingly innocuous act elicited a brief flash of adamantium—a sight that haunted the eldest Guthrie's dreams during the holidays.

Meanwhile, Logan studied at the pictures thoughtfully. When he last saw Jubilee, she had been so despondent and forlorn. It was an image that had been imprinted into his brain since that night. Seeing her radiant smile and sparkling eyes again reminded him of what she had been before Drake decided to crush her heart. Sadness mingled with anger as he tried to remember this happier version of her.

After what seemed to be eons of silence, the wizened warrior spoke up. "She looks happy with you," he remarked, handing the pictures to the Southern gentleman.

Sam's cheeks burned as he silently accepted the photographs. He quickly slipped them back inside his wallet. "Ah…" he began but found himself floundering helplessly for words. Rational thought escaped him, much to his dismay.

For Logan, observing the Southern gentleman's flustered state revealed a wealth of information. He was immediately taken back to a conversation he had with Jubilee several months ago. When Logan voiced his opinion about the younger man's feelings, she raised her doubts regarding his hunch. To her, the idea was completely implausible. Sam was like an older brother, who would forever see her as that thirteen-year-old girl. He would never perceive Jubilee any other way. For a moment, Logan was almost convinced by the arguments she put forward.

Until now.

Sitting next to the younger man, the Wolverine could pick up on a variety of physical indicators to bolster his argument. The sound of Sam's racing heartbeat thudded in Logan's ears. He could see the sweat beading at his brow. The nervous movements—rubbing the lower half of his face, refusal to meet his eyes, and raking his hands through his straw-coloured hair—seemed to be responses of a guilty man who struggled to conceal deeply conflicting and overwhelming feelings.

It was a battle Logan had once known.

It was strange to be the observer rather than the being the cursed individual. Before Ororo, he had spent his existence pining for a woman who had chosen to be with "a good guy". Every moment of his life was spent vacillating between enduring the pain of being close to her and the realization that she would never be his. The part of him that was bound by honour refrained from acting out, which completely frustrated the more passionate aspect of his personality. It was an existence that bordered on madness.

Glancing over at Sam Guthrie once again, Logan was taken aback as to how their situations mirrored one another. The Southern gentleman seemed intent to adhere to a noble path, preferring to subsume his yearning in favour of her happiness. It was probably this principle that factored into the eldest Guthrie's decision to take this assignment. He would rather be plunged into his own hell than be responsible causing her any undue pain.

Given what Logan already knew of the young man, his choice was hardly surprising. Although the Southern gentleman was younger than Drake, he seemed wise beyond his years in comparison. In fact, Sam seemed to be the complete foil to Drake—mature, "salt-of-the-earth", honest, and well-mannered. Where the latter was invested his energies in pulling pranks and making silly jokes, the former maintained the values of civility, hard work, and a strong commitment to his family, friends, and beliefs. Logan supposed the differences in personalities could be attributable to the men's circumstances in life. Bobby was the only child from a suburban upper middle class family while Sam was the oldest of ten from a southern, rural background. The former coal miner's humbling beginnings probably developed a deeper and more profound appreciation of the opportunities afforded to him. It was evident in the manner in which he treated his responsibilities and those around him.

Without thinking, the Wolverine muttered, "Seems like Ishe's/I been with the wrong person all this time."

The young man from Kentucky had been preparing himself for a stern lecture, a flash of adamantium, or both options when he heard Logan's declaration. He frowned at him, puzzled. "What do ya mean?"

The older man realized his faux pas and grimaced. First, there was his slip with Cyclops and now this. It was fortunate that he was not tasked with espionage activities at this moment. He would have surely been compromised. Rather than dwell on what precipitated these uncharacteristic lapses, Logan considered how to best approach the situation.

Finally, he decided his course. "Let's just say that next time; Jubes won't make the mistake of gettin' involved with a guy who thinks Hawaiian shirts are part of the uniform."

Sam's pale eyes became round as saucers. He heard the words "next time" and "mistake", and felt as if time were standing still. From the way the gruff loner was speaking, it sounded as if… No, it couldn't be true…could it? His stomach fluttered nervously as his mind raced with the implications of the statements being made. After over a year of living a life based on hypothetical scenarios and wishes, Sam needed certainty.

A minute of silence passed before he summoned the words. "What are ya sayin', Logan?" he asked hoarsely.

"She ain't with Drake anymore," the older man told him matter-of-factly, peering into the younger man's face. "It's over."


	61. Chapter Sixty One: Misunderstood

Sorry for the delay in posting. Work has been horribly stressful and nuts. This is the first chance I've had to put this out.

There's another version of this chapter. If you want to read it, let me know.

Big time thanks to Jo the Phoenix for her beta-ing and support.

The characters are Marvel's but the story is my creation.

**Chapter Sixty-One: Misunderstood (****Non-explicit)**

Warren Worthington's custom-built, silver Land Rover eased onto the exit for Salem Centre. In addition to accommodating the span of his wings, this model was environmentally friendly and fuel-efficient, achieving a projected fifty miles per gallon from a hybrid system configured with a 2.0-liter turbodiesel four-cylinder engine which ran on biodiesel. Per Warren's request, the LRX electric rear-axle drive used electricity to power the rear wheels at low speeds, running on electricity alone at less than twenty miles per hour. This helped to gain traction on slippery surfaces, which made it functionally an all-wheel-drive vehicle.

Behind the wheel, the blond Adonis sombrely focused his blue eyes on the winding road ahead. Many times he had made this journey, especially when he was commuting between his offices in midtown Manhattan to the school. It was a journey he often regarded with fondness.

This trip, however, was marred by a sense of loss that seemed to drape over the entire vehicle.

Although he now divided his time between his penthouse apartment and the mansion, the latter owned a special place in Warren's heart. There, acceptance was the norm because of shared experiences not due to his position of power. This commonality among all who resided there fostered an environment that was reminiscent of a family rather than a collection of individuals bound by a struggle against society's misperceptions. At Xavier's, he discovered a purpose beyond his own existence which allowed him to develop from the stereotypical spoiled rich kid to a man with depth and insight into his responsibilities.

It was this maturity that allowed him to cultivate lasting friendships. Unlike his romantic involvements, his peer relationships were, for the most part, uncomplicated by his traumatic past. Although the bouts of brooding and moodiness exasperated his friends, their understanding of what fuelled this behaviour was different than that of the women he dated. Betsy and later, Paige perceived his wariness of being completely forthright as detrimental, attributing the emotional distance he imposed not only to his experience as Death but also to a general wariness of giving up his single life. This was ultimately followed by pleas to dismantle these metaphorical walls in order to build a healthier and more functional relationship.

Meanwhile, his aloof presentation was evaluated less negatively among his friends. They him tended to see his actions as misguided attempts to shield them from the darkness he harboured. Those closest to him had witnessed first-hand his horrific transformation and the emotional damage it caused. Even though he no longer bore the physical remnants of this experience, they understood that fundamental changes had taken place and that these alterations would forever haunt him. While Hank, Bobby, and Kurt took it upon themselves to remind Warren of his humanity by introducing levity into their interactions, it was the efforts of someone else that truly affected him.

Jean Grey.

The statuesque redhead had been his first love. Unfortunately, the feelings were not mutual. Despite Warren's initial disappointment over this rejection, he accepted the remaining option of friendship. With intimacy removed from the equation, he quickly discovered the nuances of a platonic relationship with a woman. There was little need to impress with demonstrations of his masculinity and refinement. In a way, Warren found the dynamics between himself and Jean much more comfortable. The rapport with her allowed him to feel comfortable without every word being subjected to some sort of analysis.

Following his metamorphosis, it was Jean who persisted in helping him reject the darkness that threatened to consume him. She patiently sorted through the denial, fear, rage, and self-pity to guide him to acceptance. When Warren would deride her efforts and lash out, the graceful redhead did not break down or flee. Instead, she remained calm and insisted the only thing she truly wanted was for her good friend to return. The altruistic nature of her intentions had finally shattered the barrier he had constructed. For that, Warren was eternally grateful to Jean.

Now she was gone.

The CEO of Worthington Industries blinked back tears, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead. The conference call he and Hank had with Logan had been a surreal one. There were points in the conversation when they questioned the validity of what was being relayed. Surely, it could not be true. Yet, the bereaved quality of Logan's normally Stoic voice was undeniable. It was what compelled them to quickly cancel their speaking engagements in order to travel back to Westchester.

As they made their way out of the city, the two friends tried to reconcile the reality of the loss. Due to her recent health problems and their own hectic schedules, they had seen less of the telepath. During the few instances when the three friends managed to run into each other, Jean was always ready with a gracious smile and warm words. The last time Warren saw her was several days prior to his trip to New York with Hank. She looked exhausted and preoccupied, but insisted that her condition was transient. The blond playboy, distracted by thoughts of his upcoming keynote speech, did not concern himself any further. Instead, Warren made what he later construed as a blithe comment about making more of an effort to get together before departing her company to pack.

Braking at a traffic light, he frowned bitterly. Warren hated the fact that his last recollection of his dearest friend involved him acting so unconcerned for her well-being. Even though he knew his intentions were not as such, it was difficult for him not to feel remorseful over their final exchange. It seemed insulting to Jean's memory, especially after everything they had been through. Looking back, Warren wished he handled things differently. He yearned for another opportunity to meaningfully connect with her and to let her know what kind of influence she had on his life.

But it was too late.

His blue eyes glanced over at Hank, who was sitting in the passenger's side seat. Golden beams from the setting sun bathed his blue fur in a soft light, contrasting against the gloomy expression he wore. Usually one to engage in conversation, Hank was uncharacteristically quiet as he stared listlessly out the window. In short, the man seated next to Warren was the complete foil to the Hank McCoy that he knew.

Although he had experienced his share of disappointments and losses over the years, it was quite evident that Jean's death hit Hank hard. The two had been quite close. In addition to sharing similar personality traits (loyalty, patience, understanding, and warmth), they had common hobbies and interests. Jean was one of the few around the mansion who appreciated Hank's quoting of literary classics. Every summer, they would make an excursion to Manhattan for the Museum Mile Festival, when all nine museums opened their doors for a few hours, free of charge to any and all. After his break-up with Trish Tilby, Hank was left with a pair of concert tickets for the National Symphony Orchestra in Washington, DC. Rather than allow him to sell them, Jean volunteered to accompany her friend for a night of Mahler.

When the redhead was asked to relinquish some of her responsibilities, Hank volunteered his services along with Emma. However, his approach differed from that adopted by the White Queen. Warren knew the Ivy League-trained biochemist and geneticist sought Jean's counsel and worked hard to keep her involved. It seemed to be the other man's way of keeping their friend's spirits up in the face of her health concerns. Their collaborative efforts also served to rekindle the tight-knit nature of their friendship—something Hank had missed while he had been with the Avengers.

Given all of this, it was no surprise that Hank was reeling in shock and disbelief over the news. When they were driving to Long Island, he told Warren that it was inconceivable to think that they would never see Jean again. His voice seemed to crack when he discussed the most recent conversation he had with her. Plans had been made to discuss Emma's proposed changes to the curriculum. While he did not share his colleague's opinion of the icy blonde (he and Emma happened to be good friends as well), Hank had been willing to hear opposing arguments—provided that he not be caught in the middle. It had been a position he often found himself in, much like Scott. Reflecting on this last exchange, Hank confessed to Warren he felt badly about where things had been left and the triviality of it all. It was a sentiment they sadly shared now.

It had been Hank's idea to notify Bobby. Out of the original five, it was the young man who had been the closest to Jean. Similar to her relationship with Hank, the dynamics between the graceful redhead and Bobby was devoid of any romantic leanings. Instead, it was reminiscent of a sibling dynamic, where she often played the role of doting older sister. She was always the first to defend him whenever Scott or Logan would become irritated with Bobby's antics as well as the first to approach him whenever it was evident he felt uncertain about his place on the team. When Bobby began dating Jubilee, Jean took on the role of staunch ally once again. She had been the one to placate her husband and Logan in order to ease their wariness about the young couple.

In light of this, Hank was convinced that Bobby would immediately join them in the journey to the school. When the large, feline-like man relayed his intentions to Logan during the conference call, Warren was somewhat surprised by the reception. While Logan and Bobby were by no means bosom buddies, one would have thought the two men would have overcome their differences in order to come to some form of an understanding. Yet, Warren and Hank were taken aback when the gruff loner made a comment about Bobby being better off to grieve alone. When Hank asked for clarification, Logan remained vague. Before hanging up, he told them that Bobby should be careful about returning to the school.

Initially, the cryptic messages had been attributed to grief. After all, this was a man who had feelings for Jean spanning several years. Her death and the fact that he had been present when it occurred were probably emotionally damaging to a man who seemed to bear endless psychological scars. The shocking circumstances surrounding her demise was yet another factor to consider. In Hank's opinion, it was probable that Logan was simply taking out his frustrations out on available targets.

Warren found himself agreeing to this conclusion at first. The reaction was not completely out of the realm of possibilities. In fact, it seemed to be completely in line with Logan's character. Having had his share of altercations with the dark loner, Warren was well aware of the other man's propensity to lash out at the world. Despite the strides made with Jean and Xavier's assistance, it was clear that the man continued to be hounded by demons from his past.

However, the blond playboy became less convinced after arriving at the Drake home.

After delivering the devastating news, he and Hank had watched as familiar feelings of shock wash over their young friend. The image of Bobby holding onto the mantle for support while his face drained of colour was indelible. A heavy silence sank upon all three of them as they tried to come to terms over the loss. It was a moment that would be permanently etched into their consciousnesses.

Following what seemed like eons, the winged Adonis had been the first to speak. While he shared his friends' need to grieve, he had been mindful of his promise to return to the mansion as soon as possible. Logan had made it clear that available resources were stretched thin between the investigation and planning Jean's funeral. Warren had brought this up, emphasizing the imperative nature of their journey to Westchester. A bereaved Hank had agreed, noting the multitude of things to be taken care of.

Part of Warren had expected Bobby to acquiesce immediately given his relationship with Jean and his loyalty to the school. It would not have been unheard of for him to race to the car without packing his bags. But given the circumstances of his recent sojourn to Long Island, Bobby's response would be tempered out of consideration for his parents. Based on his haggard appearance and subdued presentation, it had been evident that his family situation was taking its toll. For a moment, Warren had considered withdrawing his request for Bobby to join them.

Before he could even broach the subject, the young man took a long, hard look at the staircase and sighed. His expression had been a mixture of ambivalence and despondency. Then in a strangely flat voice, he told his friends that he would be accompanying them back to the school. Stunned, Hank had inquired if his mother would be able to endure by herself. Grey eyes dull, Bobby had replied that his father had made some miraculous progress and that his assistance would no longer be required.

The response had struck both men as bizarre. While one could characterize the relationship between the Drake men as strained at best, any change in the originally grim prognosis should have elicited a positive reaction. Instead, Bobby seemed to regard the news impassively.

Warren's early impressions of his friend's seemingly shell-shocked presentation focused the multiple stressors impinging upon Bobby at that moment. The sudden onset of the elder Drake's stroke and the severity of the consequences probably left Bobby reeling on a continual basis. Acting as caregiver to his father and to some extent, his mother, could not have been easy for him, either. To top all of that off, learning that one of his best friends had suddenly died must have brought him to the brink.

However, this theory failed to account for the apprehension that flashed across the younger man's face when Hank brought up Jubilee. Specifically, it was his comment about how the young firecracker would be pleased to see him again. Bobby's body language seemed to reflect a desire to flee—grimacing, shifting his weight from foot to foot, refusing to meet his friends' concerned gazes, and crossing his arms over his chest. It was a stark contrast to the cheery and almost dreamy smiles provoked by the mere mention of her name.

The tall, blond, winged CEO had been perplexed. He would have thought that being reunited with Jubilee would have been a bright spot for Bobby. After all, this was the man who recently confided to his good friends that he had never been happier. Instead, it seemed the very idea of seeing her again roused a palpable sense of anxiety in Bobby.

A series of questions had been perched on the tip of his tongue but Warren found himself stymied when his friend abruptly took his leave. Reeling from his observations, the blond playboy decided to consult with Hank. The larger man had appeared equally confused and troubled. Shaking his head glumly, his cat-like features had arranged themselves into a tense expression. Clearly, Hank was struggling to reconcile this version of Bobby with the prankster who shared his love of strawberry pancakes.

Over the years, Warren had become adept at deciphering other people's nonverbal cues. It was a skill he developed under Xavier's tutelage. Not only was it a tactical asset for field assignments, but it proved to be an excellent tool in the negotiating room as well. Of all his team mates, Hank McCoy was an easy read. Despite the drastic alterations to his physical appearance, the mansion's resident genius sometimes struggled to maintain a mask of indifference in certain situations. This was particularly true when he was forced to lie, which made him a notoriously lousy poker player and a rarely used operative during missions. It also undermined his ability to keep a secret. For the most part, Hank was dependable to be discreet but there were the odd moments when he came close to or actually divulged some piece of information. At times, he pleaded to the confiding party to allow him to enjoy his ignorance.

It had been Hank's refusal to meet Warren's curious gaze that eluded something was amiss. The larger man then made his way to the mantle, turning his back to the blond playboy. Subjecting the other man's behaviour to further scrutiny, Warren was convinced that Hank was privy to Bobby's state of mind. Whatever precipitated the younger man's unusual response, it had to be serious.

Warren remembered approaching Hank to demand what was going on. It was concern rather than curiosity that drove his line of questioning. At first, Hank had attempted to remain evasive—possibly out of loyalty to Bobby. He had feigned obliviousness, denying Warren's assertions that their friend's had acted strangely. Undeterred, Warren had been persistent. He refused to believe what had transpired was of little consequence.

After what seemed like eons of cajoling and prodding, Hank had looked at his winged companion wearily. Whatever information he had been tasked with concealing, it was heavily upon his bulky shoulders. He was desperate for an out of some sort. Yet, it was clear that he had made an oath to keep the information confidential. Unfortunately, Hank was a man divided. While he wanted to confide in Warren, Hank told the blond Adonis that he could not. His feline-like features had arranged themselves into a beleaguered expression as he insisted that he was bound by a promise that went beyond his friendship with Bobby. What he could say was that Bobby needed their support and understanding more than ever.

Hank's vague statements served to exacerbate Warren's sense of confusion and heightened his worry over their friend. As much as he had wanted to obtain clarification, Hank's determination to keep Bobby's confidence was resolute—much to Warren's dismay. Admitting defeat was not something the CEO of Worthington Industries was accustomed to. However, in this case, he had very few options. It was important for Hank to keep his word. Furthermore, given the present circumstances, to hound him anymore would have been insensitive. The poor man was going through enough already without Warren interrogating him.

The remainder of their time at the Drake home became a blur. Upon further reflection, Warren realized much of this was out of Bobby's design. He remembered that once the younger man made his way down the stairs and into the living room to join his friends, he had seemed anxious to start the journey. This behaviour had intensified when his mother appeared. After exchanging greetings with the Drake matriarch, Warren and Hank had found themselves being ushered out the door by her son. Puzzled, they attempted to resist Bobby's efforts but were foiled. Hank had been especially disappointed since this meant there would be no care basket of treats to take on the road.

As the trio offered their hurried farewells, Warren had noticed a pained expression falling across Maddy's genteel countenance when she looked at her son. Her reputation as an overly doting mother aside, there was something very different about this good-bye. It was not driven by the usual factors—wariness to allow her child to leave the family home once again and apprehension over his safety. Nor was it the case that her husband's condition played a role. Rather, it had appeared as if she was aware of the darkness looming her child.

For his part, Bobby had been uncomfortable. Under his mother's worried stare, he had flinched and refused to make eye contact. Then he mumbled that Maddy should call him should she need anything. She had nodded stiffly in response, her cornflower blue eyes brimming with sadness. When she had reached out to wrap her arms around him, Bobby jumped out of her reach before taking her hand, pressing it against his mouth, and climbing into backseat of the Land Rover.

Disturbed by what he had witnessed, Warren had immediately quizzed Bobby as soon as they pulled out from the driveway. He had been careful to heed Hank's words of offering support. However, this had been tempered by his growing sense of anxiety. It was clear that something serious was eating away at him—something that did not pertain to his convalescent father, concerns regarding the strain upon his mother, or the grief of losing the woman he viewed as a sister. This insidious secret had compelled him to hold those closest to him at arm's length, ravaged his youthful looks, and forced him to take on a persona that was strangely…cold.

Bobby had frowned. Behind his purple-tinted sunglasses, he met Warren's concerned gaze in the rear view mirror. In an uncharacteristically flat and wooden voice, the haggard young man explained that he had a great to deal with at the moment. While he appreciated his friend's concern, Bobby had been adamant that his business was his own. Following this, he slipped into slumber and remained asleep for the duration of the trip.

Guiding his car through the iron-wrought gates that led to the mansion, Warren could only hope for some light ahead.

Alex Summers raked a hand through his blond, wavy hair as he made his way into the living room. The space had been decorated by Betsy and it reflected her upscale preferences. It was composed of a palette of muted jewel tones-teal and amethyst, plum and garnet, loden and amber-coloured mohair plaids and velvet paisleys, fringed tattersalls and Harris tweeds, borrowed from her favourite hacking jackets and warmest carriage blankets. Timeworn velvets, faded damasks and vintage leathers, which took their cues from the walls' antique patina to create a well-worn setting, accented the room's well-worn plank floors. Located in the room were a well-worn leather sofa and corduroy chairs with pillows of shearing, mohair, and luxe touches of coyote, taken from the Englishwoman's country home outside of Bath. Although Betsy herself was gone, her presence could still be felt through this room.

In the late afternoons and evenings, there would usually be students and staff lounging and mingling here. The ensuing chatter often competed with the din from the adjacent recreation room. Even during the holidays and scheduled breaks, there would be a fair number of residents milling about. However, this particular night was different. The entire floor was eerily quiet after dinner. Those students who did not leave for Spring Break were observing the new curfew the Professor had imposed following his return from Washington, DC this morning.

Meanwhile, the members of teams who had been away on mission divided themselves into different groups based on current needs. The first, which was spearheaded by the Professor and Emma, were overseeing the handling of the public relations response (including parents and the authorities) with the assistance of Vange Whedon. Clean-up of the premises and evidence collection was being dealt with by Piotr, Cain, and a few of the students, including Santo, Julian, and Nicholas. Those present during the invasion were receiving counselling from Jubilee and Paige. With Kurt and Tabitha's help, the former Generation Xers also organized activities to help distract the children from the traumatic events of the other night. Under Scott's direction, Alex, Storm, Kitty, Sage, Lorna, and Bishop were conducting the investigation into the attack. He was also involved in planning the funeral arrangements, coordinating the details with the Greys.

Alex was eager to step away from his responsibilities briefly. Spending the last two hours combing through the wreckage of the helicopter alongside Lorna in the hangar had proven not only to be numbing but awkward as well. Since the night of Bobby's birthday party, the two agreed to keep their distance from one another until Alex was able to understand where his relationship with Annie stood. From his perspective, there was a great deal of confusion. The younger Summers brother believed he found happiness with someone who had cared for him when everyone else thought he was lost. Lately, however, he was beginning to find himself drawn to his former girlfriend. Since the Professor's therapy sessions, Lorna had become more accepting of what happened in Genosha and her true parentage. As a result, she was less emotionally labile and more rational. It was as if she was reverting to the woman he had fallen in love with some time ago. For Lorna, she was still reeling from the humiliation of their infamous wedding day. The fact that Alex had chosen Annie over her was not lost on her. Moreover, she felt that starting anything with him would have undermined her self-respect—something she was in the process of rebuilding with Xavier's help.

The tall, blond geophysics graduate also had another motivation to seek respite. His concern over his grieving brother's mental well-being was increasing exponentially with each passing second. After Alex and his team returned from mission, the younger Summers brother had taken it upon himself to act as his brother's pillar of support. While he had expected Scott to be in the throes of mourning, nothing had prepared Alex for the man he encountered at the mansion. This man claiming to be Scott Summers was a complete foil. His chestnut hair was rumpled and his clothes, which were usually pressed, seemed to be perpetually wrinkled. It was as if he had slept in them and could not be bothered to change. His chiselled face was pale and the lower half was covered in stubble.

It was not only the physical changes that stunned Alex and many around the mansion. As the closest to Scott, Alex had expected to listen and provide comfort during these trying times. Much to his dismay and bewilderment, the older Summers brother refused to confide in him or anyone else for that matter. Even the Professor's offers for counsel had been rebuffed. Instead, Scott struggled to conceal his grief. He isolated himself in the War Room, plastering the walls with photographs of scenes around the mansion post-invasion to fixate upon for hours.

There was growing evidence that this approach was not very effective. During a meeting with the investigative team, Scott vacillated between screaming at them to use whatever means necessary to shake existing contacts for information and speaking in a voice barely audible above a whisper. Everyone in attendance had been shocked by this display of emotional instability but rendered mute in its wake. The collective reasoning concerned the difficulty of searching for the appropriate words to express their sympathy and support for their friend and team mate. Later on, considered within the context of his loss, many viewed Scott's erratic behaviour as somewhat expected. Nevertheless, many found it disturbing to see him in such pain.

Then there was the most recent incident of the leader's compromised psychological state, transpiring late this afternoon. Alex was heading to the War Room to check on Scott. Reaching the doorway, he saw that Jubilee was already there. The young firecracker was informing Scott that she was leaving to pick up Jean's family from the train station and would be driving them to their nearby hotel. Her delicate features had been arranged in a worried frown as her sapphire eyes swept over an expressionless Scott, who had been seated at the conference table with his hands folded in his lap. In the days that followed Jean's death, the dynamic between them was strained even though this existence seemed to be mutually dependent (it was rare not to see the two in close proximity of one another). Each struggled to swallow their grief and maintain composure in an attempt to demonstrate strength and stability for the other person.

After a lengthy and tension-filled silence, Jubilee had leaned in and planted a kiss on his stubble-ridden cheek. Just as she started to leave, Scott bolted from his chair and immediately pulled her lithe frame close. Holding her tightly, he began sobbing. His face buried in her hair, the words of atonement flowing from his lips were muffled. From his vantage point, Alex had observed Jubilee's crystalline eyes widening in surprise. Then her lower lip quivered as she fought back the urge to cry herself. He soon became alarmed when her creamy complexion had taken on a pinkish-purple tone and her arms were limp. Quickly recognizing the need to intervene, Alex had fabricated an excuse to speak to Jubilee in private. A teary but surprised Scott released the young firecracker, mumbling an apology for what he perceived as a moment of weakness. Jubilee, who had been equally stunned, awkwardly nodded her acceptance before leaving.

Compounding his sense of distress were the allegations of drinking. While Scott was no teetotaller, he was by no means a raging alcoholic either. However, within the past several days, more than one person had stepped forward with a claim or suspicion that Scott had been using alcohol to self-medicate. Kitty was the first to make the charge, reporting that she had seen him taking swigs from a flask when she briefed him regarding the crime files. Next, Ororo took the younger Summers brother aside to inform him of the discovery of several empty bottles littering the emergency living quarters by some students. After leaving the War Room with Alex, Jubilee confided that Scott "smelled like a distillery" when he pulled her into that tear-filled embrace. Considering these accounts with Scott's volatile conduct as of late, it was not unthinkable that alcohol might be involved. Furthermore, if Scott's drinking were to compromise any of their endeavours, something had to be said. Yet, Alex was hesitant to accept this. After all, this was his older brother, a man he and others looked up to for guidance and leadership. To even fathom that he might be using a crutch almost seemed like some sort of implicit betrayal.

In the end, Alex decided that if anyone were to confront Scott, he was best suited for the position. Despite their ups and downs in their fraternal bond, the Summers men shared a closeness that was founded on honesty, respect, and understanding. These aspects of their relationship allowed each to rely on the other for objective opinions regarding most anything. Drawing upon this knowledge, Alex was filled with the confidence to approach his older brother. However, when he returned to the War Room to initiate the conversation, Scott had disappeared. Confused, Alex searched all of the Sub-Basement levels only to come up empty. When Lorna asked him to accompany her to the hangar to examine the wreckage, Alex made a mental note to seek out Scott at a later time.

In the living room, Alex paused in front of one of the bay windows. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his charcoal chinos, which he wore with a forest green, merino cardigan and a pale blue dress shirt and brown suede loafers. The mansion was bathed in the luminous glow of the moon overhead and the newly installed lighting system Forge had designed. Surveying the view now, it was difficult to believe that this was the site where so much destruction had taken place only a few days before. The manicured lawns were devoid of any trace of the trespassers, a testament to the hard work Piotr and the others had contributed. Instead, there was a strange placid quality to the palatial grounds. Only the night shadows hinted at the sorrow that fallen over this place.

Suddenly, a dull voice said, "I thought you were with Lorna."

Alex nearly jumped out of his skin upon hearing the voice. When he turned around, he resisted the urge to grimace at the sight before him. The elder Summers was seated in one of the corduroy upholstered chairs. It was difficult to conceive that Scott could appear any more dishevelled and yet, his present condition provided evidence to the contrary. His denim shirt was wrinkled with the tails hanging over his equally rumpled khakis. Even his wraparound, ruby-quartz sunglasses were perched crookedly over his ashen face. Chestnut locks fell chaotically across his forehead. It was heartbreaking simply looking at him.

"Um, hi. Sorry, I didn't see you." Alex's blue-green eyes immediately fell upon a small, silver-plated flask in Scott's bandaged hand. A frown creased his tanned forehead. "Drinking by yourself?"

His older brother raised a brow at him. "You're welcome to join me," he replied with a sardonic smile. "You'll have to find your own. I don't remember you being a whiskey guy."

Alex frowned, watching Scott raise the flask to his mouth. "How long have you been at it?"

Scott took a swig and swallowed loudly before shrugging. "I don't know," he answered, trying to sound nonchalant. "Time seems to be a vague concept to me these days."

The younger Summers brother's mouth formed a grim line, shaking his blond head. "Listen," he began quietly, "I know you've been through hell, but do you honestly think this is a good idea?"

"Under the current circumstances, I would say yes." To his credit, Scott was not slurring but seemed to be growing agitated as the conversation continued. He was already clenching his jaw—something he usually did when bracing for an argument.

Alex sighed. He, too, was deeply saddened by Jean's death. While they were not particularly close, he was able to appreciate how happy she made Scott and could easily see how much she loved him. With her gone, it was as if some light had been extinguished out of Scott's life. The man who was left reflected a shell of the person he was supposed to be. Given this, Alex felt he was mourning the loss of two people rather than just one.

Finally, he said, "I don't want to fight with you, Scott. I'm just worried about you. I mean, we all are." He paused, wishing he had the precise vocabulary to eloquently convey his sympathy. The feeling of floundering helplessly while someone he cared about seemed to be drowning was not something he was accustomed to. In fact, Alex hated it.

"I didn't know I was _the_ topic of conversation," his brother remarked flatly. "I appreciate the sentiment, though."

Slighted by Scott's response, the younger Summers brother shook his head ruefully. "No one's gossiping about you," he informed him. "They understand that you're hurting…anyone in your position would be. It's just that what you're doing…"

"What is it that you and everyone else thinks I'm doing?" Scott demanded, scowling. He gulped down another mouthful of whiskey before continuing. "In case you haven't noticed, the last couple of days have been really tough."

Alex tried not to take his brother's vitriol tone to heart. This was simply the grief manifesting itself. Pure and simple. Shaking his head, he said, "There isn't anyone who's going to dispute that. It's just that…trying to find solace at the bottom of that flask isn't the most constructive or healthy approach."

"And what would you have me do right now?" the elder Summers retorted. "Make peace with what's happened? Accept that my wife was taken from me before her time? Please, Alex. You sound like the Professor or Kurt."

"No," his younger brother replied evenly, "that's not what I'm saying at all. I'm simply telling you that downing all that booze isn't necessarily going to help you."

Scott laughed bitterly. "You sound like an after school special."

Mulling over his words, Alex had to admit his brother had a point. He looked at him sheepishly. "Maybe I do," he admitted, "but I want to get across to you that I'm worried."

"Well, thank you for your concern but I don't need you or anyone else dictating to me as to how I should be grieving."

"Again, I'm not doing that and I'm pretty damn sure no one around here wants to do that, either."

"Then I don't see why we have to venture any further. As far as I'm concerned, the subject's not up for discussion."

"Scott, please be reasonable. What you're doing…it may quell the pain right now but it's not going to bring Jean back."

"Don't you think I know that? Believe me, I may be out of my mind with misery but I'm not delusional. Every time I open my eyes in the morning, I have to come to grips that my wife isn't around any more. What's even more distressing is the fact that I was there when…it happened. And there wasn't a thing I could do to prevent it."

"You shouldn't blame yourself—"

"I don't see why not. She trusted me to protect her. These kids and their parents put their faith in me to keep them safe. I failed on both counts. That's a pretty accurate assessment, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. I think what happened was tragic and beyond your control. I know the second part is something you really hate. Taking responsibility for things may be your way of trying to get a handle on the chaos but it isn't right."

"That's quite an interpretation, Freud."

"I'm serious, Scott. Holding yourself accountable doesn't change anything. It's only going to eat away at you until nothing's left of your sanity."

"I haven't owned up to it because I want to feel like I'm in charge again, either. I'm just being honest with myself. I'm sorry if you and everyone else disagree. As for my mental condition, I think given the past couple of days, I'm managing fine."

"You really think that drinking alone is an illustration of that?"

"Yes, I have a drink now and then but that's to… I'm not going to try to justify it to you, Alex. Let's just say that I haven't let it or my feelings interfere with my responsibilities or how I conduct myself in front of other people."

Alex's blue-green eyes became as round as saucers upon hearing this declaration. Apparently, the whiskey was taking its toll on his brother's short-term memory as well. "What about the strategic meeting with Storm and the others?" he asked, trying to tone down the disbelief in his voice. "One minute, you were yelling at them about how they should be investigating contacts and the next, you're mumbling to the point where I had to be your interpreter. Do you remember that?"

At a loss for words, the elder Summers cringed.

With the kit gloves approach proving to be ineffective, the younger brother decided to continue with his candour. He was hoping it would be better in helping Scott face the facts. "And that incident with Jubilee this afternoon," he said quietly, "you almost choked the life out of her."

The older Summers brother was incredulous. "I would never hurt her," he insisted, face turning pink. "Not after what she's been through."

"I know you wouldn't, Scott," Alex said quickly, trying to diffuse what was becoming a precarious situation, "not intentionally anyway." The young man otherwise known as Havok was realizing his previous observation had hit a nerve. He was well aware of his brother's fondness for Jubilee. In the wake of Logan's multiple absences, Scott had taken on the mantle of being her protector who would do anything to transcend her harrowing past. His perceived inability to ensure not only her safety but also Jubilee's was something that seemed to fill him with immense guilt. It was probably these feelings that played a role in what transpired between them this afternoon.

A disconcerting stillness settled between the two men. Scott, reeling from Alex's assertions, was struggling to compose a response. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, turning his face away. Meanwhile, Alex was ruminating over his part of the conversation. He wondered if he had gone too far. It was clear that his words had stung his brother, rendering him speechless. Witnessing him reaching this point elicited feelings of guilt in the younger man. Inwardly, Alex cursed his choice of words.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said, aqua eyes apologetic. He dropped to his haunches so that he was at face-level with Scott. "You're my brother and I care about you. The last thing I want to do is make you upset."

Before Scott could reply, the front door opened. Startled, the Summers brothers raised themselves to their feet and quickly made their way to the foyer. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed that Scott was careful to slip the flask into the pocket of his trousers. He considered making a comment but decided to engage with him another time. This conversation was not over; not by a long shot.

Warren was the first to walk through the door, rolling his Louis Vuitton suitcase behind him. Setting foot inside the mansion seemed to make Jean's loss all the more tangible. He felt as if every fibre of his being was being weighed down by a heavy sense of dread. As the blond Adonis ventured further inside, he came across Scott and Alex standing outside of the living room. He nodded in greeting at both before noticing Scott's somewhat unkempt appearance. To say that Warren was shocked would have been an understatement. It was inconceivable to him that the scruffy, rumpled man standing in front of him was Scott Summers. No, the Scott Summers he knew since their early days under Xavier would have never allowed himself to lapse into such a condition. It was all too clear that his wife's death had a devastating impact upon him.

"I'm so sorry," Warren finally managed, his voice filled with sympathy. At that moment, he was uncertain as to what else he could possibly say.

Hank emerged from the front door and clapped a large hand on Scott's shoulder. His feline-like features were arranged in a sorrowful expression. "You have my deepest sympathies," he told him, trying to blink away the tears stinging his eyes. "Anything you need, don't hesitate. You have my word. We are here for you."

Scott nodded morosely before drawing back, allowing the three-fingered hand to drop to the other man's side. "Thank you, guys, for coming back so quickly. Really, it means a lot."

Warren shook his head, an errant golden lock falling over his forehead. "Don't thank us. We want to be here…for you and Jean." There was no way he could be any more sincere. "And Hank's right… Whatever we can do to help out, just let us know."

Hearing his wife's name just now made his heart twist sharply inside his chest. The dulling effects of the whiskey he had imbibed earlier were now fading, setting the stage for the familiar feelings of despondency and frustration to set in. The elder Summers was now desperately fighting the sobs building in his throat. However, his grief soon transformed into something else when Bobby Drake made his way inside, closing the front door behind him.

"You've got a lot of nerve," he said tersely, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling. The fact that the young man and Jean were close friends had been pushed away from his consciousness. All he could focus on was the pain he inflicted on Jubilee—something Bobby had sworn to Scott he would never do. Looking back, Scott wished he had acted more prudently rather than taking his team mate at his word.

Bobby, weary from the road trip, ruminations about his predicament, the family situation, and the distress over Jean's death, was taken aback. Aside from staring at the homeless man purporting to be the usually clean-cut Scott Summers, the hostile greeting was jarring. Though they were not the best of friends, he had been expecting something a little more civil given the circumstances. His mind began to dissect what had just transpired. Ultimately, the young man was forced to make one conclusion.

He knows.

His grey eyes soaked the hard wood floor beneath everyone's feet. It should not have surprised him that Scott was cognizant of what he had done. Bobby surmised the other man must have compelled her to confide in him. After all, this was the man who was wary of Bobby's involvement with Jubilee from the very beginning. As the other father figure in Jubilee's life, Scott made it clear that he was protective of her and did not want to see her hurt as she had been many times before. Despite his attempts to convince him of his good intentions, Bobby never completely won Scott over. Instead, what existed between them was a tense understanding. Jubilee had made her choice; she wanted to be with Bobby. Based on the bespectacled man's contorted features, this understanding had dissipated. In its place, was a sense of anger that seemed to be increasing the longer Bobby remained underneath his searing glare.

Unaware of the dynamics at play, Warren frowned. He knew Scott was in the throes of mourning but lashing out at Bobby? It made absolutely no sense. Given Bobby's situation at home and the news of Jean's death, the last thing he needed was this dressing down from Scott. "What are you talking about? Why are you attacking him?"

The other man pursed his lips bitterly before speaking. "Hasn't he told you?" His tone was dripping with derision and scorn.

"Told us what?" Hank asked, blue brows knitting together in confusion. While he was certain that Scott had no knowledge of the secondary mutation, the institute's medical expert was at a loss what prompted such acrimony. He peered over at Bobby, who pointedly averted his gaze with a grim expression etched into his already haggard face. This was beyond the icy patch spanning across the young man's chest and his preoccupations regarding his parents. No, whatever precipitated this reaction, Hank was beginning to suspect it was probably related to Bobby's peculiar behaviour earlier.

Normally, Scott's filters would have precluded him from insinuating himself into other people's affairs. However, the situation and circumstances warranted a different approach. This supposed 'good man' had inflicted pain upon someone who sustained so much hurt in one lifetime. Scott was not going to allow this transgression go unaddressed.

"Apparently, stomping on a young woman's heart is a hobby he's taken up," he finally answered, glowering at Bobby and clenching his jaw. "Your friend here decided to break up with Jubilee."

Warren and Hank exchanged puzzled looks. This was definitely news to them. Bobby made no mention of it during their travels from Long Island. Yet, as the information began to sink in, their friend's seemingly bizarre behaviour now had context. Particularly, his visceral response to Hank uttering her name made sense. However, Bobby's motivations did not. They had never seen him any happier than when he was with Jubilee. For some inescapable reason, Bobby had discarded all of that.

Alex, who had some knowledge of the relationship, was taken by surprise as well. The last he knew, the couple were very much devoted to one another. His mouth formed a grim line as he recalled an early conversation he had with her, where he expressed his concerns about Bobby. Then there was the incident at Planning Parenthood, culminating into the physical altercation with the younger man. Looking back, there was a part of Alex that yearned to be more forceful in his reservations.

Bobby remained defiantly quiet, flinching slightly.

Hank was the first to speak, fiddling with his black-rimmed glasses. "Scott, he's had a great deal of things to contend with," he began awkwardly, seeking to find a balance between defending his best friend and being sensitive to his team mate's loss. _If you only knew…_

"So that excuses his behaviour? Give me a break, Hank. We are all creatures of free will with the capacity to make moral choices." Scott spat out. Then he turned to Bobby, his lips pursed in disgust. "You just chose to be cruel for no reason."

Stunned silence blanketed the room in the wake of this accusation.

Warren and Hank peered over at their friend. Normally, whenever Bobby was confronted by Scott or anyone else in such a manner, he would defend himself quite readily. They were expecting an equally fiery response. Although Bobby had matured over the years, he retained his short fuse. This was even more pronounced whenever he was provoked. In light of this, the winged Adonis and his feline-like friend were bracing themselves.

Much to everyone's collective astonishment, Bobby did not strike back. Instead, he raised his eyes from the floor and in voice that was completely devoid of emotion, asked, "Are you finished?"

No one was more surprised by this than the elder Summers. He and Bobby had had their share of confrontation during their time together. Contrary to what Jean, Hank, and the Professor believed, the young man was very capable of standing his ground. There had been many times when Scott found himself at the other end of a reply that was tinged with sarcasm and brutal honesty, one that was fuelled by Bobby's youthful, headstrong nature. Strangely, now was not one of those moments.

"Is that all you have to say?" Scott demanded angrily, taking a step towards Bobby. His face was beginning to turn a mottled colour. "After the hell you've put her through, you breeze into here like it's no big deal. You're a real son of a bitch."

Again, Bobby chose to remain mute.

The older Summers brother was finding the determined silence more infuriating with each passing minute. It was as if Bobby experienced no remorse or considered the ramifications of his actions. The very thought made Scott's blood boil. Shoulders heaving and jaw clenched, he found himself edging closer and closer.

Alex instantly placed a hand on his brother's arm, applying some pressure in an effort to restrain him. While he could empathize with Scott's anger, this was not the time to indulge any retributive urges. There was so much pain and grief surrounding them all now. "Scott, come on," he pleaded quietly. "That's enough."

Scott turned to his attention to his younger brother, scowl deepening. Then after a few tense seconds, he backed away and drew his arm from Alex's grasp. He was about to make another scathing remark to compensate for the limit to his aggression. However, by then, Bobby was already ascending the stairs.

For Warren, he was left with more questions than answers following Scott's disclosure. His confusion melded with an overwhelming sense of concern for Bobby. Never had he seen the younger man so defeated and so withdrawn until now. It was totally antithetical to the Bobby Drake he had come to know. The carefree yet headstrong practical joker who told them he possibly found _"the one"_ seemed to be a distant memory. What was damnable for the blond Adonis was the fact that he had no idea what brought about these changes in the first place. Warren simply refused to believe Bobby underwent some radical personality change overnight.

Meanwhile, the wheels inside Hank McCoy's head were turning furiously. Unlike Warren, he was beginning to place their friend's odd conduct in some context. He carefully deliberated over the information available to him. Recalling their conversation in the Med-Lab, Hank could still hear the abject fear that permeated Bobby's voice as he revealed the extent of his injury and subsequent inability to revert completely to flesh. He could hear the desperation in his young friend's appeals for Hank to figure out a solution. Not to be forgotten was the complicated situation of caring for his father and to some degree, his mother. Perhaps the decision to end his relationship with Jubilee was a by-product of these factors. Hank knew he needed to speak with his friend prior to this theory becoming a conclusion.

Before either man could make a move towards the stairs, Scott asked, "Either one of you know what the hell is going on with him?"

Even though Warren wanted to defend his friend, he was aware of the need to be mindful of Scott's feelings. If there was ever a time when Scott required collective support, it was now. Finally, he shook his head.

Hank found himself unwillingly following Warren's lead. "No," he lied, "not at all."

Closing his bedroom door behind him, Bobby Drake exhaled loudly. Lately, he came to believe that his existence was composed of a series of trying events. Some, such as his father's stroke and Jean's death, were very much beyond his control while others, notably breaking up with Jubilee, had been self-inflicted. Despite the divergent nature of these trials, his emotional response across these situations was ever consistent. His frustration, grief, and isolation were the only things he could rely on these days.

Although his father had been doing better by the time he left, Bobby continued to ruminate about the future for the Drake patriarch. He was uncertain as to what the implications would be given Bill's sudden outburst. From what Bobby was able to glean from the doctors and therapists was that the severity of the stroke made complete recovery unlikely. Further complicating matters was the onset of depression, which had impeded rehabilitative efforts. Now, all of those negative prognostic indicators appeared to be slightly negated, forcing him to alter his perception of what lie ahead. While most people would have been enthusiastic about this development, Bobby remained cautious. He was finding that even cautious optimism could set one up for disappointment.

Also weighing heavily upon Bobby was his father's reaction to the confession made prior to Warren and Hank's arrival. Of all people, the younger Drake expected his father to understand. Granted, the circumstances were different but the related concerns were nearly identical. Both feared the consequences of their respective conditions upon those they loved. There was also the shared desire to shield these loved ones from the burden of being forever bound to a hopeless situation. Yet, after Bobby's admission, Bill's response was not one of empathy but one of contempt and disbelief. For someone who once professed his wariness of Jubilee and her involvement with his son, the Drake patriarch genuinely questioned the validity of this decision.

In spite of his dissent, Bill Drake was clear that he would not break his son's confidence. His steadfast commitment was unshakable in the face of Maddy's cajoling and pleading. Providing an explanation for what transpired between father and son would be Bobby's cross to bear. As for the younger Drake, he could not fathom talking to his mother what happened. In addition to his new obligations that required his presence in Westchester, he knew the conversation with his mother would be fraught with drama. It was definitely the last thing Bobby wanted to engage in given how full his plate already was. Even thinking about adding to it made him even wearier. Despite her attempts to extract the truth from him, Bobby would not be moved. Before leaving with his friends, he simply reassured her that there was no need to worry about him and insisted that she focused her efforts on Bill's recovery. While she allowed him to depart without any further entreaties, Maddy was transparent in her displeasure as to where things stood. Seeing the sadness in his mother's cornflower blue eyes compounded Bobby's sense of unease.

The news of Jean's death was another unexpected blow. The woman he had come to view as an older sister was now gone. There would be no more opportunities to see her smile or hear her tinkling laugh, no more kernels of wise advice to be had. Prior to his disclosure to Bill, Jean was the only other person Bobby thought about confiding in. He could always depend on her non-judgmental, unconditional acceptance to help him navigate through the complications. Without her insightful and sage counsel, he felt adrift in the morass he presently called his life. What was even more distressing was the fact that they had not spent any significant time together before she died. Between Jean's health problems and Bobby being called away suddenly, having any meaningful contact had not been option. Looking back, he desperately yearned for one last moment with Jean.

And then there was Jubilee. Despite ending their involvement, Bobby found that she was never far from his mind. His heartache felt as fresh now as it did the last time he had seen her. This was only countered by the immense guilt that coursed throughout his entire being. When Scott confronted him in the foyer and launched his acerbic attack, Bobby realized everything the grieving leader said represented a brutal truth. It was as if Scott verbalized everything Bobby had internalized. As painful as it was to listen, it would have been disingenuous to defend himself. Inwardly, he was forced to agree with each accusation and each insult.

Bobby stared at his empty bed, dropping his black leather overnight bag on the floor by his feet. His grey eyes studied the piece of furniture with a mixture of bitterness and melancholy. Bobby found it strange to think that an inanimate object could be associated with so many memories. His heart twisted painfully inside his chest as he recalled the last time he had been here.

It was several days before his assignment in Genosha. The young couple had sought refuge in his room after Hank, Bishop, and Kurt commandeered the X-Box for their Rock Band concert. Following the butchering of such classics as "Jukebox Hero" and "Pour Some Sugar on Me", they decided to seek refuge in Bobby's room. Even as they prepared to settle in for the evening, the howling and wailing of the wannabe musicians could be heard through the walls. Bobby had joked about improving the talent by joining his friends. However, he abandoned this idea when Jubilee quickly shed her clothes and climbed into bed as a competing offer. Eagerly, Bobby followed her lead.

_He enveloped her willowy form in his arms. "What do you think of us moving out…getting our own place?" he suddenly asked, inhaling her trademark perfume of bubblegum and cinnamon. As far as he was concerned, it was a fragrance he could never get enough of. _

_Prior to his inquiry, Jubilee had been relishing the feel of his body—cool, firm and flat in his musculature, yet so comforting. When she heard his question, she found herself taken aback. "Our own place?" she repeated, sapphire eyes widening. _

_Alarmed by his girlfriend's reaction, the boyishly handsome young man took a deep breath. He chastised himself inwardly for his outburst. The topic deserved serious consideration, especially when it came to broaching the subject. Living together would mark a serious milestone in their relationship. It was typically a precursor to other…things. To introduce the idea as he would a movie rental was particularly careless on his part. _

_Yet, as Bobby mulled over his gaffe, he realized that he had no experience in bringing up the discussion with his previous girlfriends. In some cases, the very notion instilled ambivalence (see Opal) while with others, the relationship failed to progress to the point where it would even be considered an option (see Lorna). Given his track record, it was not surprising that Bobby resigned himself to living at the mansion for the foreseeable future. Moving in with someone else represented the type of commitment he believed was elusive._

_That is, until Jubilee. _

_For the first time, Bobby was involved in a relationship where he truly felt at ease. He was with someone who accepted and loved him for all that he was. The happiness he found with Jubilee melted away the usual baggage that marred his prior involvements. She was the one who inspired him to be a better a man; to do whatever he could to make her feel loved and special; and to ensure their shared joy was never threatened. The past year and a half was a testament to this devotion. _

_In addition to this newfound bliss, being with Jubilee presented Bobby with first-time experiences as well. Before her, he had never given a girlfriend a piece of jewellery let alone a piece that symbolized his feelings and held great sentimental value. His past relationships never evoked such considerations. However, with Jubilee, there had been no reservations in slipping his grandmother's ring around her finger and declaring his commitment to her. It seemed so natural to do so. In fact, the prospect of their relationship entering the realm of serious commitment did not frighten him. Imagining a life together away from the mansion was simply part of an exciting progression—a perspective he thought was mutual._

_But as he stared at her beautiful but confused face, Bobby suddenly came to a conclusion. Familiar feelings of apprehension and disappointment seized him. He had scared her—something he had sworn never to do which stemmed from his own fear of repeating previous missteps. Then he said quietly, "You don't want to."_

"_No, it isn't that," Jubilee said sheepishly, her cheeks stained with a blush. She could tell her initial reaction had provoked his insecurities to emerge. Her fingertips stroked his jaw affectionately in an attempt to assuage his anxiety. "I…I just don't understand why we would."_

_For a moment, he was rendered speechless. He searched her beautiful face for any trace of duplicity. When Bobby saw that her puzzlement was genuine, he was immediately reminded that he was first boyfriend. Granted, she had been privy to conversations with her friends and other women around the mansion about the nuances of their relationships. However, when it came to her romantic involvement, there were aspects that were still quite new. Apparently, the idea of striking out on their own was one of them. This knowledge left him feeling both honoured and rather pressured._

_Given that they were both treading in unfamiliar territory, Bobby carefully contemplated his words. "Well," he began, tangling his fingers in her long, silky hair, "haven't you ever thought about what it would be like? I mean, don't get me wrong. I like being here but there are times when I wish we were by ourselves."_

"_We are by ourselves now," Jubilee pointed out guilelessly, tracing every inch his muscled chest with her fingertips. Then her crystalline eyes twinkled impishly. "Well, unless you've invited someone with the gift of invisibility to hang out with us."_

_He shook his head, sensing her uncertainty underneath the veil of levity. In his younger days, he utilized similar tactics in order to cope with understanding his abilities. Listening to his girlfriend's injection of humour into the conversation, Bobby recognized yet another attribute they shared. It made him love her all the more at that moment._

"_Hilarious, Jubes," he said, feigning annoyance but was undermined by the urge to kiss her. Never one to resist that lovely face, Bobby caved. Brushing tendrils of hair from her cheeks, he continued to explain his rationale. "What I meant is that it would be nice to come home to a place we can call ours. You know, a place where we wouldn't have to worry about students or Hank getting first dibs on pizza or the television."_

_The corners of her crystalline eyes crinkled as she smiled at him. "You've got a pretty good argument there, Drake," she quipped wryly. Her expression became thoughtful when she began to give the matter further consideration, adding, "I guess it would be great not to have to schlep my things here every couple of days or so. It is kind of a pain." _

_Bobby nodded empathically. The journeys between his room at the mansion and the Summers' home were somewhat cumbersome. He and Jubilee were continually surprised by the amount of dirty clothes accumulated, which heightened their collective propensity to procrastinate in collecting clean ones from her room and exacerbated the situation. The chore of transporting the dirty clothing to the washer and dryer units in the Summers' laundry room evoked grumblings and feeble wishes for superhuman strength. _

_Then there were the awkward run-ins once they arrived at the house. While both Jean and Scott had accepted the mature aspect of the relationship (well, Jean more than Scott), it was clear that they were still getting used to the reality. Jean, ever understanding and supportive, would give them sly winks and smiles but refrained from any intrusive questioning. Meanwhile, her husband was less enthusiastic. He was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of the young woman he treated as a daughter being involved an adult relationship with one of his classmates and peers. Although civil, Scott struggled and often wore an expression Bobby often likened to having painful constipation. _

_Despite the contrast in reactions, Bobby and Jubilee often left the house with a sense of embarrassment. Granted, they made no effort to conceal the fact that she was spending more of her nights in his room. After all, both were adults and what they did in the context of their relationship was very much their business. Yet, the idea of Scott and Jean knowing was simply too weird for the young couple to fathom. When Jubilee compared the experience of one's parents becoming aware of their child's sex life, Bobby became mortified and made her swear never to make that analogy again. It had taken him a month to block out the possible conversations he might have with his mother and father about the issue._

"_A definite plus," he agreed, nodding again but this time, emphatically. _

"_And having our own place would mean not having to worry about students at the door," she pointed out, referring to the complication of students being nearby. Simply thinking about it added to the unease._

"_Don't forget about certain adults." In spite of the time that passed, the incident involving Scott, Warren, and Paige remained rather fresh in his mind. While Bobby was relieved that the misfortune had not befallen him and Jubilee, he was mindful that possibility that such an 'accident' could occur. Dealing with the aftermath of being walked in on by Scott or Logan did not exactly appeal to Bobby._

"_Is that why you lock the door all the time? And why you were browsing that home improvement store website for another lock?" _

"_I didn't think you were paying attention."_

"_I was. You're very cute when you're paranoid."_

"_Thinking about our privacy makes me paranoid? Gee, thanks. And to top it all off, you've left out the most compelling reason."_

_Jubilee laughed softly, enjoying the wounded act. "Sorry…what would that be?" _

_He wagged his sandy brows suggestively. "What about the idea of having your way with me whenever and wherever you want?" he asked. _

_Her giggles turned into gasps when his fingertips travelled from her tresses to where her thigh met her bottom. Bobby smiled when her hips shifted in response to his touch. He then leaned in and kissed her, relishing her warm, sweet breath. _

_Drawing back slightly, he stared at the beautiful angel in his arms. When those hypnotic sapphire depths returned his gaze with the same tenderness, his heart swelled inside chest. Just looking at her convinced him that his future was with her. Never was he was more confident of anything in his life. _

_Unfortunately, trepidation soon intruded on this moment when he noticed she was biting her lower lip ruefully. He tampered his own anxiety to determine what was troubling her. "What is it, Jubes?" he inquired, holding her lithe frame close against him. _

_Jubilee looked apologetic as she began to compose her reply. "I was thinking about how it's big step and the overall impact. I mean, for starters, it's hard to imagine Scott and Wolvie not having a series of conniptions when we do it." _

_His voice was low as he asked, "How they might react…does that scare you?" Admittedly, the image of both men with expressions of murderous rage directed at him did force a lump to form in Bobby's throat. _

_She shook her head, lacing her fingers through his. "Not enough to never consider it," she answered thoughtfully, "but it's not like I'm looking forward to their responses, either. I guess we'll have to make sure Jean and Storm are around when we tell them." _

"_Sounds like a plan," Bobby agreed. His grey eyes studied his girlfriend's pensive visage, which signalled there was another issue that prevented her from embracing the idea completely, prompting him to engage in further querying. "But there's something else that's holding you back. Come on, Jubes. You can tell me anything. I'm not going to be upset." _

_She swallowed hard. "I really want to do it, especially after all the reasons you've outlined but most of all, I really want to be with you. It's just a huge deal, Bobby. Are we ready for this?"_

_Bobby listened attentively. He certainly understood where she was coming from. There were a multitude of implications that would be borne out of this decision. In addition to the consequences she discussed, there was also the inescapable fact that living together would make adulthood for both of them all the more tangible. Residing at the mansion seemed to encase the two in some sort of limbo, allowing them to stave off the serious responsibilities of maturity. Moving out would force them to confront these head-on. _

_As someone who was keen to embrace his inner child, the concept of acting one's age seemed to be reserved for other people (see Warren, Joel, and even Hank). The idea frightened him somewhat. Growing up had meant divorcing oneself from indulging in simple pleasures and excitement of living, such as pink dye to Hank's shampoo. But now, entranced by Jubilee's beautiful face and the way she looked at him with such love and trust, Bobby realized he no longer had anything to fear. Their time as a couple enlightened him to the fact that accepting one's maturity did not necessarily mean he had to fundamentally change his personality. Rather, it translated into the broadening of horizons and entertaining considerations that transcended beyond his experiences. Now, he had to account for someone else's needs and wants in his decisions, a responsibility he took very seriously. _

_His boyishly handsome features were contrite as he sighed. As much as he wanted to persuade her, Bobby wanted her to be prepared. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spring it on you like that."_

_Jubilee shook her head. "I should be saying that," she told him softly. "I feel like I've disappointed you."_

"_You could never disappoint me," he corrected her, resting his forehead against hers. "I want you to be ready. Otherwise, you're going to be miserable and that's the last thing I want."_

_She looked up at him guiltily. "But it seems you've given some thought about the whole thing. I feel like I've left you down when I expressed some reservation about leaving tomorrow."_

_Bobby chuckled softly before kissing her. "First of all, we're not going to be moving out tomorrow," he murmured huskily against her mouth. "Second, I love you. Nothing matters more to me than your happiness. Just remember that."_

_His girlfriend looked relieved, comforted by his words and the sincerity conveyed. Then she brought her other hand up and cradled his face, pressing her lips against his. "Sometimes," she whispered, sapphire eyes shining, "I'm afraid that all of this is a dream."_

_A confused frown wrinkled his forehead. "What do you mean?" he asked._

_The corners of her mouth lifted slightly in a small smile. "It's just that…I don't think I've ever been happier." Then she became grave, adding, "It scares me."_

"_Why?" Bobby wrapped his arms protectively around her. Cognizant that Jubilee was reticent to make such disclosures, it was imperative to make her feel safe enough to continue. Encouraging candour had been one of the building blocks of their relationship._

_She took a deep breath before speaking, as if summoning courage from the recesses within. "Everything with you has been so perfect," she began, "When I'm with you, I feel like I have everything I've ever wanted. It's like you're part of this wonderful fantasy and I'm afraid that someday, I'll wake up and you'll be gone. It's something I've been afraid of since we started dating." _

_Bobby listened intently, reeling inwardly. He could not help but feel overwhelmed as she made her confession. It was difficult to recall the last time anyone had admitted such feelings in relation to him. Traditionally, he had been the one to make similar declarations which were often rebuffed. To hear the woman he loved admit she shared his feelings was inspiring. Her words and the emotional relayed through them were sources of strength for him. They motivated him to do what he had to protect her and what they shared. _

_Staring deeply into those hypnotic depths, the boyishly handsome young man struggled to find a time when he adored her more than at that moment. It was these intense feelings of devotion that compelled him to make one simple but very important vow. "You never have to worry about that," he told her solemnly, the poignancy of his words resonating. "I'd never let anything happen to us."_

_This time, Jubilee was the one who was moved. Her chin trembled as she flashed him a brilliant smile. "Really?" she whispered._

"_Really," he said in a low voice, giving her a tender smile of his own. "I love you, Jubes. I would do anything to make you happy." _

_Jubilee nodded and raised her head to kiss him. The taste of her was sweet, reminiscent of bubblegum and cinnamon. Instantly, Bobby felt himself hardened. She was like addictive drug to him—one that he swore he would never give up, compelling him to touch her everywhere. His loving hands began to survey her supple curves. The experience left him in awe of the tenderness of his own hands against the unbelievable softness of her skin. He explored every part of her, as if searing the feel of her body into his memory._

_Her fingers slid through his sandy hair, tugging him closer. "Bobby…"_

_Overwhelmed by the sight of this lovely creature, Bobby was finding it increasingly difficult to stave off the throbbing of his own desire. _

_In a voice thick with want, __he called out for her. He struggled to articulate anything beyond that given the intensity of their lovemaking. There was so much coursing through his brain at that moment. He desperately wanted to communicate how much he cherished her, how he nearly lost his mind just touching her, how there would never be anyone else, and how hoped all of this would never end. But those words became lost in the primal sounds exiting his lips, focused on the anticipated bliss of their union._

_Bobby could hear Jubilee's breaths transform into desperate gasps for air, mingling with the groans from low in his throat. The sensations overwhelmed them both until at last, an explosion of pleasure shot through their sweat-drenched bodies. When Bobby reached the height of euphoria, every fibre of his being trembled violently before he allowed himself to collapse against Jubilee's softness._

_Welcoming him in her arms, she sighed and stroked his hair. "I am the luckiest girl in the world," she whispered in his ear. "I love you, Bobby Drake." _

Back in his room, Bobby found himself left with only a memory. The bitter realization that she and what they shared were no longer part of his life began to sink in. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he was seated on the floor. Then, with a muffled sob, the boyishly handsome young man buried his face in his hands.


	62. Chapter 62 Can't Stand Losing You

Sorry for the delay in posting. Working has been and continues to be absolutely nuts.

Thank you so much for the reviews. I really love hearing from you guys!

Much gratitude goes out to my beta, Jo the Phoenix.

Enjoy and let me know what you think!

**Chapter Sixty Two: Can't Stand Losing You **

Spring continued to be unseasonably cool in Westchester. It was accompanied by swirling breezes that rustled the branches and leaves of surrounding trees and what seemed to be perpetually grey skies. The sun was obscured in its glory, resigned to its fate behind drifting clouds. Adding further insult to injury were the intermittent periods of downpours from the heavens above. When it was not raining, gloomy skies reigned and remained ever threatening.

Based on all objective evidence, nature appeared to be empathic to the heavy pall encasing the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. It would have been easy to hold a certain white-haired weather goddess accountable for the phenomena. Although she had gained a high level of control over her abilities over the years, they were often subjected to the state of her emotions. Given the devastating loss she and others had experienced in recent days, one could easily see the correlation between the resulting grief and current conditions. There was possibly a part of her that entreated the elements to weep alongside her. Despite the collective suspicions of the mansion's residents, no one ever raised the issue with Storm. Relative to the events that transpired within the past several days, the nature of the weather was rather trivial.

This early morning found two young women wandering the palatial grounds of the estate during a rare respite from the rain. The well-maintained gardens were reminiscent of those found in Nottinghamshire, where the Professor still maintained a country home. Even under the ominous clouds, the landscape design presented an idealized view of nature, inspired by works of artists such as Claude Lorraine and Nicolas Poussin. Around nearby Breakstone Lake, sweeps of gently rolling, manicured lawns were set against groves of many different types of trees. There were also shrubberies with gravelled walks and skirts of various flowers in sweeping planted beds. Several feet away from Storm's glass greenhouse was an elaborate hedge maze, where many of the students often met in order to seek some private moments away from the prying eyes of their peers and some teachers.

Paige pulled the flame-coloured day coat around her slender form, shivering slightly. It had been the younger Guthrie's idea to take a stroll around the grounds while the students were still eating breakfast. Walking past a row of cherry trees, she was wishing she had worn something a little warmer underneath than her black-and-white striped, boatneck T-shirt, brown stretch pants, and leopard-print loafers.

"Brisk air is overrated, Hayseed," Jubilee groused, regretting her own choice in outfit—a chartreuse velvet blazer over a blousy, denim shirt, dark-washed flare jeans, and taupe flats. As another gust of wind rippled by, she was also lamenting her decision to wear her long, black tresses with midnight highlights in a half-ponytail. Her cheeks and forehead were already stinging from the chill. "The next time you want to embrace the great outdoors, remind me to smack you."

"Not if I smack myself first," the blonde replied wryly, peering over her shoulder and contemplating turning around. It was startling how much ground they had covered already. From a distance, the mansion resembled one of those dollhouses she and her sisters would admire in the shop windows of their native Kentucky. "Do you want to head back and grab our coats?"

Following her friend's gaze, Jubilee bit her lower lip. Part of her was inclined to take up Paige on the offer. With the wind whipping through her hair and across her face, the prospect of tossing on another layer was tempting. However, that would require trudging back to the mansion. Several feet from a thicket of stately Douglas fir, she paused in her steps and shook her head no.

It was not the trek that was necessarily daunting. Rather, her hesitation stemmed from persistent feelings of despair and suffocation that seemed to permeate throughout the halls as of late. She could sense it from the faces of the students, staff, and field team members through their grief-stricken and awestruck expressions; the whispers, uncertain and somewhat facetious reassurances that life would return as it once was, and stifled bouts of crying; and the smell of alcohol that wafted around Scott these days. Having had experienced these phenomena in her every waking moment, the physical discomfort of being cold was minor in comparison. At least by being outside, she could feel something other than her own heartbreak.

The night of Jean's death continued to haunt Jubilee in the days that followed. Similar to Logan and Scott, she felt a certain degree of culpability in what transpired. Despite reassurances from the two men and arguments from the rational portion of her brain, the young firecracker believed she could have done something to save Jean Grey. Of the three on the ground, Jubilee was the one who was capable of intervening. Her training under Logan and later, Emma, had prepared her for the analysis and the execution of action regarding similar scenarios. But that night was different. The stakes were much higher, where the life of a beloved figure was hanging in the balance. Ultimately, it was Jubilee's indecision that prevailed, forcing her to question aloud what her next move should be. Granted, the situation during those last few moments was very precarious. With Jean being held at gunpoint aboard the helicopter and the surge of adrenaline pumping through Jubilee's veins, it was difficult to determine the accuracy of a potential blast. The young firecracker's emotional state was another factor to consider with respect to the intensity of the plasmoids. The fear that seized her threatened to undermine the control she had gained over her abilities. Immediately striking out meant there was a realistic chance that she could have struck Jean, severely injuring her or worse. Reflecting upon those last seconds before the explosion, Jubilee now cursed her hesitation.

In the wake of Jean's loss, Jubilee felt compelled to do what she could to keep together what was left of the household. To her, it was a way to introduce some semblance of stability into an otherwise chaotic situation. For the first two days, she rarely left Scott's side and even stayed with him in the emergency living quarters. She was the one who persuaded him to sleep, reminded him to shower, and took it upon herself to ensure that he was eating properly. His protestations against what he construed as coddling were weak, having spent most of his energy mourning and attempting to focus on the ensuing investigation. Moreover, he was all too aware that once Jubilee had her mind set upon something, there was very little anyone could do to change the course. Exhausted and taxed beyond belief, Scott was forced to acquiesce to her doting.

Admittedly, it was difficult to watch him in the throes of mourning. Much like Logan, Scott strove to portray himself as the epitome of steadfast strength. Even when he was angry, there was always an unshakable composure about him. It was this calm that allowed him to divorce his emotions from his ability to reason. Any sign of this Scott Summers disappeared after that tragic evening. The man taking his place struggled to wear his usual mask of diffidence, which was cracking with each passing second. In front of other people, he tried desperately to conceal his grief. It was only when he believed he had some privacy did he allow himself to break down.

Jubilee became aware of this during their second night in the emergency living quarters. She was beginning to drift to sleep when she heard the sounds of muffled sobbing emanating from nearby. Startled, the young firecracker turned over on her side, towards the direction of the crying. In the dim lighting of the corridor outside, Jubilee was surprised when she saw Scott sitting up in the cot adjacent to hers. Shoulders hunched over, he buried his head in his hands as he rocked back and forth. For a moment, she thought she heard his voice whisper the words, "I'm sorry, Jean" before dissolving into another series of sorrow-ridden sounds. Before she could approach him, Scott had already made his way into the hallway and towards the Ready Room.

Unfortunately, this was not the only piece of evidence accounting for Scott's fragile psychological state. It was becoming clear that he was at the mercy of his emotions, allowing them to dictate his behaviour with great unpredictability. One minute, he could be distant and seemingly Stoic and then the next minute, frustrated to the point of rage or tears. Jubilee immediately thought of the incident in the Ready Room. Somehow, an innocuous conversation about picking Jean's parents from the train station triggered an intense reaction. Even now, she could still feel his arms tightly holding onto her to the point where her ribs were being compressed into her lungs. His words of atonement and lamentation were becoming unintelligible to her ears as she found it increasingly difficult to breathe. Had Alex not intervened, Jubilee was quite sure she would have passed out.

What was even more disturbing was Scott's preference to seek comfort from a bottle rather than let those close to him provide solace. The possibility of a drinking problem was beginning to be raised among team members. There were allegations of empty bottles littering one of the rooms on Sub-Basement Level Two, Scott sneaking sips from a flask, and somewhat hindered motor coordination. Initially, Jubilee did not want to believe any of it. Having lived with an alcoholic foster mother during her younger days, she was very confident she knew the signs of abuse. In fact, she tried to rationalize his behaviour within the context of his loss. That is, the drinking was simply a reaction to his bereavement and would become less problematic once the intensity of these feelings lessened. Yet, as the days passed, Jubilee was starting to reconsider her previous position. There was a growing part of her that reasoned that while Scott was entitled to his emotions and his right to express them, he still had his obligations to the school, to the teams, and to Jean. His drinking was interfering with his ability to focus on any of these things, and threatened to undermine his role as a leader.

However, she was not completely convinced of these counterarguments until that day in the Ready Room. Prior to the incident, Scott had rebuffed offers of any physical demonstrations of comfort. It was incongruous given his propensity to be affectionate towards Jubilee. Hurtful as it was to receive this treatment, she surmised it was probably hard for him to tolerate any type of closeness at this point in time. But when he grabbed her and broke down in tears, she realized this Scott was in trouble. The strong smell of alcohol on his breath, the slurring of his words, and his lack of awareness in regards to what he was doing at the time were all signs she could no longer dismiss or ignore.

After confiding in Alex, Jubilee sought to have her own conversation with Scott about what happened. It was not only important for her to inform him of her growing concern and reiterate her availability as a source of support, but also to frame the message appropriately and effectively. Since the return of most of the teams, Scott had been involved in several verbal altercations. He had lashed out at individuals whom he perceived as pitying him. This group seemed to include just about everyone, from Kurt to Storm. Mindful of this, Jubilee was prepared to choose her words carefully. When she finally approached him after dropping off Jean's parents at their hotel, Scott appeared to be preoccupied with something else—something unrelated to his late wife, the attack on their home, or his interpersonal difficulties around the mansion. No, whatever was weighing heavily upon his mind evoked a reaction that was vastly different than what had been witnessed previously. His ire was more focused, as if it had a definite target to aim towards.

It was later that evening she learned of what was fuelled his anger.

She was riding the elevator car from Sub-Basement Level Two to the second floor in order to meet up with Paige before dinner. Following the younger Guthrie's return, the former Generation Xers found themselves sharing a room once again. Both Paige and Scott were insistent that the emergency living quarters would not continue to be an option. Despite her reservations about straying from Scott's immediate line of vision, Jubilee was relieved with the offer. Rooming with her best friend allowed her some reprieve from the stress related to her new caregiver role.

Jubilee remembered exiting the elevator when she heard music playing faintly from down the hall. Intrigued, her feet began to carry her towards the direction of the source, which was several doors down from Paige's room. As she made her way over, there were aspects of the situation that were hauntingly familiar. The song playing was one of her favourite tracks from Wilco's _Sky__Blue__Sky_ album. While most of her friends knew her appreciation for the band, there was only one person who was aware of her partiality towards that particular song. When Jubilee located the room from which the music was emanating from, her suspicions had been confirmed.

Bobby.

Suddenly, Jubilee became overwhelmed by memories that were intricately bound to a range of emotions that conflicted with one another—from complete happiness to complete heartbreak. Pulse racing wildly, she raised a trembling hand over her mouth. She could feel her throat constrict slightly, which made it difficult to breathe. Her stomach was fluttering and her head was spinning. Feeling more and more out of sorts, Jubilee was forced to step away from the door, pressing her back against the wall opposite from it.

Once she had been able to compose herself, she crept towards the mahogany door. Trepidation surged through her veins as she racked her brain for the next logical step. How was she going to approach this? What would she say? More importantly, would he even be receptive to hearing her out? She mulled over these questions carefully while willing herself not to lose her nerve. No matter how high her anxiety was at that moment, Jubilee was aware she needed to speak to him.

Confusion, tears, and devastation characterized the last time she had seen Bobby. While Jubilee was quick to acknowledge her role in their current difficulties, she did not in any way expect for him to behave as he did during her visit. He had been antithetical to the man she knew and fell in love with—aloof, indifferent, and quick to condemn. His decision to turn his back on their time together continued to leave her reeling. It was completely contradictory to the declarations he had made to her about how important their relationship was to him. Not too long ago, they had talked about the future as a couple, including the possibility of moving in together, and starting a family some day. He swore to her that it would always be the two of them in this world. Hearing Bobby's words echo inside her mind, it seemed those things were gone and lost forever.

"_I__can__'__t__do__this__anymore,__Jubes.__"_

With time to reflect on what transpired in Long Island and the tragic events in Westchester, Jubilee was able to gather her thoughts. She tried pushed aside her disbelief, hurt, and misery in order to engage in some deductive reasoning. It was her only recourse to make sense of everything that had happened. Bobby was under a great deal of strain, as evident in his haggard appearance and detached demeanour towards her. For her to arrive at his parents' home unannounced while bearing news must have been difficult for him to process and comprehend. Given this, it was possible that his overall exhaustion limited the psychological resources needed for him to think rationally. His decision might have then been borne out of impulsivity rather than serious deliberation. Therefore, it was probable that he had not meant what he had said. Such a conclusion allowed context to be provided in a situation that seemed so unusual. Even more important was that it gave Jubilee a glimmer of hope. This newfound sense of optimism spurred her into action. She knew what she had to do.

She was going to fight for him.

She was going to fight for _them_.

Taking a deep breath, Jubilee drew her hand from the lower half of her face and curled her fingers into a fist. Then she reached out, tentatively rapping against the wood. Her cerulean eyes widened in surprise once her skin met the surface. Instinctively, she pulled back.

It was cold.

Bone-chillingly cold.

Jubilee remembered feeling perplexed as she stood in front of Bobby's door. Her gaze was fixated on the barrier between her and his room. Then she reached out and ran her hand over the wood. What met her touch was icy, almost as if the wood itself was frozen. While Bobby's preference for cooler temperatures was a well-known fact around the mansion, this was certainly new.

When there was no response, she became increasingly concerned. Various scenarios depicting what was happening on the other side of the door suddenly flashed through her mind. With none of these hypothetical situations being all that good, her apprehension was raised exponentially. Again, she knocked but this time, Jubilee managed to do so with more force in order to produce a firmer sound. She also called out to Bobby, identifying herself in the process. Inwardly, she prayed that he was fine and that he would open the door—even if it was to turn her away. Anything would have been better than the sense of uncertainty and fear gnawing away at her. Her shoulders sank when her entreaties went unanswered.

Just as she was about to tap at the door for a third time, a hand tugged at her shoulder. Startled, Jubilee whipped around and found herself staring up at Alex Summers. Worry lines were etched into his tanned face, framing a grim mouth and blue-green eyes. Silently, he took her wrist and guided her away from Bobby's door. She gave him a confused look, withdrawing her arm from his grasp before studying him with a wide-eyed, crystalline gaze. Within a matter of seconds, Jubilee was able to decipher what motivated this strange encounter.

He knew.

This realization soon led to the discovery of another one.

Scott knew.

After both pieces of information sank in, she took a long, hard look at Bobby's door. She had been desperately wishing that he would open the door, proving the Summers brothers wrong. Jubilee still remembered their collective wariness over her involvement with Bobby, involving separate conversations expressing concern about the relationship. To be standing in front of them while Bobby continued to ignore her was more than she could bear. It only served to reinforce how right they were and to a greater degree, how incredibly flawed her judgment had been. Humiliated, Jubilee had decided to flee rather than engage Alex in a lengthy discussion about Bobby. She was the one who had become mentally exhausted for talking.

Since learning of Bobby's return to the mansion, Jubilee made numerous attempts to speak with him. She tried stopping by his room again but was dismayed when confronted with the same result. Text and voicemail messages asking him to meet with her went unanswered. Hopes of catching him in the dining hall during meals were dashed after two days of arriving early and waiting until the last student emptied his or her tray. It had taken gentle cajoling from Paige and surprisingly, Tabitha, to pry her away from the table.

There were also instances in the hallways where they would pass by each other. At first, she did not recognize him. Bobby looked as if he lost some weight and his face was pale and drawn, making his face appear harder and older. He wore his purple-tinted sunglasses constantly now, hiding his grey eyes. His mouth, which she remembered as being perpetually grinning, was now permanently fixed in a grimace. It was painful sight to behold.

Once she recovered from the shock of his transformation that first time, Jubilee repeatedly tried to approach him. Doing so proved to be rather difficult. Initially, he would pretend as if he did not see her. However, this was quickly abandoned when others standing nearby or walking with him would stop to greet her. Subsequent to this, he would then acknowledge her with a curt nod. Stopping him was made even more challenging since he was rarely alone. Often, he was accompanied by another team member to discuss issues related to the students or the investigation. Alternatively, she found herself engaged as well, either with a team mate or student. While Jubilee was not keen on approaching him in front of another party, her options were becoming limited. She needed to do this.

Last night, she believed she had her chance. Upon completing bed checks, Jubilee and Paige were making their way to their room when they ran into Bobby and Lorna. Cursory greetings were exchanged as was brief small talk (primarily between Paige and Lorna) prior to an awkward silence descending upon all of them. After what seemed like eons, Jubilee seized the opportunity. In a quiet but firm voice, she asked Bobby for a moment alone to talk. She remembered as she made her request, feeling as if there were so much depending on his answer. It unnerved her how terribly nervous she was, how she was ready to explode from all the adrenaline coursing throughout her entire being.

But this was replaced with disappointment once he told her no in a voice that was without any emotion before walking away.

Seeing her best friend's dejected expression, Paige knew where the other young woman's thoughts had drifted towards. She placed a sympathetic hand on Jubilee's arm. "How are you doing?" she asked.

Cerulean eyes widened in surprise as the reverie faded. She instantly recognized the look of concern in the younger Guthrie's face. In spite of the years that passed since their Generation X days, Paige's devotion to their friendship never wavered. The blonde metamorph had been a great source of support during these weary times. She was a trusted confidante, acting a sounding board and providing (albeit somewhat biased given her loyalties) advice. With Logan on mission in Madripoor and Scott treading the dark waters of anguish for his sanity, Paige was a beacon of stability for Jubilee.

A small smile graced her red mouth as she replied, "I think I've had better days."

Paige chewed her lower lip nervously. She was cognizant of the toll the past several days had taken on her friend. Losing Jean was akin to a parent dying, an experience Jubilee was unfortunately familiar with. The two had forged a close bond, reflecting a dynamic that satisfied both of their respective needs. For Jean, Jubilee was the child she and Scott were contemplating of having whereas for the young firecracker, Jean provided the maternal care that had been missing since her youth in California. When the telepath died, it was as if Jubilee lost her mother all over again. Although her friend did not frame the loss in that manner, it was clear to Paige how deeply affected Jubilee was.

Complicating the bereavement process was the newfound responsibility of looking after Scott. Although there had been no explicit demands from him to undertake this task, Jubilee simply obliged in some sort of familial loyalty. From what Paige was able to discern, the experience was challenging and exhausting for her friend. Scott, in the midst of processing his own feelings of culpability and grief, was becoming erratic in his behaviour. At times, he was quite docile, allowing Jubilee to dote on him. Other times, he was insistent that he could fend for himself. In fact, he was the one who strongly urged her to room with Paige so that she could start towards the path of normalcy. Furthermore, there were rumours among team members and staff of his growing reliance on alcohol. Warren relayed an incident that occurred yesterday, where he had picked up a flask that had fallen out of Scott's pocket while they were walking towards Cerebro.

What struck the younger Guthrie as being quite damaging was the sudden end of Jubilee's relationship with Bobby. She, like most people who knew of their involvement, had been under the impression that they were together in bliss. In fact, in all the years she knew Jubilee, her time with Bobby was the happiest she had ever seen her. It was a connection that made sense given their common interests, sense of humour, and their former roles as being the youngest on their respective teams. And yet, there was something intangible about their bond that neither Paige nor anyone outside of the relationship could thoroughly comprehend. It transcended their similarities, giving way to a shared understanding between them. For Bobby to abruptly disavow all of that was shocking to say the least. Having heard the details of the break-up from Jubilee, Paige was at a loss. Her bewilderment was intensified after witnessing his cold snub the night before. Although she did not know Bobby well, she never thought he could be capable of such despicable behaviour. Certainly, it flew in the face of all the glowing things her friend had to say about him. The man who met them in the hallway that evening was not worthy of Jubilee's affections, tears, and ongoing angst. This was a contemptible person whose cruelty came about unprovoked. It had taken some talking down from Warren and a crying Jubilee to refrain Paige from confronting Bobby herself.

As distressing as this was, Paige suspected there was another variable involved in the equation. When Jubilee told her of the events that transpired on Thanksgiving, the blonde metamorph could not help but feel stunned. As the only person aware of Sam's feelings for her friend, she had been the one to gently point out the young woman's unavailability. At the same time, Paige felt her heart go out to her older brother, who seemed intent on torturing himself for his yearnings. Prior to his departure to Madripoor, she had tried to convince him of the rashness of his decision. However, the tormented expression in his pale eyes spoke volumes as to why he had to leave. Given this, the younger Guthrie had been inclined to feel some anger on his behalf. Even though Jubilee was oblivious to Sam's feelings, there was a part of Paige that viewed the kiss as a rather callous thing to do.

However, her resentment dissipated once the young firecracker confessed the inner turmoil she experienced following that night. With great candour, Jubilee told her friend about the conflicted feelings she had towards the kiss and Sam. Specifically, she detailed her constant ruminations about what happened between them. On one hand, Jubilee said she felt incredibly guilty, where thoughts of hurting Bobby and confusing Sam wracked her constantly. She hated herself for inflicting such pain on both men. And yet, on the other hand, what started out as an impulsive act meant to put that bully in his place, transformed into something else that affected weeks following the kiss. The young firecracker confided in her friend that she found herself fixated by it, her mind replaying the event over and over again in spite of her efforts not to do so. She also relayed to Paige the other feelings that fuelled her ambivalence being around Sam, including a fear that it something similar would occur.

When she first listened to her friend discuss the issue at length, the younger Guthrie was growing more and more curious. Her initial assessment of Jubilee's inner conflict surrounding Sam had concluded her mortification was in response to the violation of some social boundary. But this soon changed once she considered the troubled expression Jubilee wore when talking about the Southern gentleman, her belief that she had driven him away, and her repeated wishes of doing something to rectify things between them. The wheels inside the blonde metamorph's head turned furiously. According to what she was able to glean, Jubilee's feelings towards Sam were much more complicated than initially thought. In fact, Paige was becoming convinced something existed beyond the guilt and concern her friend was professing to be experiencing.

Soon, the younger Guthrie found herself just as conflicted as her friend although for different reasons. Secretly, she felt overjoyed for her older brother. There was a chance that the objected of unrequited affections may harbour similar feelings, and due to recent developments, was not so unavailable anymore. But the part of Paige that was loyal to Jubilee hated seeing her friend in so much pain—even if it was the result of pining for someone other than Sam.

In the end, Paige was determined to do what she could for the hurting party who was right here. As much as she loved her brother, she was keenly aware that had he been present for any of this, he would have wanted her to do the right thing. So, for now, she abstained from pushing Jubilee. The last thing she needed was the introduction of another stressor.

"I guess that's one way to put it," Paige remarked ruefully, giving her friend's arm another squeeze.

Jubilee's smile disappeared. "Yeah, I guess it is." Staring ahead at the tranquil landscape before her, she sighed and shook her head. Then she said earnestly, "I feel like I'm floating face down in the water and there's all this murkiness between me and any reasonable explanation."

A gentle breeze rumpled the blunt blonde fringe over Paige's brows. "Are we talking about what happened with Jean…or something else?"

The young firecracker smoothed an errant tendril from her cheek. "I suppose it's pretty all-encompassing when I think about it," she answered, sheepish at her lack of specificity. "It's kind of amazing how life can turn so quickly, you know. One moment, everything is…perfect. Then these horrible series of events happen, making you question everything you ever knew."

Paige nodded slowly, recognizing Jubilee's current comfort level in speaking in generalities. "You're right," she agreed, drawing her hand back and looping her arm through that of her friend. "When things get hard, you sort of start to see the cracks in everything. And soon, it's easy to let tragedy harden us. I think our mission, in the end, is never allowing that to happen."

Jubilee allowed her friend's sage words to sink in. They represented a life philosophy she had developed when she was very young. It helped hone her resilience, determination, and a sense of balance that seemed unlikely for someone with her past. With the heartbreak and tragic events occurring in rapid succession, she nearly forgotten this mantra.

"Thanks," she said finally, giving the blonde metamorph a grateful look. Then she tugged at her arm gently. "Let's start walking. I'm getting chilly."

Paige followed her lead. The two friends lapsed into silence as they took one of the well-worn, gravel footpaths. With the winds dying down, they began marching towards the field of purple heather at the other end of the estate. Reaching the sea of violet, she and Jubilee stopped in their tracks, struck by the brilliant contrast of the heather against the grey skies overhead.

The stillness between was broken when Jubilee spoke up. "You know," she said, pulling back slightly from the younger Guthrie, "the old me would have sent a spark at his head or something."

Surprised, the blonde metamorph peered into her friend's thoughtful face. This was a first. Any previous reference to Bobby was framed in the context of the breakdown of the relationship. For the most part, Jubilee had tried to focus on the facts. Paige surmised she found the objectivity safer, less likely to be tear-provoking. However, despite these efforts, her resolve would eventually be undermined.

Finally, Paige nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I know. But that's not you now."

"No, it isn't," Jubilee said quietly, "because now I think, 'What good is that going to do?' Yeah, it might feel really cathartic…but will it make him talk to me, or change his mind as to where things stand? I doubt it."

While she was speaking, the younger Guthrie noticed that Jubilee was fingering the pink beads of the necklace Bobby had given her two Christmases ago. Her pale eyes then travelled to the young woman's right hand. Another gift from Bobby, the slender, 14-karat gold Claddaugh ring, was fixed around her ring finger.

Jubilee followed her friend's gaze. Her cheeks turned pink with a self-conscious blush. "You think it's stupid I'm still wearing this stuff, don't you?"

"No," Paige replied, watching Jubilee twist the band around her finger nervously. "You still love him, right?"

The young firecracker nodded. "Yeah," she answered softly, "I do."

"That's not stupid, either," Paige reassured her with a sympathetic smile. "In fact, there's nothing stupid about how you're feeling."

"I don't see why you would think that way," her friend said bitterly, clasping her hands together and shaking her head.

Perplexed, the blonde metamorph frowned. "Why? You still love him and you're hurt. I can't see how any of that is stupid, Jubes."

"Because I still believe there's still an 'us' even though Bobby's made his intentions pretty clear. He said we were through. I've tried to talk to him and he wouldn't have any part of it. You saw that."

The younger Guthrie's eyebrows shot up expectantly when she heard a note of hesitation in the other young woman's voice. "I sense a 'but' following."

Jubilee hesitated. It was astonishing how well Paige really knew her. The fact that she could read her so well was a testament to their enduring friendship. "But," she began, swallowing hard. "I feel like I should do whatever it takes to fight for him. Does that sound crazy?"

The younger Guthrie shook her head, straw-coloured hair rippling down her shoulders. "Not to me."

Relief washed over her friend's face before she continued speaking. "There's a part of me that thinks something's really off about this whole mess."

"What do you mean?" Paige asked quizzically, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her coat.

"Listen, I'm the first one to admit that what I did was pretty bad. I understand how he is hurt by that given his track record."

"But…"

"He was really eager to try and convict me on the spot. I mean, he wouldn't even let me reassure him that I wouldn't do it again and that the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt him."

"That doesn't sound like Bobby. I don't know him that well but from what I do know, he's a pretty reasonable guy."

"Exactly, Hayseed. That's what makes all of this so weird."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I feel like I've exhausted my brain in terms of options. At the same time, I don't know how much more I can go on like this. I need to air things out with him."

"Have you thought about giving him some time and space to think about things? You have to understand, Jubes, that this is a difficult time for him as well. I mean, you've said so yourself. He's had to deal with his dad being sick and now with Jean gone. It's probably a lot for him to take."

"I get that. I really do. I'm just not convinced that putting off talking is going to help things. It's not like what Bobby and I have been about. We've always been there for each other, listening and talking things out—no matter the subject matter or the feelings tied to the topic. We've always been there for each other in that way. What's happening right now feels so strange, Paige. It is so Iunlike/I us. Because of that, I can't turn my back on us so easily."

The younger Guthrie dropped her gaze to the grassy ground beneath her feet. There was one particular question she had wanted to pose but was struggling to phrase. She feared it would elicit a negative reaction from her friend. At the same time, she was sure that it was one that Jubilee must have considered in her ever present ruminations about the topic.

After searching in vain for an eloquent manner to make her query, Paige decided to forge ahead. As Jubilee's best friend, she was obligated to not only provide comfort but to act as a voice of reason—even if it meant pointing out a harsh set of possibilities. "What if you don't get the answer you want?" she asked softly. "What if he says it's really over between you two?"

Jubilee's lower lip trembled as her sapphire eyes glistened with tears. Clearly, her friend's question was devastating but one that needed to be answered. Blinking furiously, she took a deep breath before replying. "Then it's over and I have to accept that. End of story." Then she crossed her arms over her chest, as if to hold in the sobs about to wrack her body.

Her friend, looking equally distressed, wrapped an arm around the young firecracker's shoulders. She held her close and sighed. "I'm sorry, Jubes," she whispered.

Resting her head on Paige's shoulder, Jubilee shook her head. "You didn't do anything," she pointed out, brushing the back of her hand against a saline-stained cheek. "I made this huge mess and I can't figure out how to go about fixing things. I deserve this shit storm."

"You do not," the younger Guthrie countered firmly, pale eyes peering over at her friend's anguished face. "Yes, things got out of control and he's hurting. But it doesn't excuse how he's been acting. In no way do you deserve to be treated the way you have. In no way do you deserve to be in this kind of pain."

Sable brows furrowed together as Jubilee frowned. "What about Sam?" she asked.

"What about Sam?" Paige tried to contain her surprise at the mention of her brother's name. She did not quite understand how the discussion jumped from Bobby to him all of a sudden.

The young woman drew back slightly, staring at the blond metamorph with her old-soul, blue eyes. "Because of me, he picked up and left," she told Paige gravely. "I can't believe you're being nice to me despite knowing that."

"I'm nice to you because you're my best friend and I love you," the younger Guthrie pointed out, her tone resolute. Her pale eyes stared deeply into Jubilee's face, emphasizing the sincerity in her words. "Listen, I don't blame you for Sam leaving. I'm sure he left for his own reasons." Inwardly, Paige was praying her attempt at deception would go unnoticed.

Fortunately, her pleas were answered since Jubilee was focused on arguing her original assertion. "You don't understand," she insisted, lower lip trembling once again. "I made him leave. The way I treated him after that night… I confused him."

Paige struggled to maintain her composure. She had been operating on a theory but did not recognize the degree of its validity until this moment. As she studied her friend, the younger Guthrie experienced a growing sense of anticipation. She thought of her older brother, his self-inflicted torment, and how this moment seemed to be indicative of so much potential. "Jubes?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I confused Sam," Jubilee repeated softly, tears falling down her cheeks, "because I'm confused…because I don't really understand what my feelings are. I mean, I love Bobby and what's happening has been a nightmare and I don't want to give up on us. At the same time, I think about Sam when I know I shouldn't. I try not to but I do."

For the other young woman, the veneer of impartiality was beginning to erode which was complicated by the growing sense of confusion evoked by Jubilee's statements about the oldest Guthrie. "What do you mean?" Paige asked, prodding gently. She realized she was in a precarious position and needed to balance her desire to understand with her friend's feelings. Her words and tone needed to reflect caution. "When do you think about Sam?"

"While I'm trying to figure out things with Bobby," Jubilee admitted, cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. She shook her head in disbelief. "I know I need to focus on salvaging my relationship with the guy I've been with for the past two years...and believe me, I really want to. I do love him. It's just that ever since Thanksgiving, I haven't been able to get Sam out of my head. No matter how much I try to concentrate on what's been going on with Bobby, Sam isn't too far behind."

A sad smile graced her small mouth as she continued. "Before Bobby went to Genosha and that night with Sam, things were so simple. Back then, it was only Bobby." She stared into her friend's deeply concerned visage and asked, "Did I tell you we talked about moving in together a couple days before he went away?"

The blonde metamorph shook her head. "No, Jubes, you didn't."

"Yeah, well…" Her soft voice trailed off as she tried to comprehend the rapid deterioration of their relationship since that conversation. Despite her best efforts, she was stymied once again. With so much turmoil present in her life right now, Jubilee began to wonder if the discussion had been some illusion her conflicted psyche had fabricated. She questioned if all the good believed to be inherent in her relationship with Bobby had been part of some dream—something she had feared. Closing her eyes, she could see his boyishly handsome face, hear the loving and patient words expressed to her, and feel the tenderness of his touch. The tangible nature of all those things convinced her that no, what they had shared was genuine.

Meanwhile, the younger Guthrie was fixated by her friend's disclosure relating to the Southern gentleman. Though she wanted to read more into what had been laid out, clarification was required. "But now, things aren't so simple," she reflected, using Jubilee's words as a means to prompt. When this statement received a nod, Paige then asked, "Is it because of Sam?"

Jubilee bit her lower lip, shaking her head. "It's not like that exactly."

"Then what?" Paige's voice was non-judgemental as she encouraged her friend to explain what was meant.

The young firecracker fell silent. Other nights, they had discussed her reaction to the kiss, the resulting ambivalence towards the oldest Guthrie, and her view that the act ultimately hurt both Bobby and Sam. She had talked at length with Paige about her confusion, guilt, and remorse but held back on addressing other feelings—ones she did not quite understand and therefore, was not ready to touch upon.

Yet, as she peered into the guileless face of her friend, Jubilee began to realize what the nature of those emotions was and their role in the ongoing chaos in her life. Initially, she was frightened of her epiphany. However, she came to accept that what she was feeling provided context to her experience and the interactions between herself and the Southern gentleman. Unfortunately, they also served to exacerbate her confusion.

Finally, she said, "It's because of how much I think about Sam. It's because of how I wish I could take away all the hurt I've caused him." Then she paused, racking her brain for a more eloquent way to communicate what trumped those things. At a loss, Jubilee dropped her voice to a whisper. "But most of all, it's because of how much I've come to care about him."


	63. Chapter Sixty Three: Here Without You

To honour the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, I'm posting the latest instalment. This was a real downer to write.

Thanks to everyone who's been kind enough to leave a review. I really love hearing from you guys.

Big time thanks go out to my beta, Jo the Phoenix.

The characters are Marvel's but the story is all mine.

**Chapter Sixty Three: Here Without You**

A solemn-faced Kurt clutched his leather-bound copy of the King James Version of the Bible as he made his way down the second floor hallway. The former priest-in-training and Munich circus performer was feeling particularly weary this late afternoon. His yellow eyes were heavy-lidded and there was a heavy sensation that weighed down his wiry body. Even his prehensile tail, which was hanging limply behind him, reflected his downtrodden mood. It was a peculiar image considering that this was the man known for his optimism and occasional dabbling in practical jokes. Any trace of any light-heartedness and mirth were rare sightings these days.

He had not been particularly close to Jean Grey but mourned her death just as much as those who were. Following their initial meeting in Boston those many years ago, Kurt was surprised not only to learn there were other like him but to discover a kindred spirit in the graceful redhead as well. Unlike some of more cynical team members (Logan, Emma, and Warren), Jean shared Kurt's faith in other people and propensity to engage in mercy rather than aggression and retribution. Some (notably, Logan) questioned their approach, especially given the cruelty and ignorance they were forced to endure everyday. Despite such resistance, both Jean and Kurt remained steadfast to their principles and adhered to them with great reverence.

With news of her passing, the German native felt he was now part of a minority within a population of minorities. Since her death, it seemed that he, Hank, and the Professor were alone in their pursuit of searching for solace and understanding. The growing sense of anger and desire for revenge among his friends and team mates created a tension—one that was threatening to culminate in some sort of altercation later. What was more insidious was the fact that this strain appeared to be complicating the grieving process, creating a vacillation the between abject sorrow and undeniable rage. Evidence of these phenomena was evident in those mourning Jean but was manifested in the extreme by one person.

Kurt nodded at two students in greeting before turning a corner, musing on his friendship with Scott Summers. The two men were bound by similar attitudes and values towards in regards to the school and field missions. While most interpreted Scott's demeanour as awkward and somewhat stiff, the German native was able to see past all of that to empathize with someone who shouldered a great deal of responsibilities. Although they did not see eye to eye with respect to some things, the two men were able to develop a camaraderie based on mutual respect and understanding. It also helped that Kurt was one of the few able to make the notorious stodgy Scott smile every once in a while. In fact, their friendship was what compelled Scott to ask the demonic-faced Nightcrawler to officiate the funeral service.

His mind began to replay the events of the past several days. He found himself particularly troubled within hours of returning to Westchester. In addition to learning the stunning news of Jean's death, the demonic-looking teleporter was further shocked when he offered his condolences the man she had left behind. It was difficult not to question his grasp on reality as this man purporting to be Scott Summers greeted him. This man was beyond the throes of despair; he was a lost soul drifting among the living. For Kurt, the experience soon went beyond this initial shock. He was genuinely affected for someone he had come to care about.

During his training to become a Roman Catholic priest, Kurt became aware of the darkness the human soul was subjected during times of hardship. Despite his own familiarity with adversity, he was unaccustomed to some individuals' need to lash out at the world or worse, at themselves. Granted, he could empathize with their anger and despondency, but the desire to strike out rather than understand and find peace remained a mystery to him. Such destructive tendencies ran counterintuitive to how he conducted himself in the face of similar circumstances. For the German native, life was always about growing and learning from the negatives in order to develop into a better person. It was what gave him faith during the more turbulent periods of his existence.

Upon his return to the mansion, it was quite evident to Kurt that his friend was struggling to come to grips with what happened. Tension seemed to follow the bespectacled leader everywhere. Everyone, including the students, was walking on eggshells in his presence; either they had been involved in some sort of altercation with him or were desperately trying to avoid doing so. It was as if Scott were allowing his grief to dictate his relationships around the mansion.

Based on what he was able to observe, the former priest-in-training knew he needed to exercise caution. On one hand, Kurt wished to impart the tenets of his faith upon Scott by explaining how they could help him find some peace. However, on the other hand, he was quite cognizant that the other man's rage would likely negate any discussion relating to finding solace. The experience was comparable to his tightrope-walking days in the circus. Straying too close on either side could prove to be disastrous. Balance was necessary.

Much to his dismay, Kurt discovered that engaging Scott was difficult. Granted, he did not expect his friend to immediately disclose the severity of the pain inflicted as a result of Jean's death. After all, this was a man who prided himself in being able to separate his emotions from whatever task was at hand. Despite his training under Xavier, there continued to be a part of him that feared a loss of control over his abilities. Scott had often confided in Kurt that he found it necessary to sometimes ignore or disavow his feelings in order to fully focus. It was Jean who had to remind him to acknowledge them every once in a while. As he struggled to maintain a conversation with Scott, Kurt realized his friend's ability to communicate was greatly impacted by the loss of his wife. Without Jean, Scott could not process his emotions nor was he capable of filtering his responses appropriately which gave way to bouts of laconic brooding often followed by unprovoked demonstrations of anger.

While his emotional lability was unnerving, there another aspect to the newly widowed Scott's maladaptive coping that was equally if not more troubling. Specifically, there was increasing evidence that he was developing a drinking problem. At first, Kurt had been inclined to dismiss the rumours that floated among the team members and staff. He supposed it was his loyalty to Scott that clouded his judgment, allowing him some latitude given the circumstances. However, questioning the veracity of the allegations became difficult once the sources were identified (Kitty and Storm). However, what finally convinced Kurt was the proof that was more tangible than the whispers floating among the team and staff. What he was able to observe of Scott's demeanour was indicative of something more insidious. The perpetually rumpled hair and clothing, the problems with keeping track during the conversation, the slight odour of alcohol that permeated from his breath and skin, and the subtle slurring when pronouncing certain words—all of these pieces of objective data culminated in a disturbing picture.

After admitting the truth to himself, Kurt knew he needed to speak up. Now, it was no longer just about people being uncomfortable around Scott. His drinking threatened to undermine his ability to lead and instil confidence in those who looked up to him. Even more disconcerting was its impact on the manner in which Scott was mourning Jean's death. Rather than process what happened and attempt to make sense of the tragedy in order to find consolation, he was choosing to dull his pain as part of a temporary reprieve from reality. As far as Kurt was concerned, these were not the actions of the Scott Summers he knew.

His mind echoed with their conversation in the Ready room several days ago. Other than the team and staff meetings about the operating procedures around the school, this was the first chance Kurt had to engage in a discussion with his friend and team mate. At first, things were civil although undercut by the brusque manner that characterized Scott's interactions these days. His face had been set in a grim mask, complementing his flat and wooden tone of voice. The overall impression had left Kurt feeling slightly off-kilter. In spite of this, he was determined to proceed. There were more important things to consider other than the discomfort that had besieged him. He reiterated his condolences before querying Scott about the funeral arrangements.

The tone of the discussion quickly changed once the topic of Jean's funeral was raised. The air between the two men suddenly became taut. Since his return from Virginia, the former priest-in-training had been working alongside Storm and Lorna regarding the logistics of the service as well as coordinating with the Greys as to what they wanted. This was in stark contrast to Scott, who provided little to no guidance—a fact not lost on either man.

"_I've had other things on my mind," Scott finally admitted, jaw slightly clenched. His bandaged hand had started to fumble around the pocket of his black leather bomber. When he noticed Kurt eyeing him curiously, he drew his hand back and pressed it against the tabletop. _

_Kurt was aware of what his friend had intended to retrieve from his jacket pocket. Concerned, he inquired, "Vat vould zey be? Perhaps I can be of some help?"_

_The other man shook his head forcefully. "No, there's nothing you can do," he replied tersely. "I've already told Storm and Lorna that I'm fine with whatever they and Jean's family decide is appropriate. At least, that's what I thought those two would have relayed to you." He swallowed hard and pursed his lips bitterly, as if reflecting his annoyance with the aforementioned individuals. _

"_I suppose zey have a great deal to contend vit as vell," Kurt remarked quietly, golden eyes sweeping over the heavily-stubbled visage of Scott Summers. The observation had not been completely off-the mark. The two women were working all hours of the day to arrange the funeral, including preparing the chapel on the estate for the service. _

_Scott flinched involuntarily, wounded by the observation despite the kindness radiating from its_ messenger. Then in a low and even voice, he said, "I'm really not in the mood to talk right now, Kurt. If you don't mind, I'd like to know what you want from me so we can move on."_

_The German native was stunned by his friend's directness. It took every ounce of self-control to maintain his composure rather than respond to the abrupt nature of his treatment. He took a deep breath before answering, folding his hands together. "Zee prayers and hymns have been chosen," he began, his demonic features grave, "but zere is still zee eulogy."_

"_What about it?" There was an edge creeping into Scott's voice as he posed the question. _

_Kurt swallowed hard before answering. "Vell, Jean's family felt it vould be fitting for zose who knew her to say something. Hank, Varren, Storm, Lorna, and Bobby vill be speaking."_

"_Wait, Bobby? He's going to speak?" Scott's features contorted, revealing a level of disdain usually reserved for Logan during tempestuous times. _

"_Ja… Does zat surprise you?"_

"_I...I'm not exactly thrilled with this development."_

"_I'm not sure I follow your logic. He vas one of her good friends."_

"_I realize that but I don't like it."_

"_Vould you mind sharing your reasons, Scott? Again, I don't understand."_

"_Never mind. Can't you prepare something for me instead? Speak on my behalf. I trust you."_

"_Nein, zat vould not be vise, Scott."_

"_Why not?"_

"_It vould not be right. I vas not zat close to Jean."_

"_So? Clergy are often asked to eulogize people they don't know well."_

"_Zis is different," Kurt pointed out gently. "Storm, Lorna, and Jean's parents vant to ensure zings are done in accordance vit vat she vould vant. Delivering zee eulogy is part of zat. It makes zee process of saying goodbye personal and provides a context for Jean's memory ozer zan her loss." _

_Scott scowled. "You have no idea what kind of nightmare life has been," he told the former priest-in-training bitterly. "I've lost my wife and the future we were preparing for together."_

_Kurt nodded silently, feeling rather humbled. Although his existence had been fraught with obstacles in gaining acceptance, losing someone close to him was one experience he was fortunate enough to have avoided so far. "You are right," he finally said, his voice teetering on the edge of sounding meek. "I don't understand but vat you are doing, mein freund, it is not helping you."_

"_And what exactly am I doing that's not 'helping' me?" Scott asked pointedly, cheeks flushed pink with simmering anger. His shoulders were hunched as if he were preparing himself for a confrontation. _

_Reading the nonverbal cues, Kurt was not about to become the target of the grieving widower's misplaced rage. He chose his words carefully, ensuring he conveyed them with tact. "It is just zat I am concerned about how you are dealing vit vat happened to Jean," he replied earnestly. "I notice you are drinking and—"_

_Scott cut him off, ignoring the sympathy that emanated from his friend's statement. "And therefore, that makes me the cliché drunk who drowns his sorrows? Is that what I am to you now? What would you have me do instead?" _

_Calmly, the German native pressed on. "Perhaps, if you talk about it—"_

"_Why the hell would I want to do that?" the dishevelled man sitting across from him demanded. "Will talking bring Jean back? Will talking make it easier to look Jubilee and everyone else in the eye? Will talking help me to hate myself any less? No, none of those things are going to happen and you know it."_

_This time, Kurt could not help but wince at the vitriol being thrown at him. It was clear his friend was in a great deal of pain. Being the target of his verbal attack was evidence of this and possibly, a means for Scott to experience emotions other than despair. Even though the German native was empathic to this, he was still reeling. _

_After what seemed like eons to compose himself, Kurt said, "Again, you are right but vat zee eulogy can give you is a sense of closure—make peace vit vat happened."_

_Scott balled his uninjured hand into a fist. "I don't want any fucking closure, Kurt," he snapped. "I just want my wife back." _

_With that, Scott rose from his seat. Behind his wraparound, ruby-quartz sunglasses, the haggard-looking widower gave his friend a long, hard look. He then briskly made his way out of the Ready room, leaving an astonished and wounded Kurt staring after him. _

Still affected by Scott's jarring words, Kurt subsequently found himself ruminating over one particular point of the conversation. Specifically, he could not help but notice the hostile manner in which the other man uttered Bobby's name. It was as if he were pronouncing something vile. In addition, upon discovering that his team mate would be speaking at the funeral service, Scott appeared to be torn between disgust and rage. The entire episode struck Kurt as rather odd. While the two men were not good friends, they had managed to forge an understanding especially in light of Bobby's relationship with Jubilee. Had Kurt not been preoccupied by Scott's well-being, he would have certainly conducted a more thorough investigation.

To Kurt's surprise, this was not the only disparaging reaction associated with the boyishly handsome young man from Long Island. During one of the team meetings, he noticed Alex glaring at Bobby. As the two men were exiting the Ready room with everyone else, the younger Summers brother jostled his former romantic rival with his shoulder. Were it not for Warren quickly stepping between them, the situation would have surely escalated. When asked for an explanation for his behaviour, Alex merely responded by shooting Bobby a withering look before storming off. In fact, every time both men were in close vicinity of one another, it was the blond geophysicist who made a point to express his contempt for the former accountant primarily through scowls and thinly veiled insults. The dynamic was very unusual given that in the past, it was Bobby who was overt in his resentment towards Alex.

Apparently, Alex was not alone in his hostility towards Bobby. Paige Guthrie seemed equally incensed with him as well. Her disdain was made clear the other night as she and Kurt were waiting for the elevator car to reach Sub-Basement Level Two. They had just finished a session in the Danger Room. The rigorous simulation had been a welcomed experience, allowing for some distraction and acting as a release for pent-up feelings of frustration and grief accumulated since returning to Westchester. Just as the doors opened, Bobby was leaving one of the nearby offices with a pile of papers in his arms. He called out to them to hold the elevator as he was intending to join them. Paige, who stepped inside after Kurt, glowered at him before firmly pressing the close button. Her darkened expression remained even as the doors shut. Similar to Alex, the younger Guthrie declined to put her behaviour in context. Rather, she advised Kurt to "watch out for Bobby".

Hoping to obtain some clarity, Kurt attempted to approach Jubilee. He was confident that the young firecracker would be able to shed some light as to what happening with her boyfriend. However, the teleporter soon discovered that the task was more difficult than anticipated. Her current duties looking after the students meant that she was almost surrounded by the children or often accompanied by Paige, who seemed reluctant to leave her side. Moreover, given Jubilee's relationship with Jean and her presence on the night of the attack, it appeared that her willingness to engage was limited by her grief. While she was by no means mourning to the degree that Scott was, her heartbreak was just as palpable. The brilliant twinkling in those sapphire eyes were replaced by a dullness Kurt had never seen before. She appeared either preoccupied or on the verge of tears. When he was able to reach her and broach the subject, Jubilee looked anxious and demanded to know what he heard and knew. As he tried to explain his own lack of knowledge relating to Bobby, Paige intervened and firmly guided her friend away. Since then, their conversations were limited to planning activities for the students.

Still baffled, Kurt confided in Tabitha and Kitty his observations. He had been hoping to prompt them in sharing their thoughts. The two women exchanged unreadable glances before Tabitha chose to respond. The blonde wild child's normally cheery and mischievous expression darkened. With her blue-green eyes narrowed into razor thin slits and her magenta-painted lips pursed, she launched into a diatribe about Bobby where he was compared to the rats who roamed the sewers. However, she refused to clarify as to what brought her to this conclusion. For her part, Kitty was noticeably uncomfortable and was keen to steer the conversation in another direction. When Kurt persisted in attempting to understand what evoked such a reaction, Kitty told him that she wanted no part in this discussion before taking her leave.

Left with more questions than answers, the German native was alone in his attempts to wrap his head around things. Kurt felt as if he were living in some surreal world, where normally reasonable people were engaging in uncharacteristically irrational behaviour. It was clear that the common denominator was Bobby. However, what remained elusive was why he had attracted such anger. For the most part, Bobby Drake was well-liked by nearly everyone. As one of the original students, he earned the respect of students and newer team mates by demonstrating that it was possible to attain enough control over one's abilities to contribute to the cause. Among the teaching staff, he was known for his affable but firm approach to education. Within the context of field team assignments, he was often relied upon not only for his powers but for his honest feedback. But it was his reputation around the mansion as the resident prankster that garnered irritation, particularly from his victims. Not too long ago, observing Bobby fleeing from some offended party had been a common sight.

As far as Kurt was concerned, what was he was witnessing now was entirely different. This was outright antagonism for seemingly no reason. His concern for Bobby stemmed from their friendship. While his connection with Scott was based on values related to leadership and responsibility, it was the blithe sensibilities towards the world that bonded Bobby and Kurt together. The teleporter could always depend on his team mate for a witty remark, anecdote, or practical joke for guaranteed amusement. There were times when Kurt was on the verge of choking from laughter in response to something Bobby either did or said (notably, the time when the young man rang up a proctologist to schedule an appointment for Logan). Recently, the demonic-looking German became indoctrinated in the Drake world of practical jokes. Assisting the younger man indulged Kurt's penchant for mischief while Bobby wryly cited Kurt's teleporting abilities allowing for quick retreats as the primary motive.

Kurt felt especially guilty since they had not spoken since returning from their mission in Genosha. It was only recently he learned of the circumstances responsible for his friend's departure. Additionally, preparing for the funeral services and his responsibilities around the school had left him little time to reach out. The fact that Bobby rarely ventured around the mansion outside of his room and the offices devoted to the investigative team these days also compounded matters. Aware of the strong bond between Bobby and Jean, Kurt surmised the young man from Long Island was probably in need of a comforting presence especially in light of the hostility that had been directed towards him as of late.

Fortunately, he had been able to secure some time from his hectic schedule after finishing the words of comfort he prepared for the service. After asking Tabitha to cover his drama class (a move that left him feeling ambivalent), Kurt decided to make his way to Bobby's room. When he finally reached the mahogany door, he curled his three fingers into a fist and rapped at the door. His golden eyes widened when his skin came into contact with the wood—icy almost frozen.

Before he could mull over the peculiarities, a gruff-sounding voice asked, "Who is it?"

_Curiouser__and__curiouser,_Kurt thought, unsure which took him by more surprise—the door or Bobby's greeting. "It's Kurt. I vas vondering if I could speak vit you."

There was a brief pause before Bobby acquiesced. "Come in."

As soon as he opened the door, the demonic-looking teleporter soon realized that the eccentricities he first encountered did not prepare him for what was on the other side. His brows immediately shot upwards, nearly meeting his hairline as he gazed upon the room. The walls were completely encased in translucent ice. Just outside of the doorway leading to the private bath were a series of jagged, icy structures that ran parallel and angled closely at the top to form a sort of tunnel. In contrast to the floor which was noticeably devoid of any frost, the ceiling was peppered with icicles of various sizes. The larger ones were positioned closest to the door, forcing Kurt to duck as he ventured further inside.

Shivering, the German native was wishing he had worn something warmer than his slim-fit khakis, forest-green T-shirt, navy cashmere cardigan, and maroon Converse high-top sneakers. He closed the door behind him and wrapped his wiry arms around himself. Exhaling, he could see his breath swirling before his eyes in thin wisps.

Kurt had been so mesmerised by the arctic-like environment that he nearly lost sight of Bobby. The young man was seated at the foot of his king-sized bed, dressed in one of his trademark Hawaiian shirts and a pair of khakis. In front of him was a block of ice shaped in the form of a miniature stage. Amazement coursed throughout Kurt's entire being when he noticed there were two small crystalline figures—a man and a woman—dancing together across the platform.

"Hello, Bobby," Kurt greeted, trying to will his teeth from chattering. He did not know if doing so would be construed as rude to his host. Still intrigued with the wintry interior, he commented, "Interesting decorating choice."

His friend did not look up but chose to focus on the dancers in front of him. "Hey, Kurt," he replied, holding his hand over the stage only inches above the couple. The younger man's voice was subdued as he added, "Thanks…I guess."

"Vat made you decide on all of this?" Kurt made a sweeping gesture to the ice-encased walls.

Bobby shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze still concentrated on the platform. "I was in the mood for a change. Plus, it keeps these guys around a little longer."

Dropping to his haunches to inspect the figures with greater scrutiny, the former Munich circus performer was awestruck as he asked, "Are zey…alife?"

Shaking his head, his friend replied, "No, they're just ice. I'm animating them by freezing and unfreezing adjacent molecules in rhythm." He flexed his fingers for emphasis, causing the male figure to twirl his female counterpart around. "You see, the figures look as though they are moving, but it's an illusion. I'm actually manipulating the series."

"Impressive." Kurt suddenly noticed the female ice dancer bore a striking resemblance to Jubilee. He wondered if she had seen this display. Given the conditions of the room, it was doubtful she had been here. With his fast metabolism, Kurt was struggling to maintain his composure in the face of the frigid air around him. How on earth could anyone but Bobby tolerate being in here, so close to such cold?

Bobby abruptly lowered his hand to his lap, rendering the figures motionless. "So, what can I do for you?" he inquired, grey eyes peering up at him.

The other man straightened, rising to his full height. After several days of seeing Bobby in passing, Kurt was not able to fully appreciate the extent of the physical changes that had befallen him. This version of Bobby Drake looked much older than his twenty five years. His boyishly handsome face was now haggard from weight loss, revealing sharp edges to his features. The perpetually playful expression he usually wore was replaced by one that was almost guarded. Even his eyes had changed, taking on a steely quality. The metamorphosis was similar to the one Scott had undergone but quite different. Whereas the older Summers brother seemed lost in his affective lability, Bobby was relatively Stoic. Even when Alex attacked him, the young man was composed and unflinching. At the same time, there was a sense that there was anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Initially, Kurt was inclined to attribute these changes to grief-stricken responses following a loved one's passing. It was not out of the realm of possibilities given how close Bobby had been to Jean. However, the validity of this hypothesis began to unravel as the teleporter continued observing the younger man. Indeed, sadness radiated from Bobby, plunging the once easygoing and carefree Iceman into the endless void of darkness. But his grief seemed much more complicated than what affected Scott and the others. It seemed to go beyond losing one of his closest friends. There was also a vulnerability about Bobby, as if his entire world was crumbling around him with each passing second.

"Kurt?" Bobby's sandy brows were raised expectantly.

Drifting back to the very chilly present, the former priest-in-training managed an apologetic smile. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I-I vanted to talk vit you about a number of zings, including zee eulogy. Are you ready?"

Nodding, Bobby gestured towards his desk on the other side of the room. "Already done," he told him. Then he shook his head in disbelief. "It took me a while to put together something. I guess finally getting something together makes it all the more real."

Kurt's demonic features arranged themselves into a sympathetic expression when Bobby grimaced. "Saying goodbye can quite hard," he mused quietly. "But it can be of great help as vell."

"I understand that," his friend sighed glumly, "but it doesn't negate what we're all feeling." At that moment, he appeared especially lost.

The former priest-in-training nodded in agreement. "Ja, you are right," he said, willing his tail to stop moving frantically. Although he understood the biological process responsible, the movement seemed rather inappropriate in response to the serious nature of the discussion.

If Bobby noticed, he said nothing about it. Instead, he remarked, "I take it with Jean's family in town, everyone's pretty much here?"

His blue-faced friend shook his head. "Lorna said Jamie, Monet, and Guido vill be coming in from Detroit zis efening. I zink Rahne said she vill be coming tomorrow morning vit Rictor."

All of a sudden, Bobby became irritated. "I don't understand why all these people are attending," he grumbled, handsome face filled with disdain. "They didn't even know Jeannie all that well."

Startled, Kurt's golden eyes widened. "Zey are X-Men," the teleporter pointed out gently. "Her loss is zee loss for eferyone. Surely, you must understand zat, mein freund."

"And that's another thing," Bobby said, scowling. "The X-Men are the original five. Just because you're a mutant, you can't run here, put on a costume, and declare yourself as a part of the team. It's ridiculous." He punctuated his words with a snort.

"Oh," Kurt said quietly, his sharp, white teeth biting at his lower lip. "I see." It had been cumbersome to conceal his hurt feelings around Scott but somehow, Bobby's comments seemed to push him over the edge. His intentions to speak with Bobby and provide him counsel were pushed to the back of his mind. For now, he had enough of being the target of others' displaced frustrations. That, combined with the arctic air gripping his body, compelled the teleporter to make an exit.

Realizing his faux pas, Bobby scrambled to salvage things. "Kurt, wait…" he called out, exasperated with himself.

Unfortunately, his plea went unheard. Instead, it was met by a firm closing of the door. It was a hollow sound, sending echoes throughout the ice-encased walls of his room.

Inwardly, Long Island native cursed. The last thing he wanted to do was to offend Kurt. He was, after all, one of Bobby's friends and as such, did not deserve to hear such derisive words. The German native simply visited under the auspices of offering his sympathy and discussing the logistics for the services only to be treated to a prejudiced tirade.

Dejected, Bobby turned his gaze to the platform in front of him. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. _Great,_ he chided himself inwardly, _there__goes__another__person__who__'__s__added__me__to__his__s-list._

Much to his dismay, it was a familiar and increasingly frequent position for Bobby these days.

The glowering looks, the pointed whispers, the subtle and not-so subtle insults, the purportedly inadvertent shoves, and overall hostile treatment—all provided evidence of the mounting and palpable antagonism against him. For Bobby, claiming ignorance would have been either disingenuous or delusional. It was clear he was being vilified in these circles. Moreover, the level of enmity also seemed to spread among his team mates like an aggressive pathogen. Each day, there seemed to be a new addition to the _I-hate-Bobby-Drake__fan__club_.

As for those involved, he could not say he was entirely surprised. Scott, who had been wary of Bobby's intentions from the very beginning, was especially incensed. Never did a moment pass when Scott seemed on the verge of expressing his anger via physical means only to be thwarted by his younger brother. By comparison, Alex was restrained in his outrage but made no attempt to mask it. However, the younger Summers brother declined to explain his actions to those unaware of the situation. Meanwhile, the normally affable Paige Guthrie rebuked Bobby through less overt means (the snubbing of his request at the hyperlifts) unlike Tabitha, who was more vocal of her disdain for him. The other day, the blonde wild child had taken him to task over what appeared to be a minor infraction (misspelling her name on the Danger Room list). By the time she had finished haranguing him, Bobby thought he had sprouted his first grey hair.

Despite the inherent stress associated with his status as the mansion's pariah, Bobby did not fight back. Instead, he remained passive and allowed himself to be subjected to the contempt being dispensed by his peers. In some cases, his refusal to engage was accepted, where the other party would vent his or her frustration before moving on. Meanwhile, in other cases, his silence only served to further enrage the opposing individual. Either way, it was Bobby's feelings of guilt and self-loathing that prevented him from responding.

Because he knew that they were right.

Because he was a bastard.

Because he had hurt Jubilee.

His grey eyes fell upon the female ice figure. He had taken great care in crafting the dancer, ensuring every last detail was captured from the delicate facial features to the lithe grace of the body and limbs. Running his fingers over the miniature's face, Bobby found himself experiencing a familiar ache. It was the same pain that plagued every waking moment, plunging him into an inescapable chasm of despair and guilt. Even when he sought slumber, it was cruelly denied to him. His mind was the primary source of this betrayal, taunting Bobby with dreams that featured hypnotic sapphire depths and a soft voice imploring to him.

_"…please don't say it's over..."_

"_I'll do anything you want."_

"_Just don't give up on us."_

"_I__love__you,__Bobby."_

A lump formed in his throat as memories of that day washed over him. Time did nothing to lessen the severity of the heartbreak he was experiencing. Much to his chagrin, it continued to be as fresh as the moment he forced himself to end things with her. His feelings of guilt and self-loathing were further exacerbated following his return to Westchester. While the disparaging treatment at the hands of his team mates was stressful, it was nothing in comparison to the emotions evoked upon seeing Jubilee for the first time after the break-up.

It was shortly before dinner time at the mansion. Bobby had finished unpacking his things when he suddenly felt hungry. Having not eaten since leaving his parents' home, his mouth began watering. Cook, upon hearing of Jean's death, rushed back to the States from her native England. She arrived several hours earlier than Bobby and since then, had been furiously working in the kitchen with the rest of her staff. From what his nostrils could discern, vindaloo-spiced chicken thighs with coconut-tomato stew over basmati rice were on the menu.

Not in the mood to compete for a mad dash towards the stairs, Bobby waited for the initial rush of students to dissipate before leaving his room. As he was about to descend the spiral staircase, he saw Jubilee standing at the bottom of the steps with to a young girl with iridescent, translucent insect-like wings, and long, pink hair with black streaks. Unaware that she was being watched, Jubilee appeared to be talking in earnest with the student. She placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, a reassuring and sympathetic gesture. Although it was evident she was trying to offer comfort, there was no denying the fact that Jubilee was struggling with her own pain. There was a haunting sadness that clouded those hypnotic sapphire depths and her delicate features reflected a spirit in agony.

At first, Bobby had tried to convince himself that she was responding to Jean's death. It had been a reasonable conclusion. They were close, reflecting more of a mother-daughter dynamic rather than a peer one. But support for this position wavered when he studied Jubilee's lovely but anguished face in greater detail. The misery woven into her expression seemed to go beyond bereavement or the trauma relating to the attack on the mansion. No, what he had observed was much more complicated.

It was then he recognized his culpability in her despair.

It was then he recognized he could never face her.

It was then he recognized how much he despised himself.

Subsequent to that night, Bobby invested his efforts in avoiding Jubilee. He began taking his meals in his room, which annoyed Cook to no end. Whenever he had to meet with other members of the investigative unit, Bobby ensured he took the hyperlift early in the morning when none of the students roamed the halls. Training was also conducted during off hours as well. Her emails were filtered into a spam folder while her texts and voicemails were ignored. His free time (what little of it he had) was primarily spent in isolation. He had even sheathed the walls in ice, creating an arctic environment in an attempt to discourage visitors from staying too long or approaching him at all. The rationale had been to close himself off, a self-imposed exile from anyone and everyone—especially Jubilee.

But when she knocked at his door, he could feel his resolve crumbling away. While he did not possess telepathy or X-ray vision, Bobby knew it had been her on the other side of the door. Like a moth to a flame, Bobby was drawn to the barrier that separated them. He pressed his forehead against the wood, knowing this would be the closest he would allow himself to get to her. Listening to the knocks along with her favourite Wilco song, he was feeling increasingly torn. There was a part of Bobby that knew he had to keep her away. Ultimately, it was for her happiness that he had ended their relationship. To let her inside would undermine everything he had done, confusing and hurting her even more.

And yet, it was this option he had yearned to indulge in. He remembered running his hands over the door, pretending the grain in the wood represented her hair and her skin. For a brief moment, Bobby considered grabbing the brass knob and yanking the door open. He thought about taking her into his arms, burying his face in her fragrant, silky hair. His mind raced with confessions concerning his motivations for what he had done, his steadfast feelings for her, and his desire to be together once again. With such thoughts swirling around in his consciousness, Bobby's hand began to drift towards the doorknob.

Before he could twist the handle, an image flashed before his eyes. It was of him in his ice form, lying in bed with an elderly Jubilee at his side.

Stepping away from the door, Bobby closed his eyes and tried to purge it from his mind. Unfortunately, the mental picture refused to dissipate, intransigent in its presence. While he was cognizant that the image was merely from a dream, the content was enough to cause a visceral response. Grimacing, Bobby had shaken his head. He remembered why he had chosen this torturous path. There was no way he was about to allow his fears become Jubilee's reality. He loved her too much for that. It was because of this he had to let her go—even if it meant breaking every promise made to her.

In the days that followed, Bobby willed himself to maintain his commitment. When he was unable to evade her, he made sure that he was always accompanied by another member of his team while feigning preoccupation over some task. Such tactics made passing her in the hallways easier in the sense that confrontations could be avoided. Unfortunately, it did nothing to diminish the hellish ordeal he went through each time he saw her. The torment emanating from Jubilee was palpable, searing into his soul like a sharp dagger. Despite this, Bobby remained determined to stay the course. He needed to be strong—for both of them.

His commitment to subsuming his wish to reunite with Jubilee was what ultimately forced him to hurt her once again. Looking back on the incident, Bobby was aware the pain he had inflicted. He had believed on that fateful day. To his disappointment, however, he surpassed his expectations. Reflecting on his recent actions, Bobby inferred there was a special place in Hell reserved for him.

On that particular day, he and Lorna had been discussing the details related to Jean's funeral. As one of her closest friends, the self-proclaimed mistress of magnetism had taken on the responsibilities of organizing the service alongside Storm. Lorna had approached Bobby about putting together a short speech as he was leaving his room for time in the Danger Room. The conversation had been awkward on many levels for multiple reasons. Still reeling from the news of Jean's death, Bobby had not been ready to even fathom saying good-bye to her. While he and his former girlfriend had been working closely together on the investigation, there was a noticeable tension between them. It was nothing like the hostility he was experiencing from Alex and the others. Rather, what existed was an awkwardness based on uncertainty as to how to respond to one another given changed circumstances. For Bobby, this stemmed from his wariness of the green-haired woman's emotional state and her growth since the wedding that never happened. Meanwhile, for Lorna, it was observing Bobby as the mansion's outcast and the unanswered questions surrounding this new role that made things strained.

Bobby had been listening half-heartedly to Lorna's suggestions for the eulogy when they turned a corner, running into Jubilee and Paige. Behind his purple tinted sunglasses, his grey eyes took in the beautiful young woman in front of him. His heart twisted inside his chest when he noticed how forlorn she looked as she gazed up at him. Those old soul blue eyes reflected a despair he had vowed to prevent from every afflicting her. Just looking at her made him realize how much he cared for her and how much he hated himself.

When Jubilee asked him for a moment of his time to talk, Bobby was able to detect something else. At first, he had heard her tentativeness. However, as he mulled over her proposal further, Bobby was able to sense a tenacity that had long been associated with her.

_I will fight for you. I will fight for us. _

Reading these implicit statements, Bobby took the only recourse available.

He told her no.

Bobby was startled from his reveries when his phone vibrated on the nightstand. Frowning, he scooted his wiry frame towards the other end of the bed to retrieve the phone. He peered down at the screen, which alerted him to the delivery of a new text message.

From: Hank McCoy

Bobby, meet me in the Med-Lab. ASAP. Hank.

The young man's grey eyes widened with surprise as he reread the text. This was the first form of communication between the two friends since their return to the mansion. Both had been occupied with their various duties relating to the investigation, funeral, and the school. Hank was especially busy given Annie's resignation and sudden departure from Westchester. The single mother, who had already been wary of this world, had become fearful for her son's safety. The attack on the school and the attempted abduction of Jean cemented things in her mind that there was no shelter from the danger. This ultimately left Hank as the sole medical staff member. Between analysing the composition of the leftover tranquilizer darts and conducting checkups of those injured, the feline-like scientist seemed to burning the candle at both ends these days. Even breaks to enjoy a Twinkie from his secret stash had been a luxury for the admitted sugar addict.

Bobby slipped the phone into his pocket. He was not naïve as to what motivated the message. Hank was the only person at the mansion who was aware of the secondary mutation. As such, he was probably concerned in regards to what Bobby's current condition was. For Bobby, the thought of undergoing an examination was something he was not looking forward to. Everyday, he himself had scrutinized the icy patch with dwindling hopes that it would recede. Disappointment coursed throughout his entire being when he realized the exact opposite was occurring. For someone to make a similar observation might prove to be even more devastating. It would translate into any semblance of optimism being very much removed from his grasp.

As much as he wanted to compose an excuse to avoid seeing his friend, Bobby was cognizant of the fact that Hank would not be placated easily. There was too much history between him. Starting from the days as Xavier's first students, Hank had taken on the role of the confidant and older brother figure in Bobby's life. Over the years, he became familiar with the younger man's quirks and nuances in behaviour in times of duress. Consequently, this made him knowledgeable as to how to respond to Bobby's defence mechanisms. While Bobby wanted to believe he had become more sophisticated in his advanced years, he was forced to concede that Hank would continue to have the upper hand. Who knew that a man who wrote haikus dedicated to his favourite caramel macchiato would have such keen insight?

Reluctantly, Bobby made his way out of his room and headed towards the hyperlift car at the end of the hall. As the elevator doors slid closed, he braced himself for what lie ahead. Hank was a brilliant doctor. There was no doubt about that. If there was a question about mutant physiology, Hank could be relied upon for an answer. However, his friend was at an uncharacteristic loss. It was a moment that instilled fear in both men.

_I__guess__this__is__one__problem__you__can__'__t__wrap__your__mind__around,_ Bobby mused inwardly, his handsome face glum. Not that he blamed Hank for his inability to devise a strategy. Rather, it was the disappointment that overwhelmed Bobby once the two of them recognized there would be no easy solution.

To that end, Bobby was unsure why he was bothering to go to the Med-Lab in the first place. As much as he wanted to believe that Hank had suddenly come up with a remedy, the rational part of mind knew this was highly improbable. The more likely situation would entail Hank scrutinizing the icy patch, scribbling some observations, and relaying to his friend the mysterious nature of what was happening. Simply thinking about nearly provoked a scream of frustration from his lips. _Then__what?__Then__what?_

He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he barged ahead once the hyperlift doors opened. This would not have been a problem had there not been someone else standing in front of the car, waiting to step in. Startled, Bobby drew back but not before the other person grabbed onto his lower arms in an effort to balance herself.

"Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly before peering at the face of the offended party. Having recovered slightly from his gaffe, Bobby recognized her as one of the newer students, Foxx. While he had no direct interactions with her, he was aware of how certain team members felt about her—namely, Rogue and Emma. It was not often the two women shared an opinion about an issue. While neither would provide details justifying their feelings, both confided in Bobby (on separate occasions) that the girl was trouble.

Being rather close to her at the moment, Bobby could now understand why. Foxx chose to dress much more provocatively than her female peers—a black, leather motorcycle jacket over a black bandeau top and matching cropped shorts with high-heeled, black sandals. She also had a smouldering quality about her that was magnetic. Her golden eyes roved over him, as if drinking him in like a fine wine. As her fingers released their grip on his arms, she flashed him a sultry smile.

"That's okay," she purred, tossing her blue-green locks over a shoulder. "I'm just glad I had you to steady myself."

Uncomfortable with the Lolita-like dynamics at play and consumed with thoughts of his impending meeting, Bobby made haste to remove himself from her path to the hyperlift. "All yours," he told her brusquely.

Foxx licked her teal-painted lips. "I'll see you around, Mr. Drake."

Bobby was already halfway down the hall when the she stepped in. As he reached the Med-Lab, the young man took a deep breath. He could only hope that the visit was as short as possible. The dread was now weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Wearing a white lab coat over his uniform, Hank was sitting behind a long table when Bobby finally entered. His feline-like features were weary but managed to arrange themselves into a friendly expression. "Hello," he greeted, pushing his black-rimmed glasses onto his wide forehead. Then his eyes flicked to his Citizen watch. "That was fast."

"You said ASAP," Bobby pointed out, closing the steel door firmly behind him. "I figured you weren't messing around." Then he cocked his head towards the exit. "I see you were busy with another patient."

His friend nodded, closing his notebook. "Ah yes, Foxx," he mused with some wariness. "She was the last of the students to be examined."

Bobby interpreted his friend's tone as reflecting the same discomfort he had experienced earlier. "Interesting kid, that one," he commented.

"Very much so," Hank agreed, hopping off his stool and tucking his notebook under his bulky arm. He considered sharing his own suspicions about the girl with Bobby but decided against it. Now was not the time to engage in gossip.

Instead, the mansion's resident medical expert began walking towards the examining table nearby, gesturing for his friend to follow. His fur-covered hands pulled out the sanitary covering over the vinyl padding of the table. "Hop on," he instructed Bobby in a calm and even voice. "I think you know the drill."

Wordlessly, Bobby complied. His fingers shook as he unbuttoned his Hawaiian shirt. Then he held it open, revealing the ice that covered his chest. Flinching, he braced himself for the careful scrutiny that was to follow.

Hank leaned forward, slipping his glasses over his nose. He tried to conceal his surprise when he noticed that the patch was no longer isolated to Bobby's chest. The ice now stretched over his shoulders and down his stomach, revealing his bones and internal organs. When he asked Bobby to remove his shirt altogether, Hank was further stunned to observe that the icy barrier enveloped the younger man's upper arms and his entire back.

After he made a series of quick notes in his pad, Hank allowed Bobby to dress. "How are you feeling otherwise?" he inquired.

Bobby shrugged, grimacing. "Fine, considering…" His voice trailed off. Then he shook his head. "Everything else, including my powers, is fine. It's just this that I can't handle." He gestured to his chest despondently.

His friend was able to decipher the nonverbal cues almost instantly. Hank knew Jean's death was hitting Bobby hard especially given their relationship. He was also aware that it was not mourning the telepath that evoked such a response. After witnessing Scott's harsh reprimand of Bobby several nights ago, Hank began to grasp how certain events were connected to one another. Initially, he had a theory but after examining Bobby, he was quite certain this theory was fact.

"Well, I'm not going to say anything that you don't already know," Hank told him quietly, peering down at his notes. He shook his head. "Believe when I tell you that just because we don't have an answer right now doesn't mean that we will never have one. I have been doing my due diligence in researching this. I'm not going to give up and you shouldn't either, Bobby."

The young man exhaled loudly. "I haven't given up," he insisted, trying to tamper the defensiveness rising in his voice. "I've racked my brain, trying to figure out how to change back. It's not for a lack of focus or anything like that. Sometimes, I spend hours in my room, willing my body to do what my mind tells it to only to get nothing. Do you know how frustrating that is? To know that your own body is betraying you?"

Hank was silent for a moment, swallowing hard. For a moment, he had doubted his ears. He was hoping that Bobby was not so consumed in his own self-pity to forget about Hank's experiences.

Immediately, Bobby recognized his faux pas. Familiar feelings of exasperation washed over him as he attempted to recover from his latest bout of foot-in-mouth. "Sorry, man," he apologized, wishing for the millionth time that the earth would open up and swallow him whole. Of all people, Bobby should have recognized that his best friend would completely understand. Hell, Hank could have written several books on the topic.

Nodding stiffly, the feline-like scientist placed his pen in the pocket of his lab coat. "It's okay," he assured him quietly, "I was pretty angry too when it happened to me."

Bobby ran his hand through his sandy hair. Then he peered over at his friend, grey eyes subdued. "It's just that I'm scared," he confessed in a small voice. "I don't like losing control. After everything I've been able to achieve, I feel like I'm regressing and there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

Hank closed his notebook and placed it on a nearby crash cart. His blue eyes were sympathetic as he said, "It's a horrible feeling. I think it's akin to be thrown into the ocean without knowing how to swim and praying that some unseen force will save you. The unpredictability of it all is unsettling."

"That's it exactly," the young man agreed. Then he laughed bitterly. "Who knew it took a secondary mutation to reinforce our friendship? I thought our love of Cook's strawberry pancakes alone was enough."

"I don't see it that way, Bobby," Hank pointed out gently. "It's a common thing we share but by no means does it define our friendship. Just like how the mutation—whatever it may be—should never define your identity as an individual. It happens to be a part of you; nothing more."

Bobby's grey eyes soaked the steel floor beneath them. "I'm having a hard time getting around to that way of thinking," he admitted. "It seems like I've been struggling with a lot lately."

With that, his friend recognized his opportunity. "Are you referring to Jubilee?" he asked.

Head snapping up, Bobby gave Hank a long, hard look. He should have not been surprised when his friend was able to connect the dots. All of the evidence, supported by their longstanding history as friends, had been laid out for him to piece things together into their logical sequence. Although the young man was slightly taken aback, there was a part of him that was relieved. At least, someone understood the intentions behind his reprehensible actions.

Finally, he said, "I still need this be kept quiet. Right now, I'm not ready to talk about it. And she…she doesn't need to know."

Hank's blue, furry brows furrowed together. He hated being rendered helpless as his best friend was being treated like public enemy by their team mates. The deception and secrecy also bothered him. Hank felt as if he were forced to engage in a secret life, which was counterintuitive to how he lived. Rather, he was inclined to leave that sort of thing to the likes of Spider Man and Hannah Montana. However, in the end, Hank was aware of whom he had to pledge his allegiance to. "Doctor-patient privilege is inviolate," he explained patiently. "However, that does not preclude me from having an opinion."

"Which is?"

"That what you're doing is wrong. Pushing Jubilee away now makes no sense."

"How could you say that? I mean, after what happened with you and Trish—"

"That is completely different. When I hinted I was gay…that was because I was confused not because of any misguided attempt to protect Trish."

"Well, I guess I was wrong. You don't understand, Hank."

"Then elucidate things for me," Hank said, frowning and crossing his arms over his broad chest. "What you've done and how you've been acting lately… I don't understand any of it. I feel as if I don't even know you anymore."

"I'm what time and circumstance has made me," Bobby told his friend flatly.

His friend looked confused. "I'm not following you."

The younger man took a deep breath before replying. "Let's face facts, Hank. In a couple of months, I'm not going to be the same. You and I know that. I'm just doing Jubes a favour by sparing her the agony of watching me transform into a person no one can get close to. If I have to look like an ass to do it, then I'm fine with that. I'm sorry you don't understand and don't agree with what I'm doing but this is the only way I know how to deal with things. She deserves to be happy even if it means that I'm not part of the equation anymore."


	64. Chapter Sixty Four: Last Goodbye

Back with another chapter. Just to warn you, it's a bit of a tear-jerker.

Thanks to Jo the Phoenix for betaing and to those of you kind enough to leave feedback. I love hearing from you guys!

As always, the characters are Marvel's. I'm just messing with them.

**Chapter Sixty Four: Last Goodbye **

At the north end of the mansion's grounds stood a single room chapel. It appeared as a stark contrast to the lush greenery of the estate and the elaborate architecture of Storm's beloved greenhouse. Yet, there was something intangible about the chapel that gave the impression it was intricately entwined with the mansion's history. Constructed of whitewashed logs by former servants during the Great Depression, the structure was simply adorned with a cross made of sticks tied together with string. This minimalism was further reflected inside with eleven handmade wooden pews and a simple altar. With no wiring for electricity, light was provided by candles, kerosene lamps, and of course, three large windows on both sides. While the design had been subjected to the materials and resources at the time, the austere nature of the chapel also conveyed the sense that there would be no barriers between the devout and their God.

Prior to Xavier's decision to open his family home as a school, the tiny building had been frequently used by the servants for communal worship. Over the years, this practice was abandoned as these employees took leave (most out of fear in response to the new residents Xavier called pupils) or retired. In recent years, the chapel was rarely visited by anyone with the exception of Kurt. The former priest-in-training regularly sought refuge in the offered solitude. There, he could communicate with God privately as well as ensure the church's maintenance. For the Munich native, it reminded him of his admiration of the monks who often opened the grounds of the monastery to his circus family during the harsher off-season. However, Kurt's close friends, notably Kitty and Logan, surmised it was his way of living a cleric's life without the formality of being ordained.

However, this morning was different. Inside the chapel was alive with activity, albeit solemn in its nature. On this day, students found themselves seated alongside instructors, other staff, and field team members. Affiliated individuals, including members from the X-Factor detective agency, Sean Cassidy, Pete Wisdom, Brian Braddock, Meggan, and Domino, were also present to pay their respects. In the background, a string quartet accompanied Allison and Jay Guthrie as they sang Schubert's _Ave__Maria_ and Mozart's _Requiem_. Their voices and the melancholic notes from the instruments seemed to float in the air, coexisting with the sobs, sniffling, and murmuring among the attendees. Meanwhile, the gloomy skies overhead limited the amount of sunlight, compelling the use of strategically placed candles to illuminate the church and casting the wood-panelled interior with an incandescent glow.

The collectively sombre expressions and the outfits consisting of black attire were a stark contrast to the floral arrangements that adorned the chapel's interior. For the most part, Storm had kept in mind the tradition of Western funerals by adhering to a white theme in her design—white cymbidium and dendrobium orchids, white peonies, and mini calla lilies. However, the weather goddess reserved her use of colour for what would have been the casket spray. As a nod to her friend's memory, Storm had decided to weave fiery hues alongside creamy tones into the arrangement. It was an inspired piece—one that offered the weather goddess much comfort in creating. In a way, she found a way to express a proper farewell to a woman who was more of a sister than a team mate. For Storm, the floral arrangement in its vibrant beauty seemed to articulate so much more than words ever could.

Because the exhaustive search efforts of the crash sites yielded no remains, the Grey family and Scott decided against a casket. Instead, a wooden chair had been positioned in front of the altar, adorned with the casket spray. It had been Lorna's idea to use a chair and purchased the piece from Jean's favourite antique shop in Westchester. Stained, distressed and edge rubbed by hand to reveal layers of contrasting undercoat, the chair was meticulously crafted from with a kiln-dried wood frame. It represented all of the good qualities of her late friend: classically beautiful, steady, and welcoming. To some, this substitution—a chair without an occupant—represented a more haunting and poignant reminder of their loss. While for others, notably Scott, the empty piece of furniture served to further exacerbate his perception of culpability, failure, and ultimately, shame.

For the Grey family, the grieving process was made complicated by the fact that they were surrounded by people barely known to them. It was not that the Greys were by any means prejudiced. In fact, the contrary was true. Upon discovering Jean's ability, the family made a point of lending their unwavering support. Her parents, in particular, were quite insistent on cultivating a relationship with the Professor as he was the one they were entrusting with their daughter's welfare and development. Despite this, Jean was keen on maintaining some separation between her biological family and her family at the school. Although she shared the Professor's faith and optimism in mankind, the pragmatic part of her was mindful of the fact that those consumed by hatred would not think twice about inflicting collateral damage. For this very reason, the telepath sought to shield her family as much as possible from this aspect of her life. While Dr. and Mrs. Grey and their oldest daughter, Sara, had voiced their protestations regarding Jean's decision, they understood her intentions and ultimately, accepted her course of action. Yet, as the family accepted condolences from various individuals while sitting at the front of the chapel, their collective anguish was compounded by something else—the realization that these people knew a part of Jean that would remain forever elusive to them.

As one of the few faces known to the family, the Professor sat at the end of the row next to Dr. Grey. The renowned telepath and activist was still weakened by the effects of the psychic attack, appearing quite fragile and vulnerable. The impeccably tailored black, gabardine suit and white poplin shirt seemed to drape his small frame. The Windsor knot looked especially large, accentuating his narrow build even more. There were dark circles underneath his usually piercing eyes, which seemed devoid of any lustre. Concerned over his frail condition, Ororo suggested that he not attend the service. However, this was not an option as far as the Professor was concerned. To him, Jean's death meant losing someone whom he shared the deepest bond with. He had not only found a protégée but a surrogate daughter as well. Over the years, their relationship evolved to the point where she was able to relate to him as a peer who could understand the nuances of the abilities they shared. Despite the addition of Emma, the Professor always found himself relying on Jean for sound advice and constructive feedback on aspects of the school and team operations. With her passing, he and the Greys were now sharing yet another (albeit devastating) commonality.

Another familiar face was located on the other side of the aisle. In contrast to his increasingly dishevelled appearance of late, Scott Summers was clean-shaven with every chestnut hair combed in place. Wrinkled clothing had been traded in for a pressed, double-breasted black wool suit with a crisp, white shirt and a blue striped, silk tie. While the transformation was dramatic, it did nothing to diminish the pained, troubled expression that seemed to be permanently etched across his chiselled features. Every once in a while, the bespectacled widower glanced at the chair and clenched his jaw tightly. The ensuing torment coursing through his soul forced him to clasp his hands in his lap until the knuckles turned white. Although he was now united with his in-laws in mourning, Scott could not help but wonder if they held him responsible as he himself did. Granted, no one had said anything to that effect. In fact, everyone in the family had been quite sympathetic—even expressing their concern over his well-being. And yet, Scott was unnerved. Why weren't they looking at him with the same contempt and resentment he had reserved for himself? Surely, her family must have entertained the same thoughts regarding his role in all of this. After all, he was Jean's husband—the man whose purpose in life was to love and protect her from whatever dangers the world posed. Her death established his ineptitude in fulfilling the responsibilities associated with this role.

An equally distraught Alex placed a tanned hand on Scott's arm. It was a comforting gesture—one that compensated for the lack of eloquent words to express his thoughts at that moment. While he, too, was affected by the overwhelming sense of loss, his mourning was tempered by a heady level of concern. Helplessly watching his older brother in the throes of grief was a position Alex loathed with every fibre of his being. This was not based on any apathy on his part. On the contrary, the younger Summers made several attempts to provide solace to his older brother. Unfortunately, his efforts proved inadequate. The reassurances relieving Scott of any culpability and appeals to his sense of reason fell on deaf ears. Much to Alex's dismay, Scott was bound and determined to hold himself responsible for what happened. He rebuked any counterarguments, insisting that Alex (or anyone else for that matter) could not possibly understand his experience. Although Alex recognized this as Scott's grief manifesting itself, it did nothing to lessen his own feelings of anger. He hated his impotence in the face of his brother's spiralling descent. Studying his brother at that moment, Alex wondered if the Scott he knew was forever lost.

Meanwhile, Jubilee was seated on Scott's other side. An ethereal vision of melancholy, she wore a black dress with cap sleeves and an A-line skirt, which was paired with a matching suede ankle boots. A thin black belt was cinched around her waist, accentuating her slim frame. Her long, ebony tresses were pulled back away from her face in a bun at the nape of her neck and pinned with a clip Jean had given her. Staring ahead at the altar, Jubilee found the void Jean left behind all the more tangible. Granted, she had been present on that horrific night but the hours and days that followed were surreal. There were moments when she believed she was trapped in a nightmare. Jubilee waited for Jean to appear, reassuring her and everyone else that all was well and that there was nothing to fear. Given Scott's current condition and Logan's absence, the young firecracker was feeling adrift in her grief. It was as if she were a young girl again, yearning for a grounded parental figure to provide some stability in the chaos. However, as her sapphire gaze roved over the empty chair, Jubilee realized that moment would never happen. Such thinking had a magical quality that failed to be connected with the reality of the current situation. Controlling the quivering in her lower lip was increasingly difficult as she struggled to accept this. Finally, she took a deep breath and summoned the strength to maintain her composure. There was a man by her side who needed a rock today.

From the back of the room, a pair of sorrow-filled, grey eyes gazed upon the chair. Dressed in a black, wool suit with intricate pick-stitching along the collar, welt pockets and pocket flaps, Bobby Drake kept a sombre vigil by the doorway. His feet seemed to be rooted in place, preventing him from venturing further inside. Doing so would only serve to cement this day and everything it represented as a matter of fact rather than the horrible illusion everyone wanted it to be. For Bobby, accepting that Jean had been taken away too soon was like an insurmountable feat. It meant acknowledging the emptiness she left behind was now a constant. There would be no more opportunities to seek out her non-judgmental, sage counsel; endure her gentle chides following some prank gone awry; or bond over their early days together at the school. In the days leading to this morning, Bobby struggled to overcome his incredulity over the situation in an effort to process the facts of what happened. The rational part of his mind recognized that Jean's death was certain under the circumstances presented. Hours of examining photographs and footage of the crash sites drove that point home. Yet, his heart was unable to accept that the vitality and warmth that was so quintessentially Jean was no more. It was a battle that continued to rage within him even as he stood inside the chapel, preparing to contribute his words to the service.

As Sage and Bishop filed past him, Bobby soon realized he had other motivations for not seating himself right away. He found his gaze had travelled from the empty chair to where Jubilee was. A lump formed inside his throat as Bobby watched as she took Scott's hand and clasped it with her own. Studying her beautiful face with a mixture of longing and sadness, he was able to discern that she was putting on a brave face for the widower's benefit. But it was the glittering of tears in those old-soul, blue eyes that betrayed her mask. Sensing her despair, Bobby wanted desperately to tear himself from where he stood, rush to Jubilee's side, and envelop her willowy form in his arms. His mind also began to entertain thoughts of things he would say to her. Although the details of what would be articulated were becoming vague with each passing second, his motivation remained steadfast. In fact, it gained strength as he continued looking at the woman he loved so dearly.

It was also the reason why he willed himself to remain where he stood.

Painful as Bobby found the experience of observing Jubilee in her despondent state, he was cognizant that indulging his yearnings was not an option. This was an emotionally charged day as it was. To approach Jubilee would have complicated things, possibly intensifying her existing turmoil. She was already in mourning over Jean, a woman who had been the closest thing to a mother to her. Then there was the pressure of acting as caretaker for Scott. Melancholy coalesced with concern as she attempted to fulfill her part in their role reversal. Tried as she did to conceal these feelings for Scott's sake, it was growing quite apparent that they were brimming beneath the surface. Based on her present struggle to mask her anguish, there was a high probability that anything would have undermined her façade.

Absentmindedly, Bobby placed his hand over his chest. As the iciness permeated through his shirt, he was reminded of what ultimately factored into his decision. Everyday, Bobby felt more and more removed from the person he had been before Genosha. The involuntary changes afflicting him brought about a transformation that rendered him incapable of being the man Jubilee needed. With his own body betraying him, how could he even fathom offering her any semblance of comfort? As far as Bobby was concerned, he had failed both himself and Jubilee. No longer could he be considered her steady rock, someone she could look to for support during trying times as he been so long ago. Instead, his lack of control now made him a burden and a liability. Bobby immediately thought of the dynamic between his parents and the dream he had weeks ago, which depicted Jubilee as dutifully doting upon him even as her own light was fading. As he continued staring at Jubilee's beautiful profile, the young man vowed silently not to resign her to that fate.

Hank's deep, baritone voice suddenly interrupted his internal deliberations. "It is rather unfortunate that such a gathering takes place within the context of tragedy," he remarked glumly, watching Piotr and Kitty offer their condolences to the Grey family. With the X-Men's many affiliates spread across the globe, it was a rare occurrence to see them congregated in one place. The observation left the Ivy league-trained biochemist with a sense of poignancy that made him grimace.

Startled, Bobby peered over at his best friend. The larger, feline-like man made a sombre picture in his charcoal, Italian wool suit with narrow lapels and slim-fit trousers and onyx, silk tie. While Hank was by no means a disciple of Stoicism, it was still bewildering to see him in such a state. His emotional state coupled with his physical stature made for an incongruous picture. Hank's red-rimmed eyes were puffy, reflecting the woe that had been draped over him like a heavy shroud.

Nodding his head, Bobby said in an equally gloomy voice, "That it is."

Hank studied the young man standing next to him. Since their conversation in the Med-Lab, things between the two had been uneasy. As committed as he was in maintaining Bobby's confidence, Hank was finding his dissonance increasing exponentially. Bobby's attempts at rationalizing his behaviour and decisions did little to assuage Hank's concerns. In fact, the younger man's arguments only provided further evidence of his erroneous line of reasoning. Granted, Bobby's intentions were noble—wanting to spare the person he cared about any distress resulting from his condition. It was a position Hank was intimately acquainted with. However, he found himself dissenting over Bobby's interpretation of the circumstances, which led to his decision. Taking on the martyr role in the face of his father's illness and the onset of his secondary mutation was, as Hank saw it, destructive. This was not only in regards to Bobby's relationships with others around the mansion but also to his own well-being. His self-imposed isolation seemed to reinforce the impact of the physical changes, warping his perspective about himself and those around him. As far as Hank was concerned, it was this psychological transformation that was incredibly profound.

Noticing Bobby's tormented expression, the cat-like intellectual found himself following his friend's line of vision. It was then Hank was reminded of another source of his opposition. Despite Bobby's assertions that he was acting out of concern for Jubilee, it was apparent that she was experiencing his behaviour in another light. His decision to end their relationship seemed to further complicate her mourning, intensifying her feelings of loss. Knowing Bobby as well as Hank did, this was not a fact that was lost on his friend. He was also cognizant that Bobby hated almost every fibre of his being for inflicting such pain upon someone he loved. Moreover, Hank was quite positive that the younger man was just as miserable if not more so. It was a conclusion that further cemented his disagreement.

Suddenly, he remarked, "During such grave times of loss, many search for ways to obtain some peace through reconciliation with fate."

Bobby's grey eyes widened in response to the not-so-subtle hint issued. Even though he was fully aware of Hank's opposition, it was still jarring hear his friend voice his opinion now. While he had not expected unconditional support for what he was doing, Bobby thought he could rely on his best friend to refrain from judgment. Following their conversation, he believed they had reached an implicit understanding not to divulge anything beyond the Med-Lab's walls. For Hank to introduce the topic under these circumstances felt like a betrayal, reflecting the other man's inability or unwillingness to understand. Either way, the point was made.

"I don't think that applies here," he managed through gritted teeth.

"I beg to differ," Hank countered quietly, watching his friend nervously shift from foot to foot. There was a part of him that felt a twinge of guilt for his outburst. However, this was outweighed by the need to put forth some reason into the discussion. As Bobby's closest friend, Hank could not, in good conscience, allow him to continue on his path without pointing out the inherent flaws.

A scowl marred Bobby's boyish face as he hissed, "Then you don't get it."

"What part of _it_ don't I get, Bobby? Is it the part where you're intent on burning every bridge available in an effort to salvage some ideal?" Hank whispered back fiercely, peering around him to ensure they were not attracting any attention. Fortunately for them, the heated nature of their interaction was being drowned out by the din of the conversations around them and the music echoing throughout the walls of the chapel.

"Don't lecture me, Hank. This isn't fun and games."

"Have you given any consideration that your assumptions may not be valid? That what you've done isn't at all necessary?"

"What are you talking about? We both know what the score is. I'm…you know…"

"Has it crossed your mind that particular variable is minor in the grand scheme of things? It changes nothing fundamental about you, Bobby. Not as a friend, instructor, team mate, son, or boyfriend."

"You make it sound so easy to accept. But it's not."

"I wish you'd reconsider that statement. As we both know, this is an area is something I am familiar with."

"True, Hank. However, here's the thing—I'm not you."

"Under no circumstances am I saying that. It's just that as someone who's had similar experiences, I want you to know that closing yourself off isn't the most constructive option. It can actually backfire, causing pain for those you're determined to protect."

"I'm not oblivious to any of that. I know I'm a bastard for what I've done. Do you realize how much it is killing me not to go up to her and confess everything? Seeing her so upset at this moment and knowing I can't comfort her like I should makes me wish I never got out of bed this morning."

"Then it's not too late?"

"It is."

"Why?"

"Because I need to stay the course…for both of us. I'm going to do whatever it takes to ensure her happiness even though it doesn't include me anymore. Yes, it hurts like hell right now but as time goes on, she'll move on."

"What about you, Bobby?" Hank inquired. His tone softened as he was touched by the sentiment expressed. "What about your happiness? Doesn't that count for anything?"

The younger man focused his attention on Jubilee, who was still unaware she was being watched. "I love her enough to realize that my happiness is dependent on hers," he said quietly, staring at her lovely face with tenderness. "In the end, it's all that matters."

His friend was taken aback by the conviction present in his voice and in his words. It was difficult for Hank to recall a time when he heard Bobby make such serious declarations about someone. Sure, there was Lorna but their involvement never warranted anything remotely similar to this. By comparison, that relationship was more of an infatuation rather than anything functional and reciprocal. No, what had been relayed was indicative of something deeper with respect to his involvement with Jubilee. Bobby's words reflected a maturity Hank had not witnessed before. They proved that he was more than the insecure, young man who sought to quell his anxieties through wisecracks and practical jokes. After years of dedication to his inner child, Bobby was now embracing adulthood.

Despite these revelations, Hank was not ready to concede. Rather, he was even more driven to persuade the younger man to understand the detrimental nature of his choices. "It doesn't have to be this way," he insisted gently, his whiskers twitching slightly. "You don't need to do this to her and yourself. There are always alternatives… Just think about what's at stake here, Bobby."

Finally, Bobby tore his gaze away from Jubilee to face his best friend with desperation in his grey eyes. He could feel his veneer of calm begin to dissolve with the other man's persistence. Simply talking about the issue was leaving him at the precipice of losing his composure completely. In a pleading whisper, he implored, "Hank, please. Not now. Please."

Sensing the pain and torment emanating from his friend at that moment, Hank relented. Losing control, losing Jubilee, and losing Jean—all three events were clearly taking their toll. His feline-like features arranged themselves into a sympathetic expression as he nodded his assent. "OK," he said in a low voice. "OK, Bobby. Not now."

The two friends were about to proceed down the aisle to take their seats when Warren approached them. The winged playboy's golden locks were askew and his elegant, black wool suit and navy tie were slightly wrinkled, indicating that he had taken to the skies prior to the service. Like most of Jean's friends, Warren was still reeling that this day actually arrived. He was hoping that a quick flight would clear his head so that he could endure this day without breaking down. Much to his chagrin, a reprieve would not be had.

Grim-faced, he leaned in towards his friends and whispered urgently, "We have a situation."

Hank's furry, blue brows furrowed together. "What's going on?" he inquired.

"We have some old friends outside of the gates," Warren explained tersely, his blue eyes narrowing. "And they're not here to pay their respects."

Bobby and Hank exchanged perplexed looks. Although the blond Adonis's words were vague, it was the intensity in which they were conveyed that infused a tension in the air. Whatever troubled their friend, it was clear that the situation was very serious. Wordlessly, they nodded their understanding before exiting the tiny chapel with Warren.

Meanwhile, Lorna had been consulting with Kurt regarding the schedule when she noticed the trio departing. Based on the expressions on the men's faces, she instantly recognized something was wrong. Quickly, she grabbed her sand-coloured, ankle-length pea coat and threw it over her black, sleeveless, crepe satin dress. Lorna then turned to Kurt, advising him that it would be best to omit Warren, Hank, and Bobby's contributions to the service. Citing the Professor's weakened condition and the frayed nerves of everyone in attendance, she stressed to the German native the importance of maintaining the illusion that nothing was amiss. Before Kurt was able to pose his queries as to why these changes were being implemented, Lorna had already taken her leave.

The wrought-iron gates that separated the estate from the narrow, winding road into town were approximately a twenty-minute walk from the chapel if one was making the trek by foot. For Warren, the journey was a fraction of that time once he soared against the murky grey skies. His friends were not too far behind, travelling along via one of Bobby's ice slides. Hank held onto Bobby's shoulder to maintain his footing upon the slippery surface. The grip he applied nearly caused the younger man to pass out.

Once all three reached the entrance, they were immediately greeted by a crowd of approximately twenty people congregating outside the metal barriers. Almost all of them were carrying signs with various slogans that read, _"__GOD__HATES__MUTANTS__"__,__ "__MUTIES__DOOM__NATIONS__"__,__ "__MUTANTS__ARE__BEASTS__"__,_ and _"__MUTANTS__ARE__MISTAKES__"_. Some were chanting but given the din and the divergent messages, it was difficult to distinguish exactly what was being said. To the collective disgust and horror of Warren, Hank, and Bobby, there were several children present in the mob. They laughed gleefully as they marched back and forth, picketing.

Suddenly, a deep, smooth voice with a lilting Southern accent emerged and called for order among the group. The speaker, whose voice was transmitted by an electric megaphone, began to talk of God's rage towards mutants and how this death meant one less abomination roaming this world. A few members of the crowd shouted affirmations in response, such as "Amen" and "Thank God", which was followed by a smattering of applause.

Warren scanned the throng, attempting to sort out the contemptuous faces in order to determine the source. With the vitriol ringing in his ears, there was something hauntingly familiar about the voice. The blond playboy racked his brain in an effort to narrow down possible suspects. He was about to give up when he detected a lone figure standing outside of the gates with a white megaphone in hand. The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties, dressed in royal blue, hooded parka, cargo pants, and a black turtleneck. His salt-and-pepper hair, which matched his goatee, was closely cropped to his head. Perched upon his slightly bulbous nose was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Lines around his forehead and mouth were deeply etched, as if he spent much of his existence scowling.

After careful examination, Warren felt his stomach lurch and he could feel the bile rise in his throat. The blood pumping through his veins suddenly ran cold. It was like rediscovering an insidious force once believed to have faded away into obscurity. Following what seemed like eons, the CEO of Worthington Industries managed to utter the name associated with so much destruction in the shared pasts of everyone at the school.

"Colonel Stryker."

Incredulous, Hank and Bobby stared up at Warren before focusing their attention on the stocky man standing in front of the picketers. For his part, the speaker lowered the megaphone and turned his head in the direction of the winged, blond Adonis hovering over him. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards in a smug smile. It was as if he relished hearing his name spoken with absolute derision.

"Actually," he said, his dark eyes glittering behind his glasses. "It's Reverend Stryker now. As you can see here, my partnership with the military has ended. I have found a higher calling—one that is not bound to serve a blind and corrupt government." He waved his hand to the group behind with flourish, eliciting cheers from the crowd.

Bobby fought the urge to vomit. With his fists clenched at his sides, he surveyed the faces on the other side of the gates. The ugliness behind the signs they were waving around, the hostility in their chants, and the hate reflected in their eyes were all indicative of the ignorance permeating throughout the crowd. Although Bobby had encountered such manifestations of prejudice before (notably his covert mission with Graydon Creed several years ago), this was uniquely different. There was something very personal about this intrusion. They deliberately chose this day—the day of Jean's funeral—to air their filthy views. It was as if their intention was to stomp and drag her memory through the mud until there was nothing left. The very idea left him reeling with disbelief and rage.

Hank frowned at Stryker. While he shared Warren and Bobby's outrage towards the obvious provocation, there was something just as troubling about the bigot's presence at their home. Logan, who had ambiguous recollections of a working relationship with the former colonel, once told Hank and Warren about Stryker's ties to defence contractors. While he primarily operated as a science officer to these organizations, Logan was certain he had been involved in some tactical affairs during their time together. Everything about the attack upon the mansion was indicative of a sophisticated operation rather than a random attack by a loose collection of criminals. The coordinated nature of the assault, the use of helicopters, and tranquilizer darts carrying depressant agents seemed to reflect the planning of someone closely acquainted with the military planning and execution.

In regards to possible motivations, Hank was well aware of what formed the basis for Stryker's hatred. When the school first opened its doors, the Professor had been approached by the then-colonel about "curing" his son, Jason. The child could generate illusions and manipulate other people's memories, affecting even telepaths like the Professor and Jean. Although Xavier had been consulted about Jason's abilities, it was the parents' perceptions and handling of their child that disturbed him. Hank had been present when the Professor attempted to explain that mutation was not a condition to be cured or treated. Upon hearing the news, both mother and father appeared to be devastated. However, it was the Stryker patriarch who lashed out. He was furious with the Professor for not even trying to help, accusing him of being part of a conspiracy to forever mark his child as "a freak". Before storming out of the office with his wife, the former colonel vowed never to forget or forgive.

Since then, Stryker waged a personal crusade against the Professor and his school. He testified in front of Congress about the dangers mutants posed, advocating for camps in order to control the population. There were papers published in peer-reviewed journals about the benefits of prenatal testing to identify those carrying the gene. He even petitioned the state regents to revoke the school's accreditation. When the Professor was mysteriously kidnapped, drugged, and imprisoned in an abandoned warehouse several years ago, Stryker hinted at some involvement but never revealed enough details to implicate himself completely.

For Hank, a very likely suspect had surfaced right on their doorstep. "I didn't realize your spiritual awakening would lead you back to the scene of the crime," he finally mused, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Scene of the crime?" the older man repeated, brows shooting upwards into his hairline. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

The condescension dripping in Stryker's voice nearly evoked a rumbling growl from Hank's throat. Somehow, he managed to repress the sound and retorted, "Come now, Reverend. Don't insult everyone's intelligence by denying your culpability. If anything, I would have thought you would have been proud to claim responsibility in the demise of '_an__abomination__'_. Perhaps, it might elevate the status of your little group here."

"Careful now, Dr. McCoy," Stryker chuckled, adjusting his glasses slightly. "I believe that's slander and I have a team of lawyers ready and willing you to take you to task over that. Just ask that council member from your district. He's still paying down a $200,000 lawsuit after calling us a hate-group and accusing us of bombing that mutie clinic downtown."

Warren, fully aware of Hank's line of reasoning, nodded in agreement as this theory became more and more plausible. "So it's just all coincidence? The way the school was invaded and your past dealings with the military, not to mention your views on mutants…" His voice trailed off as his anger threatened to consume him. There was nothing more he wanted than to find a way to wipe that smirk from the other man's face.

"Gentlemen," Stryker chided in a soft voice, waving his hand dismissively in the face of the accusations levelled at him. "Those are awfully broad strokes you're using in connecting the dots."

Warren raised a sceptical brow. "Is that how you're choosing to spin it?"

The former colonel shook his head demurely. "It's not spin if it's true," he informed him nonchalantly. "As the Lord is my witness, I had nothing to do you're your little _tragedy_."

"Spare us your hollow invocations," Hank snapped. While he was not a religious man himself, the fact that Stryker would involve God in the conversation was insulting to those who genuinely had faith. This sudden spiritual awakening seemed to provide him with other means to justify his hatred. Furthermore, it did nothing to lessen Hank's suspicions about the bigot's connection to the attack.

Stryker appeared pleased he had struck a nerve of the usually even-tempered Hank McCoy. He smiled before responding. "Much as I would like to take credit for what happened, I am bound to the truth. I did not have a hand in any of this. In fact, you would be best to contact someone from the district attorney's office in Philadelphia. I, along with members of this fine congregation, have been there to rectify a misunderstanding with their police department. We just arrived in Westchester this morning after hearing about your friend's death on the news."

Warren's shrewd business dealings often required adeptness in reading other people's intentions. It was what made him so successful since taking the helm of the family business. While he was no means a telepath or a lie detector, the winged playboy could usually determine when he was being deceived. His blue eyes closely scrutinized the man on the other side of the wrought-iron gates. To his disappointment, Stryker was being candid. Shaking his head, Warren pursed his lips in disgust.

Stepping back slightly from the barrier separating him from the three X-Men, the husky preacher was fully aware of the conclusion. His aging features arranged themselves into a haughty expression. "Now that we've settled that, I suppose it would be disingenuous of me to say I'm very sorry that someone of your ilk is dead. In the full interests of disclosure, I'd like to make it very clear that nothing makes me happier to know another one of your kind is rotting in hell."

"You bastard," Bobby spat out, his words barely audible above the applause and cheers from the crowd. His boyish features were arranged in a deep scowl as he tried to comprehend the other man's motivations. Hating another person so deeply was a foreign concept to begin with. But being so blindly committed to the hate, where it compelled someone to view death as a triumph was beyond Bobby's understanding altogether.

Stryker sneered, his dark, beady eyes locked onto Bobby's glowering face. "I'm simply giving context to what is apparently the Lord's will," he told him, reaching into the pocket of his parka to retrieve a small, leather-bound book with a gold cross embossed on the cover. He raised it over his head and shook it with conviction. "Your kind is a mistake, devoid of soul and unworthy of salvation. All of you are a danger to mankind, an insult to God."

His voice became progressively louder as he continued his tirade. "The ones who look like freaks are bad enough but the ones like you, my dear boy…the ones who try to pass off as one of _us_…you're the worst of them all. You actually think you're normal. You believe you can live like the rest of society even though you're cursed. But do you want to know what makes me truly sick? The fact that you're probably laying with another one of your kind with the intent of bringing more abominations into this world... It makes me wish you people were sterilized."

Somewhere, in the recesses of Bobby's consciousness, a light switch was turned off. Any semblance of control and reason dissolved. He was consumed by anger, triggered by Stryker's hateful persecution and thoughts of his former life with Jubilee. Without thinking, Bobby sheathed his clenched fist in ice and began edging closer to the gates.

Hank instantly read his young friend's expression and clamped a firm hand on Bobby's shoulder, pulling him back. "Don't," he whispered. "Reprehensible as his message is, there are laws that protect his right to speak. We're not here to engage in a confrontation."

"So what are we doing here then?" Bobby demanded, his ice-covered hand shaking with rage. He wanted so desperately to at least freeze Stryker's lips shut.

Before the larger, feline-like man could respond, he felt the presence of another person behind them. Turning around, Hank was surprised to find Lorna floating above. The expression on her face indicated that she was privy to the exchange that took place. Clearly, she was not pleased.

"Mr. Stryker," Lorna called out, emerald eyes flashing. "I suggest you and your followers leave here immediately."

He snorted. "And why would we do that?" he asked blithely.

Suddenly, the signs his followers were carrying fell apart. The metal thumbtacks used to affix the poster board to the wood had been wrenched free and were now floating in the air. Stryker's megaphone then flew out of his hand, hovering over his head.

"Because today we are in mourning," she explained coolly, as the megaphone was pierced by the many thumbtacks before crumpling itself into a tiny square, "and when people are upset, they tend to act irrationally. Apply that logic to mutants and who knows what can happen?"

Inside the chapel, the funeral service was underway. Kurt, heeding Lorna's advice, made an executive decision to alter the proceedings completely. He approached the Professor, Scott, and the Grey family, presenting his concerns about the emotional fragility of those asked to speak today. Rather than inflict any additional pressure on these individuals, the former priest-in-training recommended that one person speak today as a means to convey a united message about Jean's memory. In light of this, all parties agreed that only one individual could address this task.

Steering his motorized wheelchair to the front of the chapel, the Professor appeared frail as if he might pass out at any moment. Although it had been days since the psionic assault on the world's telepaths, the effects continued to linger. In addition to his taxed physical condition, the Professor was struggling with his telepathic abilities. He noticed that his range was severely limited, where he was only able to read information from an immediate radius rather than the lengthy distances he was accustomed to. Despite these difficulties, Xavier was determined to attend today's service. As he faced his colleagues, students, and the Grey family, he was even more resolute to provide comforting words in this time of great sorrow.

"When I was asked to talk about Jean, I struggled to conceive of the appropriate words that would capture her love of learning, her bond to family and friends, and her spirit of adventure," the Professor admitted, his voice echoing throughout the small chapel. "But today, I see the faces of those she loved dearly and I am inspired. She was a blessing to us and to this world, providing lessons on how to do things right; how to be a wife, friend, team mate, and mentor; how to appreciate history; and how to be courageous. No one else looked like her, spoke like her, wrote like her, or was so original in the way she did things. No one I have ever known had a better sense of self. In all the years since her arrival at this school, her genuineness and depth of character continued to shine, touching people beyond these walls."

Staring out into the sea of despondent faces, he said, "I first met Jean when she was a teenager. Since then, it has been my privilege to have watched her mature with ever-expanding responsibility, to have known some of the warmth of her genuine friendship, to see tested under pain and loss the steely strength of her character. I have been with her in joy and in sorrow, in decision and in crisis, among friends and with strangers and I know of no one who has combined in more noble perfection the qualities of greatness that marked her intelligence and her big, brave bountiful heart. Now all of a sudden, Jean has been taken from us and I dare say we shall never see her like again."

His piercing, blue eyes peered over where Scott sat alongside Alex and Jubilee before he continued. "Many others will measure the wide interests of her mind, the swiftness of her resolution, the power of her persuasion, the efficiency of her action and the courage of her conviction. However, I believe it is fitting and proper to focus on the personal aspects that made all of us love her so. Jean had a wonderful sense of focusing on someone with total attention. It was a gift of herself that she gave to those fortunate to know her. In spite of whatever was going on in her life, good and bad, she never faltered.

"At Jean's side, was the understanding and devotion of her husband, Scott. Her pride in of being with him which she so eminently justified was plainly reciprocated. The bonds of love that made them one in marriage became like hoops of steel binding them together. From wherever men may look out from eternity to see the workings of our world, Jean is surely beaming with new pride upon her valiant Scott who shared her life, especially to the moment of its early end." Xavier swallowed back a sob when he noticed Scott struggling to do the same. "These days of sorrow must be difficult for him—more difficult than for any others. When we later reflect on this sad hour in times to come, many will ever recall how his love and loyalty matched her courage and strength."

The Professor's gaze rested on Jubilee, who mournfully returned his stare. "Recently, Jean came to embrace another role," he began, his voice even and calm. "While not bound by blood, her love for Jubilee was deep and unqualified. When Jean and Scott first took her in, Jean admitted feeling slightly overwhelmed at the prospect of raising a young girl. It was a responsibility she took very seriously. Of this, she told me, 'If you're a terrible parent, then nothing else you do really matters.' It turns out there was no need for Jean to be concerned. She revelled in Jubilee's accomplishments, she hurt with her sorrows, and she felt sheer joy and delight in spending time as a family. As a result, Jubilee has turned out to be extraordinary, honest, unspoiled, and with a character equal to the woman who raised her."

The crowd, riveted by his words, did not notice the doors at the back of the chapel open. Nor were they aware that Warren, Hank, Bobby, and Lorna were quietly making their way inside. The Professor, however, gave the quartet a subtle nod before continuing. "What comfort can I extend to the heavy hearts today of her friends and colleagues…what beyond the knowledge that they had the privilege to know a gifted and noble spirit, who in her time and in her sacrifice, had made more sturdy the hopes of this world. I suppose it is a consolation for us all to know that Jean's tragic death does not spell the end of her dedication to mutantkind but commits to new responsibilities the energies and the abilities of her friends and the students she inspired. All of us who knew personally and loved Jean Grey—her youth, her drive, her ideals, her heart, generosity and her hopes—mourn now more for ourselves and each other than for our dear friend. We will miss her; she only waits for us in another place."

After a brief pause, the fragile-looking man in his seemingly mammoth wheelchair pressed forward. "In truth, she did everything she could–and more–for each of us. She made a rare and noble contribution to this institution and for those share our struggles. But for all of us gathered here today, most of all she was a magnificent wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, mentor, and friend."

Xavier took a long, hard look at the chair, which was adorned with the lovingly crafted casket spray. While he was able to maintain his composure for the majority of the eulogy, the Professor's grief began to overtake him. "And now the journey is over. It was too short, too short. Yours was a life filled with adventure and wisdom, laughter and love, gallantry and grace. So farewell, farewell."

With that, the Professor quietly wheeled away from the altar and took his place alongside the Grey family.

Following the funeral, everyone made their way to the mansion for lunch prepared by Cook and her staff. The menu consisted of Jean's favourites: Indian-spiced mixed nuts, green goddess dip, cheddar-cauliflower soup, baked ham with a brown sugar, rum, and cayenne pepper glaze, wild rice pilaf with dried cranberries and pecans, tricolour salad, and ginger cake with warm caramel sauce. It was the Englishwoman's way of expressing and channelling her grief into something other than tears. As she confessed to Ororo and Lorna while in the midst of preparations, Cook was not one to indulge in "blubbering about". Engaging in her culinary responsibilities provided her with a purpose.

Attendees had convened in the living room while Cook and her staff organized a buffet table in the formal dining area. The atmosphere was subdued but less solemn than during the service hours earlier. There was chatter among the guests albeit hushed and reverent. Members of the Grey family found themselves looking through a photo album of Jean presented to them by Ororo. Kurt, Tabitha, Brian, and Meggan were gathered around the black, baby grand piano where Allison sat, keying a tune softly. Also admiring the music were Jean-Paul, Cain, and Domino. Standing by the fireplace were Bishop and Sage, nursing their pilsners of beer while talking to Jamie, Theresa, Guido, and Rahne. At the other end of the room, Kitty seemed to be awkwardly engaged in conversation with both Piotr and Pete Wisdom. Nearby, Monet, Paige, and Sean were standing by the bay windows, quietly catching up since their Paris X-Corps days. Not joining this reunion of the Massachusetts Academy was former headmistress Emma Frost. The blonde telepath stood in a corner of the room, surveying the room with a cool gaze and martini in hand.

Also absent from the impromptu Generation X get-together was Jubilee. She was seated alongside the Summers brothers on a well-worn leather sofa, pretending to watch Storm go through various pictures with Jean's parents and sister. It had taken a great deal of cajoling on the part of herself and Alex to convince Scott to make an appearance rather than retreat to the emergency living quarters. Not surprisingly, the grieving widower was in no mood to be around other people following the emotional service. The eulogy, the individual expressions of condolences before and after the funeral, and the sympathetic faces were almost impossible for him to bear. It was as if he were being constantly reminded of his impotence that night. To hear how sorry they were for him made him want to scream, releasing the white-hot rage that coursed throughout his body. For Scott, it was astounding how no one could see how responsible he had been for losing Jean. He felt as if he were the only one who was able to see past the morass of grief to understand his role in all of this.

Sensing Scott's distorted view of culpability, both Alex and Jubilee were determined not to allow him to be alone. While neither believed Scott would intentionally harm himself or worse, there still remained the concern about his drinking. The bespectacled leader had not consumed a drop of alcohol since last night—an incredible feat given the days that followed his wife's death. Based on his agitated presentation and laconic interactions with others, Scott was clearly uncomfortable without his crutch. Taken together with the poignancy of this day, his nerves were understandably frayed. As far as Alex and Jubilee were concerned, alcohol would undermine what little control he had over his feelings—something Scott acknowledged he wanted to have today.

Unfortunately, a non-drinking Scott proved just as volatile as a Scott who indulged in his whiskey. During their preparations for attending the service, he was irritable and often snapped at Alex for seemingly minor infractions. For example, when his younger brother pointed out the wrinkles in his suit jacket, Scott accused him of being hypercritical and insensitive on the day of his wife's funeral. He went on to claim that Alex was constantly judging him, looking for opportunities to point out inadequacies and faults. When Jubilee attempted to intervened, he interrogated her about her loyalties to him ("Do you think I have a problem?", "Are you letting Alex, Kurt, or the Professor tell you what to say to me?", or "If you really cared about me, wouldn't you see things my way?"). Any appeals to his sense of reason were quickly rebuffed.

What resulted that day was a combination of unease that coalesced with the sorrow associated with Jean's funeral. Both Alex and Jubilee found their actions being guided by caution. Interacting with Scott was akin to walking on eggshells. Despite the desire to take him aside and shake some sense into him, they were aware that he was entitled to his grief. The two reminded themselves (and each other) that his irrational behaviour was only in response to his tragic loss. Together, they hoped, with time, that this ominous cloud would be lifted from Scott.

For Jubilee, the entire day had been especially trying. While she was no stranger to losing a loved one to death, the process of mourning Jean was very difficult. The Professor's moving eulogy reminded her—and everyone else—of the nature and severity of the void the redhead left. His words provided a tangible context to their relationship, which seemed to devastate Jubilee all the more. She had been aware of the great affection shared between herself and Jean, but it was only after the Professor talked about the telepath's perspective did the young firecracker recognize the extent of her dedication and love. The knowledge of this sent Jubilee in tears.

Prior to that moment, she swore to herself that she would be strong for the funeral. Given Scott's current state, it seemed like the only option. After all those times when he had been a source of security, Jubilee believed it was her turn to repay the favour. Moreover, because of the complicated nature of his mourning (notably the intense levels of guilt and his continued insistence that he was culpable), she knew the last thing he needed to do was to worry about her. Scott was already stretched emotionally thin already. So, Jubilee resigned herself to remain composed for him.

As she thought about her lapse, Jubilee reflected on the feelings that fuelled her tears. Listening to the Professor, she thought about her sadness over Jean and the stress in response to Scott and his unpredictable behaviour as of late. However, what resonated the most were feelings of loneliness and confusion. Jean's death left her grieving not only for a maternal figure but also for an additional presence in what remained of their informal family. Without Jean, Jubilee was shouldering the responsibility of caring for Scott—a task that left her feeling uncertain about her efforts (his inconsistent demeanour with her made her wonder if she was doing more harm than good) and psychologically exhausted. There was no one else to confide in, no opportunities for reprieve from being so strong. In short, Jubilee was feeling the pressure from the solitude.

She supposed that the severity of these feelings were exacerbated by the situation with Bobby. Their time together as a couple gave her solace in knowing that she was not alone. Being connected to a person she deeply cared about gave her confidence and strength she once believed to be elusive. It allowed her to make sense of the world. Equally important was the implicit permission for her to be vulnerable. Bobby had completely understood and cared for her unconditionally, which allowed her the luxury of being herself around him. There was no need to pretend to be the resilient Jubilee, as she often portrayed herself to be while around those like the Professor, Jean, and even Logan. She was not troubled that he would judge or become consumed with guilt or overprotective rage. Instead, Bobby had been her beacon of reason, support, and understanding.

Jubilee remembered looking for him in the chapel that morning, sifting through the sea of despondent faces. The rational part of her mind mocked her for doing so. It wondered why she was being so masochistic, trying to seek out someone who clearly wanted nothing more to do with her. Or perhaps this need was rooted in stupidity. She was being too dense to comprehend that things were over. After all, Bobby seemed very unequivocal about ending their relationship. Still, there was a chance that desperation played a role in her search. To believe that things between them were truly over was a fact that was unacceptable to her. In the end, the specific motivation did not matter. Jubilee knew that on this day, she wanted to feel Bobby's arms around her. She wanted to hear his voice reassure her that there would be an end to this turmoil. Most of all, she wanted to feel safe again.

It was during the Professor's eulogy she finally saw Bobby. Jubilee had turned her head briefly when he began talking about the impact of Jean's death on her friends. Her chest ached as she caught sight of him. Standing in the back of the chapel with his hands shoved into his pockets, Bobby looked so forlorn and haunted. His grey eyes were dull as they stared listlessly ahead. With each passing second, Jubilee was finding it increasingly difficult to observe him in such a state. The task was made more trying given that there was nothing she could do to comfort him. The social conventions surrounding their break-up effectively tied her hands. Yet, there was a part of her that believed Bobby wished for what she did—that they could somehow find a way to be together once again. For a moment, she had contemplated approaching him in between the readings.

Instead, Jubilee squeezed Scott's hand after deciding that was the only course of action available to her then.

She was shaken out of her reverie when Alex handed her a glass. The younger Summers brother gave her a small smile, his aqua eyes briefly glancing over at Scott who had edged away from Jubilee's side to engage in a conversation with Dr. Grey. Startled, she returned the gesture before scooting slightly to allow him to sit next to her.

"You look like you could use something," he told her quietly, taking his seat. "I wanted to get you some food but Cook chased me out of the kitchen before I could even ask. This is the best I could do."

She raised the glass to her lips. "This is great. Thanks."

"It's the least I could do," Alex replied, watching her take a sip. "I mean, we do have to look out for another." In the wake of Jean's death and Scott's debilitating bereavement, he and Jubilee managed to forge a close rapport. It sustained them, allowing them to rely on one another especially during more demanding times. Alex was quite certain that if Jubilee had not been present, he would have probably hit Scott. Knowing that he had someone to commiserate with provided him with the reserve needed.

Jubilee nodded in agreement, swallowing. Then she grimaced, peering down curiously at the glass. "Is this…diet?" she asked.

He gave her a quizzical look. "I thought you drank diet soda."

"Sorry, but I can't stand the stuff. The companies kind of give it away with the first three letters."

"So not all women drink diet soda? I learn something new everyday."

That remark earned him a wry smile, causing his own grin to broaden. With their days dominated by gloom and sadness, this brief moment of levity was welcomed. It was almost as if things were normal again. The thought left both feeling very nostalgic for simpler times, times that seemed so removed now.

Jubilee placed the glass on the coffee table in front of her. "I'm going to get a replacement," she announced, rising. "Just point me to the drinks station. Then we can debunk your stereotypes."

Following her lead, Alex stood up as well. He was about to direct her where to proceed when he noticed her expression had changed. Gone was the glimmer of sparkle in those sapphire eyes as was the tiny smile that graced her red mouth. Now marring her delicate features was an expression that seemed to reflect anguish. Concerned, Alex placed a supportive hand on her back and began to lean in to inquire what was troubling her. However, the words died in his mouth when he discovered the source. His blue-green eyes quickly narrowed.

On the opposite side of the room, Bobby stood with Warren, Hank, and Lorna. The four of them appeared to be in deep conversation with Professor, who looked extremely lethargic. Despite this, he still managed to take an active part during this interaction. An anxious-looking Hank knelt down in front of his wheelchair-bound mentor, nodding firmly and gesturing to the three who remained standing. Meanwhile, Warren gave pointed looks to Bobby and Lorna before turning to speak with Xavier as well. Grim-faced, Bobby involved himself in the discussion and seemed to be deferring to his winged friend's statements. There was a hangdog quality about his demeanour as he shifted his weight from foot to foot while being taken to task by the blond Adonis. For her part, Lorna placed a hand on Bobby's arm while shaking her head at Warren and then the Professor. It was as if she were struggling to defend him or possibly something he had done.

Alex finally wrested his attention from the scene back to Jubilee. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

She swallowed hard before answering. Everything about this moment felt so strange. Watching Bobby through the eyes of someone he no longer wanted to be with was akin to a bad dream. Her heart yearned to be by his side, to share whatever it was that disturbed him, and if possible, do everything in her power to take away his pain. However, she refrained from acting on her instincts once again. This was not the time or the place to give in to her urges. Much as she wanted to, there were other things to consider at the moment. Calling attention to her own problems, especially when everyone was still reeling from the funeral service, struck her as selfish. Approaching him while he was obviously engaged in a serious conversation with the Professor and his team mates also seemed to be inappropriate.

Ultimately, Jubilee wondered if she would ever have the chance to talk to Bobby. Impressive as her restraint was, there was a part of her that was restless. With her crystalline gaze still locked onto him, she felt as if she were jumping out of skin. A final resolution, good or bad, appeared very much out of reach—something that utterly frustrated her. In spite of these tumultuous feelings, however, logic prevailed. Jubilee was determined to confront Bobby under more appropriate circumstances.

"No," she whispered back after what seemed like eons of internal reflection. "No, I'm not."

The blond geophysicist frowned, concerned. He was cognizant as to what was weighing heavily on the young woman's mind. Studying her desolate expression, he wished for the ability to turn back time. Had Alex been more wary and forceful in his reservations, perhaps some of this heartache could have been avoided. Inwardly, he cursed himself for letting down his guard and for allowing himself to be convinced that Bobby anything but a selfish, immature jerk. Alex knew that all of people, he was the one who was the most familiar with the less appealing aspects of Bobby Drake.

However, the experience of the other man's temper tantrums, passive aggressive behaviour, and thinly veiled insults did nothing to prepare him for this transgression. As the one least likely to vote Bobby for Mr. Congeniality, Alex was forced to admit that his behaviour as of late was rather surprising. Witnessing him snub Jubilee and act as if nothing was amiss was infuriating. It chipped away at Bobby's previous assertions of being a good guy who got a raw deal with respect to his relationships. As far as the younger Summers brother was concerned, the manner in which Bobby hurt Jubilee undermined that position completely.

Leaning towards Jubilee, Alex's aqua eyes peered into her lovely face. "Do you want to go outside and get some air?" he inquired. "I'll come with you…if you want."

Surprised, the young firecracker stared up at him with wide eyes. Several weeks ago, if anyone told her Alex Summers would be someone for her to rely on for emotional support, Jubilee would have dismissed this possibility with a laugh or wise comment. But sensing the genuine nature of his concern, she found herself at a loss for words.

Finally, she regained the ability to respond. "Thanks but no," she said softly, giving him a rueful smile. Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw that group had dispersed and that Bobby was now walking up the spiral staircase. Sensing her chance, Jubilee excused herself and drew away from Alex.

Once his blue-green eyes followed her line of vision, he became alarmed. Instinctively, tanned fingers snaked out to grasp her arm. "You don't need to do this."

She shook her head, gently pulling her arm from his grip. "You're wrong, Alex," she told him, her tone determined. "I do."

Bobby heaved his shoulders, exhaling loudly as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. A grimace was plastered across his boyish face, which seemed to be an expression he often wore these days. Several steps ahead of him was Lorna. His former girlfriend's brisk pace reflected her eagerness to leave the gathering below. Neither one was in the mood to be around other people at the moment. Based on the body language displayed by both, it was clear that the two would not have made good company if approached.

The dressing down received minutes ago left them with feelings of embarrassment, indignation, and shame. It had been quite some since either one of them had been reprimanded by the Professor. Such an interaction was something believed to have been left behind during their training days. But experiencing Xavier's stern words earlier reminded the two of how intimidating he could be despite his advancement in years and current frail state. Even Lorna, who was struggling with some anger management issues following her experience in Genosha, found herself responding meekly to her mentor's chiding.

What provoked the uncharacteristically severe response were the events surrounding the encounter with newly ordained Stryker and his group of picketing followers. After Lorna remonstrated the congregation, members of the crowd proceeded to charge the gates while screaming at the top of their lungs. Initially, those on the other side were quite certain of the strength of the metal barrier. After all, these iron-wrought gates had been with the property since its construction so many years ago. However, their collective sense of overconfidence faltered once the bars began to shake and the sound of the clanging became progressively louder. While Lorna was bracing herself to intervene, it was Bobby who maintained the separation between them and the hostile crowd. Extending his hand towards the gates, he created a dense block of ice that encapsulated the gates completely. The material was so thick that it muffled the sounds of the protesters yelling and distorted their scowling faces. Soaring above the melee, it was Warren who heard Stryker call for everyone to head towards their vehicles in order to contact the police about the theft and ensuing destruction of property. Hearing this, Warren was alarmed as he realized the last thing that needed to happen on this day was any contact with the police. When he and Hank were unable to make contact with the Professor or Emma, they decided to make the journey back to the chapel in the hopes of directly appealing to either one in order to change the course of events.

Upon entering the doors of the tiny church, Hank appointed himself as spokesman for the quartet. During the Professor's eulogy, he alerted their mentor as to what occurred outside. Although Xavier was sombre while delivering his speech, his telepathic voice was stern as he reprimanded them for allowing their emotions to cloud their better judgment. He then brought Emma into the conversation and requested the former Hellfire member to assist him in "addressing the situation". Fortunately, they were able to alter the memories of Reverend Stryker and his people before the authorities could be contacted. However, the Professor continued to be upset. He expressed his utter disbelief that Warren, Hank, Bobby, and Lorna had let things get this far to begin with. He specifically targeted Bobby and Lorna, informing both how disappointed he was in them.

"_I__expect__better__from__you__two,__" __he__had__told__them,__looking__weakened__but__determined.__ "__What__you__did__today__could__have__resulted__in__catastrophic__consequences.__"_

With the Professor's voice still echoing inside her head, Lorna paused in her steps and leaned against the mahogany wood that panelled the walls in the hallway. "I didn't think this day could get any more challenging and something like me losing my temper causes even more grief." Her emerald eyes soaked up the Persian carpeting beneath her feet. Then she peered over at Bobby. "How are you doing?"

"It's been a hard day," Bobby admitted wearily, standing across from and loosening his tie. Then he shook his head and amended his statement. "Scratch that. It's been a hard couple of weeks."

Lorna nodded sympathetically. "I know," she said, tucking a lock of sea-green hair behind her ear. While working alongside him on the investigative team, Lorna knew of his recent problems, including his father's stroke. She had also witnessed his interpersonal difficulties with various individuals around the mansion, which she later learned stemmed from his unexplained break-up with Jubilee. Taken together, it was no surprise he was so despondent as of late. "I'm sorry."

He gave her a grateful nod before continuing to speak. "I just want things to be the way they used to be," he told her sadly. "Before…" He let his voice trail off. The word seemed to encompass so much for him in his life. There was the secondary mutation, his father's stroke, Jean's death, and ending things with Jubilee. His yearning could have applied to any of these events. As unsure as he was about what he was referring to, the only thing he was confident of was his sense of being hopelessly adrift in the chaos.

Lorna, unaware of the dynamics at play, interpreted her friend's doleful presentation as being in response to Jean's death and the stresses associated with his father's illness. "I guess we can only hope that with time, things get easier," she said, feeling slightly out of sorts when dispensing those words. As soon as they escaped from her mouth, she immediately thought of Jean and how much she truly missed her. It was in situations such as this that the redhead seemed to shine. She could always be relied on to provide the appropriate response, to soothe the other party. After experiencing the traumatic events in Genosha several months ago, Lorna had little faith she had any business comforting anyone.

Bobby was able to discern his former girlfriend was ruminating about something. Eager to distract himself from his own difficulties, he looked into her pensive face and asked, "What's on your mind?"

She crossed her slim arms over her chest and shook her head in disbelief. "I'm trying to get used to the idea of Jean being gone," she replied. Then she bit her lower lip. "I know this sounds terrible to admit, but I feel like I took her for granted."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when I first returned to the mansion, I was really…out of it. Jean was one of a few people willing to be patient with me. Everyone else was freaked out by _'__Crazy__Lorna__'_."

"I wasn't."

"That's right. You weren't. Why was that, Bobby?"

"You were and still are my friend," he pointed out. "I don't believe on turning my back on friends even when they're not acting like themselves."

Hearing this response, Lorna gave him a small smile. "I'm grateful for that," she told him, her tone devoid of the usual tinge of harshness. Then she added, "I guess turnabout is fair play."

He frowned at her, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not blind, Bobby, and you're not that naïve." Lorna lowered her arms and clasped her hands together. She was trying to choose her words carefully as she broached this topic. "People have been treating you like persona non grata since you came back. I'm just saying that no matter what's precipitated this, I don't intend on shutting you out."

The boyishly handsome young man was taken aback. He wasn't sure what shocked him more—how observant Lorna was or her declaration of loyalty. Rather than dwelling on the issue, Bobby decided to focus on assuaging her anxieties. "Thanks for letting me know," he told her, attempting to sound nonchalant. "But I'm okay, really."

"Bobby?"

Startled, he turned around to find Jubilee standing several feet away. There were a myriad of emotions that coursed throughout his entire being as his gaze swept over her beautiful but sad face. He was elated to see her, to know that she still cared for him in spite of everything he had done. At the same time, he was experiencing a multitude of negative feelings surrounding how he had handled things between them—guilt, heartbreak, self-loathing. The intensity of these feelings seemed to increase exponentially the longer he continued gazing upon her lovely features.

Jubilee studied Bobby as he looked over at her, his boyish face filled with pain and his grey eyes lost. Gone was the hard mask of indifference he had worn around her since that day in Long Island. For a moment, Jubilee saw her Bobby, the man she loved so much, the man whom she envisioned a life with. As their eyes locked, there was a glimmer of hope that he would come to her. She could feel her heart skip a beat at the possibility of him returning, smoothing away all the heartache between them.

To her astonishment and disappointment, Bobby abruptly turned away from her. He then leaned towards Lorna, whispering in her ear. The self-proclaimed mistress of magnetism looked awkward as she cast a glance at Jubilee. She appeared as if she wanted to leave him but acquiesced when his hand reached for her shoulder, tugging at it insistently.

Jubilee could feel her entire world crumble as the green-haired woman guided Bobby into his bedroom before closing the door firmly behind them.


	65. Chapter Sixty Five: Mr Pitiful

Happy New Year, everyone! Back with the latest instalment. This chapter is meant to herald changes to come…

Thank you for the reviews. Please keep them coming. I love hearing from you guys.

Shout out to Jo the Phoenix for beta-ing this epic. You rock!

As usual, the characters belong to Marvel. I'm only messing with them

**Chapter Sixty Five: Mr Pitiful **

After several weeks in Madripoor, Roberto Da Costa was in desperate need of what he termed as "a proper shave and haircut". Despite his team mates' incessant teasing about his high maintenance grooming habits (particularly Dani and Amara), the swarthy Brazilian was not about to lower his standards. As the face of his company, he did have an image to maintain. Just because he was presently on a covert mission did not mean Roberto had to completely let himself go. Unlike his team mates, Logan and Remy, he was not about to attempt the shaggy, unkempt look.

Fortunately, Roberto's business trips to the tiny island nation allowed him to make the acquaintance of an impeccable barber shop. These clients included CEOs from international corporations and top fashion designers. The proprietor, an Italian immigrant named Leo, was descended from a long line of artisans—bespoke tailors, shoemakers—but chose to mould himself into a craftsman of hair. The timelessness and longevity to his style of cutting (scissors and straight razor, no electric shears, no styling products) attracted a devoted following. While the shop was basically hidden away among the skyscrapers of Hightown—no sign, no intercom. Long-standing clients were determined to make the trek to indulge in an exceptional cut. The establishment was also exclusive; so much so that no appointments were accepted without a referral from one of his small circle of patrons.

With the team meeting scheduled for the late afternoon, Roberto seized an opportunity to pay a visit to Leo's establishment. However, the recent increase of tension within the capital city and the past several days of overcast skies made him reluctant to venture out on his own. Without sufficient amounts of solar energy to absorb, Roberto believed himself to be vulnerable. Reason dictated that if uncertainty existed regarding his safety, then the appointment was to be cancelled. Opposing this position was his sense of vanity, which was fuelled by his perception that his reflection harkened a younger but better-looking Logan. Ultimately, it was this side that won out.

Upon careful consideration, Roberto decided that narcissism did not have to be associated with a lack of prudence. Asking someone to accompany him constituted a sound solution to his dilemma. Perusing the list of possible candidates among his team mates, there was only one person he could trust with his life and most importantly, not to make fun of him.

"Ah don't know, man," Sam Guthrie said sheepishly, zipping up his green, hooded sweatshirt over his grey T-shirt and chino shorts. They were exiting the automatic sliding doors of their hotel to make the three-block journey. "These kinda places make me uncomfortable. Couldn't ya have hired a car service ta take ya over?"

Roberto gave his good friend a quizzical look, a slight breeze rumpling his thick, raven waves. "True," he acknowledged lightly. "But that would mean calling attention to myself and I thought that was the last thing we should be doing given the circumstances."

"Ya don't have ta use your real name ta reserve the car," the Southern gentleman pointed out as the two of them rounded a corner.

Raising a sceptical brow at the tall, lean Kentucky native, Roberto was feeling somewhat slighted by the simplicity of this proposition. He peered into Sam's guileless face before launching into an explanation. "The Da Costa name is like a key that opens even the most trying of doors. I suppose it's like a platinum card for other people."

"Oh come on, Bobby," Sam scoffed, taking the edge off his words with a chuckle. He was well aware of his friend's penchant for self-importance. However, this latest assertion seemed to be especially narcissistic—even for Roberto. "Doncha think that's takin' it a bit too far?"

The swarthy Brazilian shook his head. "Not at all," he replied nonchalantly. A few years ago, Sam's response would have prompted an altercation. But with the passage of time, Roberto was now a patient man who had moved beyond the short temper that characterized his youth. As they waited at the crosswalk, he added, "How do you think we got those seats for the NBA finals? And what about those tickets to the after party sponsored by that champagne company? You remember the one where we had cocktails served to us by those bikini models? If you gave the Professor's name, I doubt you'd get that kind of treatment."

The former coal miner was about to respond when a rumbling growl derailed his train of thought. His attention, along with that of his friend, had been captured by the appearance of a silver, V-6 Morgan Roadster pulling up alongside them. The vehicle itself was a masterpiece with its signature swooped wings, exposed fasteners, wire wheels, and missile-shaped, and louvered bonnets. The well-heeled sheet metal and sparse but luxuriant interior belied what was often a wilful, impractical, often temperamental machine.

Equally intriguing were the occupants inside. The driver was a striking, dark-haired beauty with maroon eyes, high cheekbones, and wide smile. She wore a black, faux-fur vest over a pink, stitchwork silk dress. Her companion, a petite, curvy young woman with mocha skin and a blond afro, was slightly more covered up in a short-sleeved, grey sweater with sequins sewn around the neckline and a long, black skirt. While waiting at the stoplight, the women smiled at the nearby pedestrians before exchanging what could be construed as sly glances.

Sensing reciprocal interest, Roberto seized the moment. He affixed one of his most charming smiles as he made his way over to the car. "Good morning, ladies," he drawled, onyx eyes sparkling. "It seems that this day has become even better since your arrival."

Sam groaned inwardly. As Roberto's 'wingman', he had the unfortunate experience of being privy to his friend's repertoire of lines to entice members of the opposite sex. There were times when he was completely astounded as to what Roberto could get away with. Statements that were trite beyond imagination were often rewarded with a smile, a dance, a phone number, or a combination of the three. This gift seemed to transcend beyond the attributes of wealth, good looks, and charisma. It was as if Roberto possessed some secondary ability to be disarming to the female species.

Much like many others who encountered the charms of Roberto Da Costa, the women inside the roadster succumbed with girlish laughter. The passenger flashed him a blindingly white smile and said, "You're very sweet… I'm pretty sure you're not from around here. Most of the men in this part of town are Type A, sexist pigs who think talking is needless foreplay."

He grinned. "Not only beautiful but perceptive as well," he replied lightly, moving closer to the car. "You'll also find that I believe in the importance of conversation. It enhances so many things." He punctuated his remark with a mischievous wink.

This elicited another round of titters from the women. When the laughter subsided, the blonde extended her hand. "I'm Casey and this is my friend, Kim." She nodded towards the driver, who gave Sam a flirtatious smile.

Roberto stepped forward, taking the proffered hand and raising it to his lips to plant a soft peck. "My name is Bobby," he drawled as he stared deeply into Casey's eyes. He smiled, his confidence growing incrementally by the second. Experience in these affairs had long taught Roberto about the value of reading subtle cues in order to refine and tailor his methods. Based on how things were proceedings, he was certain there was entertainment to be had once this mission was complete. The fact that his good friend would be getting attention was an added bonus.

Then he gestured to Sam. "And this is my good friend—"

Before Roberto could finish his introduction, the Southern gentleman cut him off. "Ah'm gonna haveta apologize, ladies," he began, his handsome features filled with sincere contrition, "but Ah'm afraid we haveta be on our way. Bobby here forgot we have an appointment ta keep." The tone in his voice as he uttered the last sentence reflected a sense of urgency.

Roberto turned to stare incredulously at Sam Guthrie. For a moment, he thought his ears were deceiving him. Over the years, the dynamic the two of them developed while on assignments later translated to their lives away from the field. While the tall, lean young man from Kentucky did not share Roberto's manner of dealing with women, he remained a loyal supporter. He could always be relied upon to back up a story no matter how outlandish or to assist with reconnaissance in a crowded nightclub. However, Sam's behaviour at this moment was indicative of a transgression that undermined their friendship.

Casey pouted and then peered up at them imploringly. "Can't you guys reschedule? Maybe make some time for a quick coffee?"

"Ah'm afraid that ain't possible," the former coal miner told her sheepishly, raking a calloused hand through his straw-coloured locks. "Much as we hate ta run off afta bein' lucky enough ta meet ya, we haveta go. It's a real important meetin' and we're runnin' late as it is."

It was now Roberto's turn to be lost in the throes of disbelief. After all, this was the same guy who turned several shades of red during Alex Summers' bachelor party. But here was the normally reserved Sam Guthrie, laying down the charm and playing up his farm boy appeal. The incongruity of the situation seemed impossible to fathom let alone witness.

"How about we meet up later?" Kim piped up, red eyes twinkling playfully at Sam before reaching into her purse. She retrieved a pen and a scrap of paper, and began scribbling furiously. "Here is my mobile number. Call me and we can get together later. There's this fabulous wine bar on the high street Casey's being dying to try."

Sam was about to protest but was rendered speechless as Kim passed the piece of paper to Casey who then thrust it into Roberto's hand. The young CEO, having recovered from his initial shock, nodded and smiled. As the light turned green, he said, "I'm sorry our time has been so short but do know that we're definitely looking forward to seeing you two again. Enjoy the rest of your morning."

"Likewise," Casey replied breezily, waving her fingers at Roberto and Sam.

A provocative smile tugged at Kim's lips as she nodded towards the Southern gentleman. "Goodbye, boys."

With that, the roadster sped away from the corner and further into the city centre.

Immediately, Sam grabbed the scrap of paper from Roberto and tossed it in a nearby rubbish bin.

Roberto felt a mixture of indignation and surprise in the wake of these events. "What the hell is the matter with you?" he demanded, scowling darkly underneath his mop of glossy, black curls. He thought about diving in to retrieve the information but thoughts of diseases and other unpleasantries dominated the picture.

"Ah was gonna ask the same of you, Berto," the eldest Guthrie answered evenly as they resumed walking. It was a tone he had often used to quell conflicts in his boisterous household or among his team mates. Based on his friend's expression and tone of voice, Sam sensed that confrontation was afoot.

For Roberto, confusion was soon included in the myriad of emotions descending upon him. "What are you talking about?" he inquired.

"Ah'm talkin' about you tellin' those gals your name—"

"So?"

"So, we're here on an assignment…one that requires us to keep a low profile."

"Please. I only gave them a nickname. What's the big deal?"

"That ain't the point."

"And what would that be?"

"We don't know who those girls were or what they really wanted."

"Are you kidding? I was having a perfectly innocent conversation with two lovely

ladies—one of whom was very interested in you—and you act like we should be running for the hills out of some displaced paranoia."

"Ah ain't bein' paranoid…just cautious. For cryin' out loud, Berto, we coulda been compromised. All of us."

"I hear you but I'm not buying into your argument. The whole safety and security thing… That's not what's got you worked up, Sam. The last thing on your mind while we were talking to those two didn't involve any suspicions about them being agents for Tyger. I mean, if they were, then kudos to the government for their recruiting efforts."

"Roberto—"

"Listen, just because you've decided to do the brooding, monk-like existence does not mean I'm going to follow suit."

Sam's blond brows shot upwards before knitting themselves together in a puzzled frown. "What?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed," his friend countered, shaking his head emphatically. "Over the past several months, I've watched you mope around and close yourself off in an effort to hide from the world. I didn't say anything because we both know how talking about these things isn't necessarily my strong suit. But I was hoping that a change in scenery would do you some good…help snap you out of this funk."

The former coal miner was slightly taken aback. The level of insight and observation being demonstrated by the usually self-centred Roberto was nothing short of astounding. Although Sam held no illusions about his demeanour remaining under the radar, he had been confident that his closest friend was oblivious. It was this certainty that allowed him to feel at ease whenever they were together. Unlike Dani or Xi'an, Roberto could be relied upon not to pry or persist with concerns over Sam's wellbeing. However, given his friend's revelations, the Southern was uncertain if the conditions were still valid.

In an effort to re-establish some normalcy between them, Sam scrambled to engage in damage control. He was not necessarily going to confide in Roberto about what had been weighing heavily on his mind. However, he knew that once his friend became fixated on a particular issue, very little could be done to dissuade him from pursuing it. It was this tenacity that made Roberto an asset in the board and on the field. Given this, the Southern gentleman was cognizant of the need to tread lightly.

"Listen, man, Ah've been goin' through a lot," he began, rubbing a broad, calloused hand over his stubble-ridden jaw. His mind began racing as he struggled to choose his words carefully. He tried to focus on the pace of their steps in order to compose himself.

However, Roberto interjected before Sam had the chance to continue. "It's been over a year, Sam," he said in a low voice.

The tall, lean young man from Kentucky froze in his tracks. He could feel the colour draining from his face as Roberto's words reverberated in his head. Panic seized him as thoughts of his own carelessness swirled through his consciousness. No matter how unbearable the situation had been in Westchester, Sam strove to conceal things as best as he could. Granted, Paige and Logan were able to come to their conclusions sans psychic intervention. However, the eldest Guthrie believed these cases reflected anomalies. Overall, he was under the impression that he had operated under complete discretion. As he stared at his good friend, familiar feelings of embarrassment and shame washed over Sam as he came to the realization that this was not the case.

As much as he wanted to eloquently explain his perspective, words failed him. All he could muster at that moment was, "Ah know."

Roberto took a deep breath and treaded into territory often reserved for more empathic individuals. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do," he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I just think there are times when you have to let certain things go so you can find peace and move on."

Hearing such perceptive words from a young man who believed self-reflection should be left to the likes of hippies, telepaths, and wannabe therapists left Sam beyond perplexed. However, as the former coal miner studied the solemn expression on his friend's face, he soon came to a realization. Roberto's initiation of this topic not only reflected maturation on his part but also an evolution in their relationship. In order to sustain their friendship into adulthood, their interactions needed to be commensurate with their life experiences.

Taking the matter under further consideration, Sam was suddenly struck by something else. If there was anyone who would understand his perspective, it was Roberto. Granted, the circumstances were profoundly different. Roberto's involvement with Tabitha had been borne out of shared loneliness. Sam recalled his friend's explanations regarding the affair, where he had been subjected to internal conflict that threatened to consume his soul. These words, which had inflicted such hurt and shock at the time, now resonated with Sam deeply.

Before he could delve deeper into his musings, Roberto tapped his shoulder. "You okay?" he asked.

Startled, Sam nodded quickly. "Uh, yeah…sorry."

Silence descended upon them and lingered until Roberto asked, "Did I offend you?"

The Southern gentleman's pale eyes widened in surprise. "No," he replied, shaking his head emphatically. "Course not."

A sigh of relief escaped from his friend's mouth. "Good," he said, his feet moving once again. By his estimation, they were within minutes of their destination. Given Leo's penchant for running a smooth but tight ship, Roberto was cognizant of the importance of punctuality. With the clientele he had cultivated, tardiness often equated to a missed appointment and an opportunity for someone else to experience his services.

As they neared the shop, the mutant known as Sunspot maintained his focus on the issue at hand. "I just didn't want to overstep any boundaries," he continued quietly. "I'm worried about you, man. It's like you haven't been the same since."

A gentle breeze rumpled Sam's straw-coloured hair. "Ah know," he agreed, walking alongside his friend. The tension that usually seized every muscle in his body dissipated as he became accustomed to the idea of being open with Roberto. Despite this, the eldest Guthrie felt the need to exercise caution. The experience was still novel and very daunting.

"I know she's great and all but honestly, Sam, there are other options available." Roberto tried to sound kind without being too condescending. Then he added, "As you witnessed only mere moments ago."

"Ah ain't interested in any of that," Sam replied glumly, shoving his hands into his pockets. There's only one girl I want.

The swarthy Brazilian shook his head. "You don't have to be interested," he argued as they neared the shop's entrance. "All I'm saying is keep an open mind. Who knows? You might be surprised to find out that there is life beyond Lila Cheney."

Sam instantly felt his hopes of connection extinguished. Although his friend was able to decipher the situation for what it was, he made one very important mistake. The apprehension Sam believed he had been free from emerged and clamped down upon him fiercely. In spite of the fact that he was standing next to Roberto outside of the barber shop, Sam felt himself withdraw from his friend. There would be no understanding between them.

Before opening the glass door, he said under his breath, "If only ya knew."

The interior of the shop reflected a classic, elevated style the Brazilian businessman was accustomed to. The fact that its polished decor recalls a luxury ocean liner just serves to magnify its old-world charm. White-painted wood walls were combined with polished silver accents, etched deco glass, rich saddle-brown leather chairs, and a black-and-white floor. Photographs on the wall were reminiscent of the elegant glamour from old Hollywood.

Leo was a stocky, balding man with a thick, curling moustache and grey skin. He wore a three-piece, brown chalk-striped suit, dress shirt with contrasting dandy collar and red necktie. Greeting Roberto and Sam at the door with a warm embrace, he guided the two to the seating area. This was followed by cups of delicious espresso and fresh hot towels served by his assistant.

He studied Roberto's head of ebony curls carefully, as if he were formulating the answer to a complicated math problem. "Will it be the usual, Mr. Da Costa? I see it has been three weeks since your last haircut."

Roberto handed the assistant his used towel. "It's like you're a psychic—only with hair," he joked.

Leo beamed proudly. "I'd like to think of it as one of my gifts." Then he turned to Sam who had declined both the espresso and hot towel. "And for you, sir? What can I do for you today?"

The Southern gentleman smiled politely as he shook his head. "Ah'm fine, thank you."

"Actually," Roberto said, peering over at Sam before exchanging a look with his barber, "he could do with a haircut and a shave. The hair is an amalgamation of the Justin Bieber swoosh and a borderline mullet."

"Hey!" Sam exclaimed, genuinely hurt by the assessment. Not that he was particularly nuanced in style as his good friend but he believed he had moved beyond the lack of sophistication characterized by his younger years.

Leo conducted a discreet appraisal of his own, examining Sam's eyes, ears and nose. "I actually think this length suits you," the barber told him. There was warmth in his voice, emphasizing the candour in his statement. "It is not in my interest to turn away business. However, my professional integrity prevents me from taking my tools to a style that needs no alteration."

Roberto nearly rolled his eyes when Sam flashed him a triumphant smile.

"That being said," Leo continued, oblivious to the nonverbal exchange between the two young men. He clasped his small hands together and leaned towards Sam. "Are you sure I can't interest you in a shave? I'm sure your girlfriend would like to see more of your handsome face."

Immediately, the eldest Guthrie blushed. He was about to decline the offer when Roberto piped up, "If that were true, I'd question her eyesight."

Sam shot him a withering look.

His friend grinned smugly in response. The twinkling in his onyx eyes conveyed not only his amusement but his satisfaction in obtaining retribution. Apparently, he had not forgiven Sam for the missed opportunity with Casey and her friend.

In an effort to shield Sam from further teasing, Leo quickly guided Roberto to one of the leather salon chairs. For him, the process was focused on the path as much as the destination. There was meticulous attention to the grooming services he provided—including the haircut, shave, and shoeshine.

Back in the waiting area, the Southern gentleman was thumbing through a recent issue of GQ. He paused when he came across an article about the late Hunter S. Thompson's favourite Puerto Rican haunts. However, his attention soon drifted from the glossy pictures depicting San Juan's pretty bright blue, orange, pink and purple neo-classical houses set on steep hills, as well as its traditional bars and dusty cafes with ancient waiters serving rum and more rum. Thoughts became centred on what proved to be one of the most significant conversations of his young life.

"She ain't with Drake anymore… It's over."

Logan's gravelly voice conveying this piece of pivotal information echoed inside Sam's head. It continued to do so following their return to the hotel, persisting into the passing hours of that day. Attempts to distract himself from what the laconic Canadian told him yielded ineffective results. Those words and the implications woven into them were never far from his mind. Even during his encounter with the two women this morning, Sam never lost sight of what he had learned and how this would impact him.

"She ain't with Drake anymore… It's over."

Still fixated in the wake of Logan's revelations, Sam was unsure as to how he should have reacted. At the restaurant, he had been too stunned to immediately respond. Silence hung in the air as his mind struggled to process these new set of facts. After what seemed like eons of contemplation, he mumbled a comment professing his sympathy for Jubilee before suggesting they depart for the hotel. To make any further remarks about the situation seemed impossible to fathom and rather gauche. Much to Sam's relief, Logan seemed content to allow the topic as well as his discovery of the younger man's feelings drop from conversation for the time being.

When his disbelief finally dissipated, the eldest Guthrie attempted to sort through the morass of ensuing emotions. It would have been duplicitous to deny the initial euphoria experienced. His heart pounded in slow, heavy strokes as he considered the repercussions. Following over a year of pining and enduring heartbreak, the object of his affections was free. There was no longer any reason to feel ashamed. He did not have to admonish himself for coveting someone else's girlfriend. For the first time in several months, Sam was not consumed with self-loathing whenever his thoughts turned to Jubilee. Picturing her beautiful face and hearing her sweet voice, the Southern gentleman was finally free to experience the rush of euphoria associated only with her. As far as he was concerned, the world seemed to be filled with possibilities now. His mind raced with various scenarios. Knowing that they could be grounded in reality nearly sent him soaring against the skies.

Given his sense of excitement, it only seemed natural that his thoughts became consumed with his anticipated return to Westchester. Usually, Sam was content to remain for the duration of a mission—no matter how long it took. It was not that he viewed life at the school as mundane compared to his adventures. Rather, the Kentucky native never felt that irresistible draw that implored him to come back immediately. Granted, he did miss his family and friends while on extended assignments but somehow, Sam found the inner resolve to remain committed to the task at hand without allowing his yearnings cloud his judgment. But in light of Logan's news, things were now different. He found himself to be uncharacteristically impatient for the team to wrap things up. Instead of thinking about what approaches the team should take next, Sam's ruminations were concerned with taking Jubilee into his arms and telling her that all women before her were like unfulfilled promises.

Despite the ecstasy that surged through his veins, Sam could not help but feel somewhat sad about Jubilee's situation. There was the fact that her newly single status was courtesy of Bobby ending things between them. Disconcerting as it was to acknowledge the extent of Jubilee's feelings for Bobby Drake, Sam was forced to admit this was a definite drawback. She had been with Bobby for almost two years—a significant amount of time for any relationship. To experience an abrupt break in their bond would have likely left her devastated. His theory was further supported by the concerned expression Logan wore when he made his disclosure. It was clear the gruff Wolverine witnessed his young protégée in the throes of heartbreak—something that continued to resonate with him even as he made his disclosure.

As much as Sam relished learning of Jubilee's freedom, he took no pleasure in her suffering. Images of an anguished Jubilee flashed before his eyes, causing his heart to wrench inside his chest. This was further intensified when he considered Jean Grey's death. Knowing that she was grieving for these significant losses, more or less on her own, was unimaginable. He cursed the distance separating them now. It was viewed as an obstacle, preventing him from providing her comfort. His desire to take away her seemed to fuel the urgency of his return to Westchester.

What finally brought Sam down to earth were feelings of apprehension and guilt. Granted, these emotions had been constant and familiar companions but what evoked them was different. Namely, the Kentucky native began wondering if he played a part in the break-up. His thoughts immediately went to the kiss he shared with Jubilee on Thanksgiving last year. While it was a moment that affected both of them deeply, the resulting awkwardness was not lost on him. Their interactions since that fateful night had been tinged with a palpable tension, where Jubilee seemed intent on fleeing from him every time he was near. He surmised Jubilee perceived the kiss as a form of betrayal. And yet, there were moments when Sam could discern her wariness was masking something other than remorse.

The day they last saw each other, Jubilee mentioned she was off to see her boyfriend. It would not have been unthinkable to speculate she had mentioned the incident. Her integrity and loyalty to Bobby probably compelled her to confess what happened. Despite Bobby Drake's carefree and laid-back nature, he was still a man and like most men, would have been upset when confronted with any reports of infidelity. At first, Sam viewed his romantic rival's decision to declare the relationship was done over a kiss as rash. But after further consideration, he soon came to understand the underlying motivations for this. Love could make the most even-keeled person act irrational. The eldest Guthrie certainly empathized with this argument, especially when the target of these affections was Jubilee.

Finally, there were a plethora of unanswered questions Sam had to contend with. Even though Bobby broke up with her, would Jubilee try to win him back? What if the couple reconciled by the time Sam came back? What then? If this was not the case, what were her thoughts on Sam? Would she even want him? Did she hold him responsible for what happened with Bobby? For Sam, how would he even approach her? After so much time drowning in his own angst and want for her, what could he possibly say?

In the end, Sam Guthrie found himself no closer to a resolution.

After a late night strategy session with Logan and Remy lasting into the early hours of the morning, Rogue found herself woefully sluggish as she prepared for the afternoon meeting. While she was grateful to the Cajun thief for allowing her to sleep in (a note left on the bedside table indicated that he and Logan were using the hotel's gym), the Southern Belle was unsure if the extra hours provided much respite. Groaning, Rogue finally managed to drag herself out of bed and into the shower. All the while, she wondered how her partner and the Wolverine were able to function given the limited amount of rest they had. Following a rousing shower, she pulled on a form-fitting, black jacket with gold metallic piping over matching tank top and Capri pants.

As she began drying her hair, Rogue began to mull over the intelligence collected thus far. Based on the descriptions provided by Roberto, Dani, and Amara, Logan identified the source as Jessica Drew, an old friend. Given their shared history, he had been able to verify the authenticity of the information she provided. Although Rogue and Remy had done a preliminary scan of the flash drive's contents, it was only after Logan's confirmation of legitimacy that a more thorough analysis was performed. The team had divided the documents and compared them with existing data collected prior to their arrival in Madripoor. While Rogue, Logan, Remy, and Sam had focused on logistical reconnaissance, Dani and Amara had poured over photographs of new players in Tyger's circle. Xi'an, meanwhile, had been tasked with translating intercepted emails between officials close to the reclusive leader from French and Vietnamese into English. Roberto's business background had been put into use as he went through a series of contracts and ledgers. Throughout the team's examinations of this new intelligence, there was one name that repeatedly came up in every file.

Claudine Renko.

From what was gathered in the emails, Ms. Renko's appearance had been shrouded in mystery as were details of her life before arriving in Madripoor and the nature of the relationship (no one could confirm if there was anything romantic between the two women). Despite this, it was clear how quickly she ingratiated herself into every aspect of the leader's life. The updated schematics of Tyger's residence and the security protocols and standard operating procedures for obtaining access to Tyger had been specifically outlined by Ms. Renko. Financial information named her as the trustee for most of Tyger's holdings. Transactions dating back as far as two years ago had been made under her authority. In official memos, Tyger had named her new companion as a prime advisor. Subsequent policy decisions and media statements were to be issued only through Ms. Renko. She also appeared in almost all of the surveillance photograph as if to emphasize the prominent role she had in Tyger's life.

Studying the pictures in greater detail, no one from the team could recall ever encountering her. Even Logan, who was the most well-travelled and experienced among his peers, was at a loss as to who this woman was. Despite this, there was something very familiar. The cloud of raven hair, chiselled cheekbones, bee stung lips, alabaster skin, and bright red eyes were striking even among a population where mutants accounted for more than half. In some of the photographs, she appeared to be wearing some kind of tattoo on her forehead but the poor picture quality made it difficult to determine what the symbol was.

But it was the expression of haughty arrogance that seemed permanently etched across her features that evoked a sense of wariness among the team. Each member felt as if they had seen that face before under very challenging circumstances. Remy, who usually projected an air of casual indifference to most aspects of a given assignment, was especially disturbed. He had later confided to Rogue that Ms. Renko reminded him of someone whom he wanted to believed had disappeared from this world. In spite of her cajoling and prodding, the Cajun thief refused to discuss the matter any further.

When Dani and Xi'an's efforts to use the Cerebro uplink as an investigative tool had proved fruitless, Rogue began to suspect the involvement of a telepath. It was unclear to her whether this person was involved in the psychic attack several days ago but the fact that Cerebro could not yield any information was a telling sign. As a precautionary measure, she had asked the former New Mutants to construct a protective psionic barrier to shield the team for the remainder of the mission. Xi'an, who had recovered from the assault, was only happy to oblige.

With new and more accurate information in her team's possession, Rogue had been confident there was enough intelligence to start planning. Although she had grown weary of Remy's complaints of inactivity, the Southern Belle was forced to admit that she yearned to engage in some action. As day turned to evening, Rogue had informed her team mates that there would be a meeting held to go over their respective areas of analysis in detail. From there, they would start planning their strategy. Citing increasing unrest in the streets, Rogue had stressed the urgency of their investigation. It was clear that finding out what happened to Tyger would need to occur sooner rather than later. Fortunately, the prospect of developing and executing a course of action under pressure was nothing new for the Southern Belle and for her team mates. In fact, it was a scenario many of them (notably Logan and Remy) relished.

During the course of that evening, Rogue had noticed some strange behaviour on the part of Logan and Sam Guthrie. Following their return from lunch downtown, the two men were noticeably subdued. The dynamic between them had been laced with awkwardness, where neither was willing to engage the other in conversation. Initially, the Southern Belle had attributed her observations to each man's present circumstances. For the laconic loner, he had already expressed his ambivalence about being here in the first place. Jean's death, a desire for vengeance against those responsible, and his longing to be reunited with Ororo were all possible factors feeding into his reticence. As for the young man from Kentucky, it was no secret that he had been in the throes of brooding for quite some time. The fact that he continued to be withdrawn should have been no surprise. Finally, these were men who were not necessarily known for their garrulous ways, even with each other.

However, Rogue was not satisfied with these conclusions. Turning off her hairdryer, she remembered how unsettled she felt as she watched both men that evening. While some of this stemmed from curiosity as a team leader, what overrode this was her concern as their friend. Over the years, she became well acquainted with the two and regarded them as close as family. As such, the Southern Belle was adept at reading Logan and Sam well enough to understand that there was something else going on.

What troubled her about Logan was that he was not only despondent but also there was a simmering rage that emanated from him. It seemed to go beyond for his wish to seek revenge upon those involved in the attack against the school and in Jean's death. No, there was something qualitatively different about this anger. Having touched Logan before, Rogue was familiar with the many facets of the gruff loner's emotions. While his presence in her psyche had faded over time, the Southern Belle was able to distinguish what was unique in this situation. There was a focus to his anger—a target for his frustrations. Whoever the party or parties were, there was a guarantee that the Wolverine was biding his time until they could meet face to face. Contrary to his reputation as a feral-like combatant who was willing to use deadly force, Logan could be very calculating and patient when it came to aggression as well. He once told Rogue that he viewed the process as a form of hunting, where the intelligence gathering and waiting proved to be steady build-up to the penultimate moment of confrontation. Logan framed his approach as delayed gratification, allowing himself to carefully craft the details of the plan before delighting in its execution.

Applying a slick of burgundy gloss over her bow-shaped mouth, the Southern Belle wondered who the unfortunate person or persons were. The first suspect that came to mind was Scott. It was a safe assumption given the pair's acrimonious history over the years. However, she soon ruled the bespectacled widower out. Despite vociferously disagreeing with Scott's decision to send him to Madripoor, it was clear that Logan was sympathetic to the grieving leader's position. Rogue suspected that the wizened warrior had complied with Scott's directives in an effort to lessen the burden on his already weary shoulders. While most would have perceived this move as out of character for the Wolverine, she was well aware of Logan's capacity for compassion though it was deeply concealed from the greater public.

Eliminating Cyclops from the equation, Rogue was at a loss. She struggled to compose a list of other suspects. Was he angry at God for taking away another person close to him? Could it be the Professor for assigning him to this mission in the first place? Perhaps, he blamed an anti-mutant politician for having a hand in the tragedy. The longer she mulled over these possibilities, the less convinced she was of their involvement. Anger towards any of these individuals would not have explained Logan's unease around Sam, which seemed as palpable as his rage. The inability to make eye contact, the pointed attempts to sit apart from him as they examined schematics of Tyger's presidential penthouse, and the wavering tone in his voice were all indicators that other dynamics were at play. It was as if he were embarrassed by something he knew about the Southern gentleman.

Rogue stepped out of the bathroom and proceeded to gather her laptop and files for the meeting. As she did so, her thoughts soon turned to Sam Guthrie. His reserved and solitary inclinations were not lost on her. Since approaching him on their first day on the tiny island nation, Rogue noticed that he was intent on avoiding any similar conversations. In fact, the Southern gentleman did everything in his power to ensure that there was at least another person nearby so that any discussions were limited to the assignment. Her attempts to apologize for overstepping any boundaries were hurriedly accepted with a sheepish smile, which was followed by a mumbled excuse that required him to make a hasty exit.

The encounter left Rogue reeling, wondering what she had done or said to provoke such a response.

The Southern Belle grabbed her key card from the bedside table and slipped into her pocket before making her way to the door. As she exited her room, Rogue racked her brain to determine what her transgression had been. She tried piecing together their conversation on the terrace. From what she was able to recall, nothing specific had been identified with respect to what was troubling her friend and team mate. She remembered inquiring about his motivations for accepting this assignment, as well as offering a supportive ear for any disclosures he was willing to make. When both were met with a polite dismissal, Rogue had imparted some words of wisdom based on her own experiences. Taken together, she was unsure how any of these had contributed to the tension between her and Sam.

Equally peculiar was the uncomfortable air between Sam and Logan. While the two men were not close friends, there was a healthy respect for one another. The Southern gentleman was one of the few younger team mates whom Wolverine held in positive regard. His earnest demeanour, work ethic, and willingness to do whatever he could to assist in achieving a given objective were qualities the sometimes-brutish Canadian admired. Whenever the two were assigned on the same team, it was not uncommon to see them working together or while off-duty, hanging out at a local bar. Following their return from lunch that day, Sam looked ill at ease around Logan. Similar to the Wolverine, his body language was suggestive that something was amiss. Not quite a rift or a disagreement but something just as troubling for both men.

Rogue had also noticed that the Southern gentleman seemed preoccupied, his mind far away from his obligations in Madripoor. As they examined the layout for the government offices, Remy had to remind Sam at least twice which floor Tyger kept her suite. This struck Rogue as quite odd. Normally, the eldest Guthrie could be relied upon to maintain his attention to the tasks at hand. She considered fatigue as a factor in the young man's distracted state. They had been working for several hours only to break for a room service dinner. But her theory fell apart when she saw the expression on the Kentucky native's face as they continued working into the late hours of that night. It was a blend of different emotions: apprehension, concern, delight, and sadness. Before she could query him as to what was responsible for his preoccupation, Remy suggested that they turn in for the evening. Whatever captivated Sam's attention, it was safe to assume that the subject was probably responsible for the awkward air between him and Logan.

But Rogue could not afford to think about any of those things at the moment. Much as she wanted to conduct her own investigation into these matters, she needed to remain resolute. There was a mission to complete. Narrowing her green eyes in determination, the Southern Belle made her way into the team's suite.

Closing the door behind her, she was pleased to see that her team were already convened inside. Dani was helping Xi'an set up the LCD projector while Remy drew the curtains to a close. A freshly showered Logan was soundproofing the room by sealing the doorways and running several white noise machines. Sam and Roberto were wheeling in a room service cart under Amara's directions. The Nova Roma native had taken the initiative to order lunch for the meeting. Per her request, the meal consisted of roast beef and horseradish mayonnaise tea sandwiches, smoked salmon mousse and cucumber tea sandwiches, chilled potato-leek soup with fennel and watercress, strawberry shortcakes, and bourbon truffles. Much to Logan and Remy's collective disdain, choices of beverages were limited to black and green teas, and iced water.

Rogue walked over to the white, Versailles-style desk with ormolu trim and brass ferrules and unloaded her laptop and assorted files. She was contemplating the offerings from the lunch buffet when Gambit ambled over to her side. The Southern Belle placed a gloved hand over his mouth before planting a kiss.

The rakishly handsome Cajun thief smiled tenderly, taking her into his arms. Admittedly, the nature of the contact represented a regression after months of being able to touch one another following the use of the inhibitor collar. But in contrast to previous occasions, Rogue was willing to fight through this obstacle. For Remy, it was a refreshing and welcome change in perspective.

"Afternoon, chère," he greeted huskily, a lock of auburn hair flopping over his forehead.

Rogue tried to suppress a smile but failed. It was almost criminal how Gambit could be radiating with primal sensuality with very little rest. Then again, this should not have been surprising. It was part of his appeal and one of the reasons that drew her to him.

Drawing back slightly, she reached over on the desk to retrieve the flash drive. "How was the gym, Swamp Rat?" she asked.

Normally, he would have responded with a flirtatious quip about how working out was an inadequate substitute for physical activity with his girlfriend. However, Remy found himself in a more serious frame of mind following this morning's session. He quickly cast a glance at Logan before returning his maroon gaze to the Southern Belle.

In a hushed voice, the Cajun thief told her, "Sometin be up wit Wolverine."

Rogue was taken aback by his statement. Fatigue had prevented her from confiding in him her observations. To hear Remy draw similar conclusions about their friend was alarming to say the least. "What do ya mean?" she whispered, relieved when Amara had approached the gruff loner with a glass of water. With the golden-haired mutant engaging Logan in conversation, there was hope that he would not be able to listen in on the hushed discussion.

Also mindful of the Wolverine's keen hearing, Remy wanted to keep his answer concise but sufficient to communicate his concern. "He almost tore apart de weight room after Gambit asked about de petite."

His girlfriend peered up at him, perplexed. "What did you say exactly?" It was no secret that Logan was quite protective of Jubilee. Although he had mellowed in the past two years, Logan continued to be vigilant against anything perceived to be detrimental to "his little girl". This would have included any comments reminding him that she was now an adult and attracting commensurate attention.

"Just wanted to know how she was doin' after what happened," he replied earnestly. Given that Jubilee had witnessed the last moments of Jean's life, her mental health was a genuine concern. His forehead wrinkled as he recalled Logan growling and storming around the weight room in response. At the time, Remy's primary concern had been to stay out of his friend's way. Experience had taught him that once Logan slipped into one of his rages, it was in one's best interest not to be in his path. When the Cajun thief inquired as to why this seemingly innocuous question provoked such violence, Logan would only grunt before leaving his friend to stare wordlessly after him.

Just as Rogue was about to share her own musings, she could feel a pair of eyes resting upon her. The Southern Belle turned her head slightly to find Logan staring intently at her and Gambit. The golden flecks in his green eyes glittered as he returned her gaze. Curious, she searched his craggy face for any sign that he knew he was being discussed. Rather than indignation, there was an air of calm surrounding him. It was as if he was perfectly aware of what was being said and did not give a damn how his actions were being perceived. Granted, his indifference to the opinions of others had always been one of the defining features of his personality. Yet, there was something different about this situation.

Much as she wanted to confront Logan at that moment, Rogue was cognizant she did not have the luxury of time to do so. As long as his behaviour did not compromise the mission, she was relegated to placing this issue on the backburner. Knowing her old friend as well as she did, there was no way he would allow whatever grievances he might have to interfere with his contributions. Her shoulders sank slightly in resignation as she exchanged a warning look with Remy before calling the meeting to order.

To start the briefing, Xi'an informed everyone that she had effectively devised a shield to protect them from any form of psionic attack or detection. Using the Cerebro uplink as an amplifier, Dani explained that the shield was imprinted to each member, ensuring protection no matter where the individual was during the assignment. Given the intricacies of this process, the two noted that maintenance of this defence required Xi'an to be positioned nearby the uplink. This ultimately meant that when the time came for the team to conduct their search for Tyger, she would be forced to stay at the hotel. While the former refugee was clearly unhappy about this development, she acknowledged that there was no other way around the predicament.

Next, Dani and Amara provided an update of their analysis of the photographs from the flash drive. Both reported there were no recorded images of Tyger two months following Claudine Renko's arrival to Madripoor. Most of the pictures were of Ms. Renko and other cabinet officials, dating as recently as one week ago. As for the mysterious woman who had infiltrated the presidential circle so quickly, Amara told the team that a visual scan of her image through various databases yielded nothing. Internet searches also proved to be unsuccessful. Based on what they could gather from the photographs, Dani and Amara surmised that Ms. Renko seemed to be operating as leader of the tiny island nation. The only caveat to this argument was her preference to remain behind the scenes as much as possible. Most of the pictures provided had been taken outside the context of public events where the media would be involved.

Xi'an addressed the team again to discuss the intercepted emails. Following her translations, she learned that the government was interested in meeting with private companies. There were active solicitations for heads of corporations to discuss possible investment opportunities. The types of companies were primarily focused on healthcare and pharmaceutical development. From what she was able to gather, these individuals would be meeting with Ms. Renko first before conducting further negotiations with Tyger herself. As of the most recent correspondence, there had been no interest in pursuing this opportunity given the documented turmoil in the country.

Logan, Remy, and Sam presented findings from their examination of the security procedures and architectural plans of the presidential offices and Tyger's apartment. Information relating to the security detail for Tyger indicated that she continued to employ a number of individuals from the military for her protection. This included bodyguards stationed outside of her home and the presidential offices. With respect to Ms. Renko, her security detail was limited to one bodyguard who was only identified as 'D' in the documents. Remy noted that this person had no ties to the military and appeared around the same time as Ms. Renko did. After consulting with Dani and Amara, he was able to locate a single photograph of the individual in question. Unfortunately, the poor picture quality made it impossible to distinguish any remarkable features other than a thick, black Mohawk.

As for the layout of the buildings considered as targets for the mission, Sam pointed out that recent riots in the capital necessitated the closure of certain floors. He cited internal memos included as addendums to the standard operating procedures, which highlighted the stretched resources of the military as a primary factor in this decision. Day-to-day functions were limited to only two office suites as opposed to the original three floors of the presidential offices. With respect to Tyger's private living quarters, it appeared that most of the security efforts were concentrated around her bedroom and Ms. Renko's adjoining room. The Southern gentleman was able to determine that access to the building would be difficult given the recently sealed backdoor and emergency exits. This left entrance through the front as the remaining option, where measures such as metal detectors and a thorough grilling by guards would be obstacles.

When the trio's part of the briefing concluded, Rogue turned to Roberto and asked for his assessment of the financial reports. He shifted uncomfortably as he sat alongside Sam on the overstuffed, and blue-and-white striped sofa. It was one of those rare instances when his bravado failed to surface, an experience he loathed deeply.

Following what seemed like eons of silence, Roberto cleared his throat. "Well," he began, cringing when he heard a crack in his voice. "You see, I'm not exactly done with my analysis..."

This piece of news was greeted by stunned looks from his team mates. The mutant known as Sunspot enjoyed a reputation based on his ambition and overachieving tendencies. From an early age, he had been encouraged to develop high standards both intellectually and physically. Before enrolling at Xavier's school, the young Da Costa was heavily recruited by the Brazilian Olympic soccer team. In addition to graduating at the top of his class for business school, he was one of the world's youngest CEOs of a Fortune 500 company. While Roberto liked to boast that most of his success was attributable to his business acumen and charm, those who knew him best were likely to highlight his work ethic as another asset. It was not uncommon to hear of Roberto spending long nights at the office for weeks at a time or engrossing himself in research to prepare for possible acquisitions.

Not only was his dedication found in his business dealings but was also reflected in his mission-related assignments. Despite not possessing the inherent strategic planning skills of either Sam or Dani, Roberto could always be relied upon to contribute. His penchant for being organized and prepared for team meetings was one of his major strengths, which ultimately paved the way for their many successes over the years. To hear him make this incongruous admission was nothing short of shocking.

As team leader for this mission, Rogue was none too pleased with this development. There was a limited window of opportunity to execute any plan to access Tyger. With discontent growing everyday, there were persistent fears that rioting would spread to the prosperous section of the city. In the face of civil unrest, there was no way to predict how the regime would respond. Given this, the Southern Belle was inclined to exploit the government's desire for overseas investors as a means to convene a meeting with the reclusive ruler. She envisioned using the financial information from the flash drive to determine what Madripoor's economic standing was, and tailoring their cover accordingly. Unfortunately, Roberto's inability to fulfil his part of the assessment was proving to make this difficult.

"What exactly is the problem?" she finally asked evenly, giving warning looks to Remy and Logan. Both men appeared as if they were contemplating strangling their younger team mate.

From Roberto's perspective, it was an awkward position and one that was foreign to him as well. He immediately felt as if he were in junior high again, sheepish after learning he had forgotten to turn in a term paper. Aware that he had earned the enmity of Wolverine and Gambit, the swarthy Brazilian was mindful to choose his words carefully.

"Most of the stuff is pretty complicated," he informed her, gesturing to the stack of dog-eared printouts on the coffee table in front of him. "There are numbers that don't make sense."

Logan, who was pouring himself a glass of water from the caddy, raised a stony brow at him. "Can't you figure it out? I thought you business people were good with numbers."

Roberto made a face, finding the idea of being lumped in with number crunchers as distasteful. "I'm a CEO," he pointed out, trying to modulate the haughty tone in his response, "not an accountant."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Rogue inquired, folding her gloved hands together. Irritating as his reply was, she needed to maintain her calm. Making decisions while under emotional duress was not something she was keen on doing.

"I need someone to help me go through these numbers in greater detail," he explained. "There are what I suspect to be fraudulent accounts but don't know for sure. I've been looking at three sets of ledgers but can't decide which the master one is. There's shorthand and code I'm not familiar with."

Amara pushed up the sleeves of the white cardigan she wore over her navy-striped, strapless maxi dress. "What about calling in one of your people?" she suggested. Surely, Roberto had to know of at least one person who could provide some assistance.

The Southern Belle shook her head. "That ain't an option," she said, sighing. Peering over at a crestfallen Roberto, she continued. "Ah'm sure whoever ya know is trustworthy but Ah prefer ta keep what we have among us. Bringin' in someone who ain't familiar with what we do can complicate things."

Disappointed, Roberto was forced to concede the point. He was glum as he thought about the prospect of hunkering over those damn numbers once again. Failure was a rare but very much despised companion. No matter how determined he was not to let his team mates down, there was a part of him that feared very little progress would be made in sorting out the accounting.

Rogue was equally pessimistic about Roberto's chances given his blunt assessment. Still, she was wary of introducing someone who was not part of the X-Men into the fold. The covert nature of the assignment required that every precaution be made in order to ensure the team's safety. Frowning thoughtfully, the Southern Belle racked her brain for a solution. If only she knew an accountant who had the necessary clearance to be brought in for a consultation.

Just as she was about to continue lamenting her lack of foresight, Rogue considered slapping herself for being dense. She brightened, realizing she did know someone. Best of all, the individual in question was someone who could be trusted with the sensitive material involved in this mission. "What about callin' on Bobby?"

The glass in Logan's hand suddenly shattered, startling everyone in the room.

"No way," he growled fiercely, the bloody cuts on his hand quickly disappearing. Shards of glass that had been embedded in the lacerations fell away, joining the rest of the shattered pieces on the hardwood floor.

The Southern Belle's emerald eyes became as round as saucers. "Why not?" she demanded, genuinely unaware of what precipitated this reaction. Rogue knew that Logan was not a fan of Bobby, especially since he started dating Jubilee. However, she came to believe that he had made peace with that situation. The intense anger radiating from Logan indicated that no such resolution existed. It was as if Bobby had committed some unspeakable transgression, triggering a violent rage that was normally concealed from the world.

Equally puzzled was Roberto, who had been hopeful about Bobby Drake's assistance. Having sought the Long Island native's advice about his own tax filings, Roberto found him to be very professional. Bobby's knowledge about all sorts of exemptions and intricate policies rivalled his efficiency in processing complicated account information. If there was anyone who could make sense of all these discrepancies, it was Bobby Drake.

Reluctantly, Roberto entered into the conversation. "He's one of the best accountants I've ever worked with," he chimed in, waving at the stack of papers in front of him. "Whatever Tyger and her people have been doing with the books, I'm sure Drake will be able to identify any funny business in no time. The man can crunch numbers like he does candy bars."

Logan scowled, clearly unhappy with what he was hearing. The prospect of serving on the same team as Drake nearly sent his adamantium claws from their flesh-covered sheaths. At the mere mention of the young man's name, thoughts immediately focused upon the pain he had inflicted on Jubilee. His heart ached inside his chest as he recalled seeing her that night. The woeful expression etched across her delicate features, the glittering of tears in her sapphire eyes, and the overall perception that her heart had shattered into a million pieces were seared into his memory. Granted, Logan was privy to her side of the story but as far as he was concerned, it was the only one that mattered to him. The kid had been through so much in her young life, including the loneliness brought about Logan's absences. For the brutish Wolverine, witnessing her experience that kind of emotional devastation was excruciating. He made an oath to himself that he would never allow any harm to come upon her again. With this in mind, Logan knew that once he laid eyes on Bobby Drake, he could not be held accountable for his actions.

Meanwhile, Sam was finding the idea of Bobby Drake joining the team equally disconcerting. Similar to Logan, he was angry about what his romantic rival had done to Jubilee. He despised the thought of her being hurt. Even imagining what she was going through evoked a yearning to some form of retribution against Bobby. Although his thoughts surrounding this did not necessarily focus on violence (as he presumed was the case with Logan's ruminations), he knew he would do anything to take away the pain she was experiencing. At the same time, Sam was consumed by feelings of uneasiness. Working alongside Bobby was going to prove to be awkward given that he was now aware of what happened on Thanksgiving. While the two men had never been close, they did enjoy a good working relationship during previous assignments. Now that Bobby knew of Jubilee's kiss with Sam, whatever rapport there might have been between them was surely fractured. Stealing a glance at his equally-distraught team mate, the eldest Guthrie wondered how the matter would be explained.

Much to Sam's amazement, the brutish Wolverine acquiesced. "Fine," he said flatly, ignoring the Southern gentleman's wide-eyed gaze. His tone reflected a dead calm, consistent with his drastic reduction of tension in his body. "Drake can come."

Rogue and Roberto exchanged surprised looks, as did the remaining team members. Logan's about-face was jarring. After expecting more of a confrontation from her disgruntled colleague, the Southern Belle was trying to adjust her bearings. Years of friendship taught her to be mindful if something was amiss. When the gruff loner objected to something, it usually took a great deal of effort to convince him of the opposing side's argument. Given the degree and expression of his disagreement, Rogue was bracing herself.

Before she could inquire as to what inspired this change of heart, Logan added with a gleam in his eyes, "In fact, I'll escort him from the airport myself."


	66. Chapter SixtySix: My Own Worst Enemy

Back with the latest chapter. Sorry for the delay but work has been nuts!

Thanks for the reviews. They're like candy for writers

Big time shout out goes to my beta, Jo the Phoenix.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

**Chapter Sixty-Six: My Own Worst Enemy**

One of the utmost priorities for Professor Xavier and his staff was ensuring the safety and security of the school. It was not only an institution which assisted young people in mastering their powers but also for many, it was a refuge from misunderstanding and prejudice. The latter aspect was especially important given that many of the residents considered the mansion and the surrounding property their primary home. In a way, the institute was an extension of the family atmosphere cultivated by the Professor. Any transgression against it was tantamount to a personal attack on everyone within its walls.

Nearly two weeks had passed since the assault upon the mansion and Jean Grey's death. Through the haze of disbelief and mourning, investigations into both incidents continued. In the days following the funeral, there was a flurry of activity among team members assigned to the case. Sources were contacted, surveillance conducted on groups and persons known to possess anti-mutant sympathies, forensic testing on evidence performed, and databases analysed. For individuals who were also responsible for teaching their normal course loads, the old saying about burning the candle at both ends seemed quite relevant these days.

The driving force behind these efforts was Scott, who seemed to devote every waking moment to determining the perpetrators' identities. He was now a man obsessed, haunted by memories of a wife and home he failed to protect. With his fragile psychological state complicated by a sustained reliance on alcohol, there was growing concern about his ability to maintain clarity. At times, these fears were often realized as evident by his irrational behaviour. To his colleagues and friends, the widower was demanding and unreasonable about his expectations. For example, it was not uncommon to hear him express his dissatisfaction over what he viewed as the slow pace of the investigation. Equally disturbing was the personal toll it was taking on the bespectacled leader. His appetite and sleep hygiene was poor, which made him appear frail and much older than his thirty-four years. Yet, rather than entertain the entreaties from the Professor and Alex about relinquishing control over the inquests, Scott insisted that he be the one to oversee matters.

His resolve, while perceived as maddening to some (especially in his more emotionally labile moments), yielded some progress. Those involved with examining the wreckage of the downed helicopter were able to conclude that the craft was not government issued. Despite the heavy damage sustained to the parts, the team was able to rule out mechanical error as the cause of the crash. Reconstruction of the gauges and monitors established that the helicopter was in good condition that night. Further evidence of this was obtained through the salvaged recordings from the copter's black box recorder, which was recovered from the depths of Breakstone Lake. The only discernible portion of the recording was a snippet lasting several seconds where the pilot confirmed the helicopter was ready for its return to base. Most of the audio had either been lost or distorted given the condition of the device (charred, cracked, and submerged in water).

Analysis of the compound inside the tranquilizer darts also provided new information. The synthesis of the chemicals did not match any known pharmaceuticals in any of the X-Men's databases. Contacts with sources within clandestine research organizations confirmed that the weaponized drugs used during the attack originated elsewhere. One informant suggested that the party or parties responsible may have ties outside of the country and probably privately funded and organized. Given the sophisticated nature of the strike, this possibility seemed very likely. Meanwhile, the use of human soldiers to carry out the mission eliminated adversaries like Erik, who viewed non-mutants with contempt and disdain. The very idea of working alongside them ran counter to the mutant superior agenda he and others sought to implement.

In the backdrop of this momentum in the investigations, the school continued its operations. Classes and training sessions were held but within stricter confines, emphasizing the need to maintain the students' security. Although counselling services were being offered, there was still concern about the mental wellbeing of the student body. The traumatic impact of the tragic events was not something lost on the Professor and the rest of the teaching staff. As a result, the Professor and Emma decided to convene an informal meeting with the students to discuss what transpired and to address any worries surrounding safety and protocol for the future.

It was during this meeting that an uninvited guest appeared.

The discovery occurred while the Professor was preparing to field questions from members of Paragons squad when he suddenly felt lightheaded. At that moment, the world seemed to be operating in slow motion. The accentuation and cadence of the surrounding voices were surreal, blending in with the sound of his internal voice. Confused, the renowned telepath glanced over at the White Queen. His former adversary appeared disoriented as well, staring blankly into space while rubbing the heel of her hand against her forehead.

When their eyes met, the shared fugue began to dissipate and clarity set in. Remnants of the psionic attack both experienced on the night Jean died also diminished. For the first time in days, the scope of their telepathic abilities was not blunted or limited within certain confines. This reawakening of sorts left the two with a mixture of relief and surprise. However, the positive associations following their experience were to be short-lived. A sense of foreboding soon washed over him upon detecting a presence in the room—one known to be dangerous under any circumstances.

It was then that the Professor decided to conclude the meeting, ordering the students to return to their quarters immediately. Perplexed students filed out of the auditorium in deference to what sounded to be an urgent directive. Their voices were hushed as they expressed confusion among one another. Given the unusual events that had transpired recently, most were content to follow rather than question anything that might ensure their safety. The recent assault on the school had left many anxious about potential threats from the outside. So engrossed were the students in their abrupt ending of this gathering that they failed to notice the absence of one of their own in the exodus.

This would have been a concern had the individual in question been one of them.

As in all cases concerning intruders, measures were swiftly taken to secure the prisoner. Together, the Professor and Emma subdued the other remaining person in the room before mentally summoning key personnel for assistance. Their captive, who possessed some natural barriers to psychic attack and intrusion, was now rendered helpless.

Upon their arrival at the auditorium, Scott, Alex, Hank, Warren, Bobby, and Kurt were surprised by what awaited them. Given the urgency of the telepathic call, they had expected a confrontation with a formidable opponent. Instead, the men were met by the sight of the Professor and the White Queen staring down a lone figure seated in a wooden chair. Both telepaths were concentrating deeply, pinning the individual to the chair. Despite the captive's best efforts to struggle, it was evident that escape was highly unlikely at this point.

The group's sense of confusion was further exacerbated when they discovered that the detainee was one of the newer students, Foxx. Before any of them could inquire as to why the girl was being so thoroughly restrained, the Professor wheeled his chair forward and raised a brow at her. His face was impassive as he continued to stare deeply into her golden eyes. Ever petulant, Foxx tried to jerk her head away but thwarted in her attempts to force her returning gaze from that of the telepath in front of her. This battle of wills seemed to be poised to end in a stalemate when she suddenly passed out. As the tension began to leave her body, there was a rippling sound that crackled through the air. The girl's body began to transform, starting from her midsection and spreading out to the rest of her. It was similar to a set of dominos being toppled, where skin pigments overlapped and became rougher-looking. Rather than seeing the form of the teenaged recruit they came to know now appeared the body of an older woman, who resembled a serpent with scales covering most of her body. She was completely nude with the exception of a plastic bracelet around her slim wrist. Her rust-coloured hair was short and slicked back, contrasting against the azure tone of her skin. Within seconds, she regained consciousness and opened her yellow eyes to confirm her identity.

Mystique.

Furious, Scott accused the shapeshifter of having a hand in the attack upon the school and his wife's death. The intensity of his rage drove him to the point where he lunged for Mystique in the hopes of strangling the truth out of her. After being restrained by Alex, Kurt, and Warren, he then demanded that she be taken to the second sub-basement for interrogation by him alone. The Professor, while empathic to his former student's volatile emotional state, pleaded for Scott to calm down. He pointed out the more pressing need to address the breach in security. Emma stepped into the conversation, coolly reassuring the bereaved widower that she and the Professor were more than capable of dealing with Mystique. While the rational part of his mind was able to process and accept this unalienable truth, Scott was nevertheless unhappy.

For her part, Mystique remained silent. Usually, she was often one to taunt her captors in an effort to manipulate the situation to her favour. The Professor, whose history with her stretched back several decades, was astonished when the woman he knew as Raven Darkholme chose to quietly observe the events unfolding with glittering, yellow eyes.

The fact that their long-time enemy was able to infiltrate the mansion and remain undetected for months was more than troubling. In light of the recent events, everyone agreed that the priority was to ensure that the mansion was indeed secure. Alex proposed that all residents and staff be examined to rule out the likelihood of any more imposters. Initially, he and Emma envisioned the use of telepathic scans would be sufficient. However, Scott and Warren argued otherwise. They cited Mystique's newfound ability to scramble psychic readings, diffusing the intensity of telepaths' powers to detect her presence in the first place. Given this, Scott was especially insistent that the testing be extremely thorough. He wanted not only a physical exam but also stipulated that DNA samples be taken to compare to those on file as well as requiring the individual to demonstrate his or her abilities. For the purposes of assisting Hank (who would be tasked with the bulk of the work) and providing quality assurance, Scott was keen to have two additional members involved in the process. The haggard-looking leader nominated himself and younger brother Alex for the assignment. Finally, he wanted those who were close to Foxx to be subjected to intense questioning. Scott specifically asked Emma and Kurt to take on this responsibility.

In the hours that passed since this meeting, the students and staff were briefed as to what happened and the necessary measures needed to counter any threat of further danger to the school. Kurt and Emma pulled aside two of Foxx's former teammates, Roxy and Sidney, to discuss what they knew of her activities. The two students, who shared an attraction to the mysterious girl, were stunned to learn of the deception and cooperated without any prompting. Much to their teachers' chagrin, the information they provided was limited to social conflict between the girl and Rogue, and her flirtatious encounters with their instructor, Gambit.

Meanwhile, the Professor took it upon himself to interview Raven inside his office—alone. Despite her weakened condition and the restraints Hank and Warren placed upon her, the shapeshifter was proving to be difficult to interrogate. At the beginning of their conversation, she morphed into several people important in his life: his mother, Erik, Moira, and Jean Grey. Each impersonation was an attempt to turn the tables and deflect attention from her motivations. Usually, the Professor was quite tolerant of such antics, even viewing them as part of a challenge when determining the truth. But in the face of the heavy loss from Jean's passing and the growing concern about the safety of the students, he was in no mood to abide by his normal rules of respecting another party's mental privacy. After being threatened with forceful retrieval of the information, his former friend acquiesced. She admitted her primary objective was to insinuate herself into Rogue's life with hopes of undermining her foster daughter's relationship. Mystique also informed him that the bracelet she wore was actually a scrambling device to disrupt the telepathic communications, avoiding detection. She had purchased the item on the black market from an acquaintance of her ex-husband, Victor. As for the attack on the mansion, the ageless woman insisted she had no part in what occurred.

The examinations of the students and staff members were proceeding at a relative quick pace. Hank was grateful for the technology afforded to him, which made analysis for DNA testing both easy and efficient. Within a span of three hours, he had finished seeing human staff members, all of the students, and more than half of the teaching and field team members. Rather that set up an area inside the Med-Lab for individuals to demonstrate their abilities, Alex convinced Scott that the process should be conducted in the Danger Room. For the younger students or those with little combat experience, the simulations would not be applied. Warren volunteered to assist with this portion of the evaluation, hoping to expedite things and to be present as a buffer between Scott and…well, everyone else. The blond playboy noticed the bouts of moodiness and alcohol withdrawal were frequently manifested as critiques of Hank's work or brusque comments towards those being examined. At one point, Warren thought he had to intervene when Scott was arguing with Ororo over the need for privacy during the physical. Fortunately, the weather goddess was able to maintain the cooler head but later confessed to Warren that she was nearing the end of her rope with Cyclops.

In the midst of all of this activity, Bobby Drake was finding himself filled with a growing sense of dread. He managed to evade the first several rounds of examinations by immersing himself in an informal question and answer session with some of the other team members. However, he was quite aware that this pretext could not endure much longer as the numbers of those who had not submitted to the examination were dwindling. Every time Warren called him on his communicator, Bobby panicked as his list of excuses became shorter and shorter. When he was unable to provide a credible story barring his presence in the Med-Lab, this met with a derisive snort from his friend which was then followed by a firm order to "get your icy butt down here before Scott has another fit". Faced with no other alternatives, the boyishly handsome young man resigned himself to his fate.

As he stood inside the hyperlift for the journey to the first sub-basement, he placed a hand over his chest. Besides Hank, no one else from the mansion was privy to the hellish ordeal Bobby endured. The prospect of other people discovering his secret left him seized with anxiety he had never known before. For weeks, he fought this private battle against his body in the hopes of returning to some semblance of normalcy. When his efforts were continually met by failure, it was difficult for him not to become despondent. After years of training and pursuits of imposing discipline over his abilities, all of his efforts were rendered moot in the face of his body's betrayal.

What troubled him even more was the fact that the patch of ice was increasing in size, engulfing his entire torso, shoulders, and upper arms. In response to this devastating setback, he resorted to wearing his leather jacket over his Hawaiian shirts in an attempt to conceal his condition. He avoided any situations where he would have to undress in front of anyone, choosing to change his clothes in the bathroom stall rather than in the locker room with the rest of his peers. With heavy reluctance, Bobby came to embrace his status as the mansion's pariah. Although the glares and whispers of hostility stung, he could at least elude close contact without attracting unwanted attention. For a time, he was confident in the employment of these short-term solutions. As the doors slid open, Bobby realized his defences of avoidance and denial were running their course.

He stepped out of the hyperlift car and made the seemingly long trek towards the Med-Lab at the end of the hall. The idea of Scott and worse, Alex, being present as Hank performed the physical made his shoulders slump. It was as if he were being set up for humiliation times ten. Since discovering Bobby's break-up with Jubilee, the two made no effort to mask their contempt for him. The Summers brothers were upfront in their collective anger towards Bobby, expressing through withering looks and subtle verbal jabs during staff meetings. Simply imagining them in the same room as Hank conducted the physical sent Bobby's shoulders slumping. Immediately, he saw their faces reflecting disgust and haughty superiority. Scott would probably call him a liability, threaten to remove him from active team status, and ask him to leave the school. As for Alex, that smug blond bastard would probably sneer before congratulating himself for being a better man and wondering how Bobby could ever think they were ever equals on any level.

Bobby supposed he could decline the examination altogether or at the very least, ask for only Hank to be present for the physical. Turning the corner, he became cognizant why this proposal was not viable. Making such a request would certainly provoke doubt and suspicion among his team mates. This would, in turn, lead to situations no one could afford to be involved in at this time. Tensions were already at a record high in the wake of the incursion, Jean's death, and now, Mystique's infiltration. Grimacing, Bobby took a seat on the stainless steel bench directly across from the Med-Lab. Given these considerations, there was only one conclusion to draw.

He was damned either way.

Bobby was roused from his self-reflections when the double doors swung open. When he noticed who it was exiting the Med-Lab, his heart twisted inside his chest. Inwardly, he cursed his lousy sense of timing along with his very existence. At that very moment, Bobby yearned for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

Jubilee was rolling down the sleeve of her yellow tunic, which was worn over a pair of navy shorts and beige ballet flats. As someone who had an aversion to needles and other intrusive methods of examination, she was relieved to have endured. Between the scrutiny of the physical, having her hands measured after discharging her _PAFs_, and the blood sample taken for the DNA test, the young firecracker had more than enough for one day. Her thoughts revolved around seeking solace in the room she was now sharing with Paige, burying herself under the extra quilt Lucinda Guthrie sent over from Kentucky.

But after exiting the Med-Lab, these ideas retreated into the deep recesses of her mind.

Jubilee inhaled sharply when she saw Bobby sitting across from where she stood. For a brief moment, she believed her heart stopped beating. This was the first time Jubilee had seen him since the day of Jean's funeral. Surprise, sadness, and anguish washed over her as she stepped away from the doors and closer to him. Her crystalline gaze swept over his face, searching for any evidence of the man she once loved. She wanted desperately to find him again. So many nights were spent wishing for the Bobby who made earnest promises of devotion, made her feel complete, and had been the centre of her world.

But her hopes were dashed when she was realized that he was lost to her. In his place was another man, a stranger to her now, and someone who seemed to have no interest in what they had been together. Studying him now, it was unnerving how much he looked like Bill Drake—the steely quality in the grey eyes, the sharp lines around his face, and the grim mouth.

A part of her loathed the silly, magical thinking plaguing her these days. After all, Bobby had made it abundantly clear that he did not view reconciliation as an option. Her numerous attempts to reach out to him were soundly rebuffed. The most recent snub had been particularly hurtful in light of the circumstances (Jean's funeral and the stress over Scott's mental well-being). On a day when she was overwhelmed by loss, Jubilee needed some reassurance that the world was not broken. Naturally, she looked to the one person she believed understood her perspective. Yes, Bobby was angry with her. However, she was confident that he would be able to put aside his feelings to empathize with her. No matter what, he was still a good person.

At least that was what Jubilee wanted to believe.

Her mind cruelly replayed the moment when she tried to speak with Bobby outside of his room. Jubilee had been convinced that she had finally reached him. The armour he so fiercely wore around her had completely worn away in the wake of his own sense of loss and confusion. His aloof and distant mask, which aged him severely, was replaced by a vulnerability not seen for quite some time. Seeing how forlorn and lost he looked then, she thought her Bobby had returned. For the first time in weeks, Jubilee was feeling hopeful.

But her optimism was extinguished once Bobby turned to Lorna. As she watched the two of them disappear inside his room, Jubilee recalled experiencing familiar feelings of despair and heartache. Adding to her overall devastation was an intense humiliation following what transpired. The manner in which he rejected her was so immensely hurtful. His actions indicated that there was no vacillation on his part. As far as Bobby was concerned, they were through. No amount of pleading was going to persuade him to reconsider.

Since then, the young firecracker had been in a constant state of agony. She felt as if her heart has been ripped out of her chest and trampled on. Although she had been able to maintain her commitments to the school and her own studies, there were times when functioning seemed to be an insurmountable hurdle. Her existence was focused on this intense pain, exacerbated by the fact that there was no relief in sight. For Jubilee, the loss of her first love was akin to unyielding, merciless torture. Worst of all, the experience was promising to be one that would be imprinted upon her for the rest of her life.

For Bobby, being confronted with the beautiful but distressed face of his Jubilee was more than he could bear. Knowing he was responsible for her torment further intensified existing feelings of guilt and self-hatred. But as much as he wanted to flee, Bobby found himself fixed to his position on the bench. His intentions to impose distance between them could not discount the fact that he continued to be captivated by her. Logic and reason were eschewed in favour of indulging his deep-seated desire to be with her. There was a multitude factors fuelling his desperate wanting—the hypnotic sapphire eyes, the sweet fragrance of bubble gum and cinnamon, the memory of her kisses, the sound of her voice expressing declarations meant only for him. Superseding all of these was one undeniable truth.

Bobby was still in love with her.

The impact of what he had done was not lost on him. In fact, Bobby was fully aware of the consequences once events put into motion. As much as he hated to put Jubilee through the wringer again, the boyishly handsome young man knew it was necessary. When he saw her in the hallway, thoughts of seeking comfort in her arms nearly overwhelmed him. It was a luxury he could not afford to even consider. So, Bobby was forced to resort to the only option available to him.

The mechanics of the guise were difficult to initiate given Lorna's reticence. While the mistress of magnetism was not privy to the details of the break-up, she was able to pick up on the tension. With heavy reluctance, Bobby decided to capitalize on the emotionally charged nature of this day. He had whispered to her that he was too drained for any more drama, adding that she was the only person who could comprehend his perspective. It was only then that Lorna acquiesced. As she unknowingly played into the role he prepared for her, Bobby accepted there was a special place in Hell reserved just for him. He did not have to turn around to face Jubilee to confirm this. Her suffering had been more than palpable.

Before closing the door behind him, Bobby contemplated rushing back into the hallway. He remembered wishing he could wrap his arms around her, hold her tightly and reassure her that the world was not broken. It had taken every ounce of self-control to force his hands away from the doorknob. He then resigned himself to resting his forehead against cold mahogany. Reality had begun to sink in. Now, this would the closest Bobby would be to Jubilee.

Something else had troubled him as he struggled to maintain his façade. The absolutism applied to their relationship was antithetical to the affection and understanding inherent to their connection. It was during these times when Bobby was reminded of his father. The black-and-white thinking and the all-or-nothing perception of the world had been something the younger Drake struggled to distance himself from. It was almost laughable how close he was to emulating Bill's footsteps.

Meanwhile, the poignancy of what transpired had not been lost on Lorna. Shivering within the icy walls of Bobby's bedroom, she had questioned his decision to turn Jubilee away. The green-haired mutant cited the obvious manner in which Bobby was pining. She also argued that if there was ever an occasion to reach out to someone, especially when that person shared a deep connection with you, it was now. As she conveyed her sage words, there was a hint of longing and sadness in her voice. Clearly, Lorna was able to relate to her former boyfriend on that level.

Initially, Bobby thought about countering Lorna's blunt assessment of the situation. His mind raced as he struggled to compose another series of excuses to distract her. But in the end, Bobby was rendered mute. He was simply too tired to lie to anyone else for now. From his point of view, there was nothing he could possibly say that would convince her of the error in her position. Moreover, any further deception seemed to be not only insulting to Lorna but to Bobby as well.

In the end, he concealed how much her advice affected him by slipping into the familiar role of detached loner. He purged any semblance of emotion and vulnerability from his voice as he thanked Lorna for keeping him company. Bobby then concocted an excuse involving fatigue before he quickly ushered her out of his room. Once again, he could sense his resolve faltering. It was something he could not and would not allow. Bobby had come so far. There was no turning back.

With memories of that horrible day seared into his brain, Bobby was now seized by panic as he continued gazing staring up at Jubilee, who was still standing across from him. Somehow, he managed to compose himself enough to rise from the bench and edge towards the direction of the Med-Lab. All the while, Bobby tried not to think about how achingly beautiful she was at that moment.

Suddenly, Jubilee said quietly, "They're not ready for you yet."

Hearing her speak startled him. Bobby swallowed hard, willing himself to remain calm and indifferent to her. "What's the hold-up?" he asked evenly.

She crossed her arms over her chest as if to contain the turmoil inside her lithe body. Her sapphire eyes lowered to the floor rather than gaze upon his face. This experience was proving to be more and more painful with each passing second. "I don't know," she said, "Alex and Warren are in there instead of the Danger Room so that means something."

As he listened to Jubilee's reply, Bobby was immediately struck by how wary she was of him. Bile instantly rose in his throat as he was forced to accept his role in this development. He did not think it was possible to hate himself more than he did right now. It was enough to string together a series of curses under his breath.

Jubilee's head snapped up, sable brows knitting together in confusion. "What did you say?"

Sheepish, Bobby took a step away from her. He was on the precipice of losing control. The longer he remained near Jubilee, the more likely he would allow himself to cave to her. As much as his heart wanted to pursue that option, the rational part of him protested the inherently selfish nature of this wish. _You deserve better, _ he mused inwardly, grey eyes roving over her delicate features.

Finally, he answered, "Nothing… Don't worry about it."

Sceptical over his answer, her frown deepened. The confusion that had suddenly descended intensified when she noticed he was wearing his leather jacket inside the sub-basement. Normally, this would not have been remarkable. However, with the new light fixtures installed in the sub-basement, there had been complaints about how much heat the lamps were giving off. Granted, Bobby's low body temperature afforded him some buffering from such conditions. But even with that variable taken into account, his choice in wardrobe was still strange.

Jubilee was about to remark about this anomaly but quickly refrained from doing so. She nearly forgot about her new role in this dynamic. It was no longer her place to comment regarding anything relating to him anymore. The very thought of this left her with an emptiness which made every fibre of her being ache.

Bobby shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. They were only the place of refuge for him at the moment. He could feel his fingers itching to touch her skin and to tangle themselves in her long, silky hair. Reason was proving difficult to cling to in the face of his feelings. Here he was, pushing away the one person who was inextricably bound to him and who loved him all the more for it. It was beyond madness.

Following what seemed like eons of studying one another, Jubilee broke the stalemate. Still holding herself tightly, she gave him a curt nod. Then she said in a dull voice, "Maybe you should go in there now."

Bobby nodded mutely before watching her turn on her heel and head towards the direction of the hyperlifts. His heart twisted sharply inside his chest as he stared at her retreating figure. Although he wanted to chase after her, Bobby was determined to stay the course. He had to—for both of them.

Jubilee was approximately a foot away from him when she abruptly paused in her steps. She hated how this had played out. Hell, she hated everything about the situation. While Bobby made it clear where he thought the relationship was, she was not ready to concede so readily. There was still so much left unsaid. For Jubilee, there would be no peace until she could address them.

Turning around slowly, she asked, ""Why does it have to be about _my mistake_?"

Perplexed, Bobby moved away from the double doors leading to the Med-Lab. He could feel a rush of blood to his head as he saw the pained expression marring her lovely features. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about us," she answered earnestly, tucking a lock of hair behind a delicate ear. "I'm talking about the way things are now. This whole mess…It's wrong and you know it."

He tried not to nod in agreement even though she was completely right. Instead, Bobby focused on frowning. It was an expression he believed would keep her safely at arm's length. "This whole mess is wrong," he said, echoing her words flatly. "But I doubt there's anything we can do about it at this point."

Wounded, Jubilee was determined to press on. "Why not?"

Bobby pressed his lips together in a taut line as he clenched his fists inside his pockets. _Because I can't be the man you need for me to be, _ he nearly replied. _Because if you stay with me, your life will be burdened with hardship. Because I love you too much and I will be damned before I allow that to happen._ "Because you breached something so fundamental to our relationship," he finally told her.

"One mistake and we're through?"

"That sounds accurate."

"Don't you think that's a little irrational? I mean, you've decided to convict me on the spot without any chance of appeal."

"Why should I let you do that, Jubes? You violated my trust. You betrayed me. And now, you're telling me I'm the bad guy for being upset?"

"I'm not doing that at all, Bobby. I just want another chance."

"You want another chance to do what exactly? To hurt me again, to make me feel like a moron for putting my faith in you?"

"No, I would never want to do any of those things. Please believe me when I tell you for the millionth time that I'm sorry. I hate myself for making you feel that way. I hate myself for what I've done to us."

"Very noble sentiments, Jubes, but sadly, it's too late for any of that."

"Can't this just be part of the story about how we overcame what happened and became stronger?"

Bobby felt a piece of himself melt at the sincerity of her words and the wistfulness of her perspective. She seemed to articulate everything he was thinking and feeling since he initiated the break-up. Had the circumstances been different, he would have surely concurred with her. Seeing that she was still willing to fight in spite of his efforts made him love her all the more.

It also compelled him to be unwavering in his stance to let her go.

Bobby tensed his body, preparing to drive Jubilee away. "That's a pretty naïve way of looking at things," he said, forcing an edge to his voice.

Stung by his assessment, the young firecracker felt her lower lip quiver. Her resolve not to cry in front of him was crumbling as she stared into his seemingly indifferent face. It took her a second to reconcile his cruel words with the Bobby she had come to know and love. She balled her small hands into fists, digging her nails deeply in order to focus on something else. Physical pain was tolerable compared to the agony she was experiencing.

Still, Jubilee knew she needed to respond. She took a deep breath, drawing on what reserves remained to compose herself. "It's not naïve," she protested, frowning. "It's just how I feel. I love you. I don't understand why that's not enough."

Bobby clenched his jaw, willing his mouth not to betray him. He was quite close to confessing everything. Just then, he caught sight of Lorna stepping out of the hyperlift. As his former girlfriend walked towards them, he realized his opportunity to fend off temptation had arrived. His grey eyes narrowed as he prepared to drive the final nail.

_Someday you'll forgive me, Jubes._

"It would be," he finally told her, derision creeping into his voice, "if I felt the same way."

Jubilee was taken aback, her crystalline eyes round as saucers. She could not believe what she was hearing. Had her arm not been sore from the blood sample, Jubilee could have sworn she was trapped in a nightmare. "What?"

With Lorna approaching, Bobby knew he had to work quickly. "Don't waste your time and energy," he said, trying to sound scornful. Then he added, "There isn't an _us _ to save anymore. I've moved on. You need to do the same."

As he was speaking, Jubilee noticed his eyes were staring past her. She followed his gaze, turning around. Her stomach immediately lurched when she saw Lorna, carrying an air of haughty sophistication in an orange, cable-knit sweater, leopard-print pencil skirt, and a pair of gold, metallic loafers. Given Bobby's declaration and his history with the mistress of magnetism, there was only one inference to be made.

Jubilee gave him a hard look with her cerulean eyes. She feared if she opened her mouth, the sob she was trying to contain would escape. There was no way the young firecracker would allow him the satisfaction of witnessing her cry again. Not now; not ever.

Then she spun around and quickly took her leave. Darting past the woman who apparently replaced her, Jubilee was nearly blinded by her tears. She hurriedly brushed them aside before taking refuge inside one of the hyperlift cars.

Lorna stared after Jubilee, stunned. She had been en route to the Med-Lab for her evaluation when she saw the younger woman and Bobby in the hallway. Although she was unable to hear the conversation taking place, she could tell their interaction was emotionally charged. Jubilee looked as if she were on the verge of tears, where she seemed to be pleading at times. Meanwhile, Bobby vacillated between appearing taciturn and indignant.

Based on whispers here and there as well Bobby's general state of unhappiness, Lorna was aware of their problems. As one of his friends, she wanted to show him the stalwart support he had provided her following her return to Westchester. But executing said plan of action had proven to be difficult than she envision. Still struggling to deal with her own personal issues in regards to relationships, she believed it would have been awkward to broach the subject with him. At times, Lorna was unsure how she would have responded had he confided in her. To her relief, Bobby maintained his silence.

Thoughts of leaving the sub-basement entered her mind as the couple continued to talk. However, she had hesitated when she found Bobby staring pointedly in her direction as he was speaking to Jubilee. At first, Lorna was perplexed. This quickly changed when she noticed the former Generation X-er's hands shaking while surrounded by a faint, pink glow. Lorna's suspicions were quickly confirmed as soon as Jubilee rushed by her, her sapphire eyes shining with tears. In the aftermath of the younger woman's departure, Lorna peered over at Bobby. Guilt seemed to radiate from every pore.

Bastard.

She marched up to where he stood and slapped him across the face. "Was I the dog or the pony?" she demanded, emerald eyes flashing.

Wincing, his hand instinctively went to his cheek. The skin was stinging and burned with white-hot intensity. It felt as if she threw her entire weight into the strike and then some. "Lorna—"

Still furious, she cut him off. "The next time you want to play mind games with your girlfriend, don't use me as a prop," she snapped.

Bobby's grey eyes widened with disbelief. He had not realized his actions were so obvious. Then again, the Long Island native had never been a master manipulator. In most situations, he would have preferred to be forthright rather than engage in shrouding his intentions. Studying Lorna's outraged expression, it was clear his attempts at altruism inflicted harm on yet another innocent party. He could feel himself sink deeper and deeper into his pool of regret and self-loathing.

He was about to attempt an explanation for what transpired when he was silenced by a withering look from Lorna. She shook her head at him reprovingly. "Don't even try to rationalize what you did," she chided. "Whatever is going on with you and Jubilee should remain between the two of you. If you even think about drawing me in again, you will regret it. That I promise you."

Speechless, Bobby swallowed hard. How could he even respond to that? Rather than mull over the possibilities, he continued to remain adrift in the silence.

Lorna pursed her coral-painted lips in disgust. She was still seething from the indignity of the entire situation. The last thing she wanted to do was undergo any examination. "I don't even want to know you right now," she declared. Then with a final glare directed towards him, she stormed off.

_I've got the magic touch today, _ he mused to himself glumly, watching one of his few remaining allies climb inside one of the hyperlift cars. Alienating two women in less than ten minutes certainly was a record for him. Had the circumstances been less angst-ridden, Bobby would have found some humour in what transpired. Instead, he was resigned to accept his role as serial offender.

"Hey," Warren's deep and even voice drawled, "everything OK?"

Startled, Bobby peered over at the double doors leading to the Med-Lab. His preoccupation with his encounters drew his attention from the presence of his good friend, whose head poked out from between the doors. Based on the worried expression the blond playboy was wearing, it was evident Warren witnessed at least part of the conversation with Lorna.

The Long Island native scrambled to compose himself. He swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah," he finally answered, trying to inject some levity into his voice. "I guess it's more of the usual when it comes to me and the ladies." He cringed slightly when he heard how flat he sounded.

Warren found it difficult not to be sceptical by this response. It was not only the clear disconnect between the statement and the accompanying body language indicating something was amiss with his good friend. He had also overheard Lorna's scathing language towards Bobby. While the former bride-to-be was better known for her unstable emotional condition as of late, her verbal rebuke was rather surprising. The words used and the tone in which they were delivered provided context that all was not well between the two of them. For Warren, the situation itself was odd given how the former couple had been on friendly terms. Lorna had been in the minority of individuals who did not view Bobby with unabated disdain.

The winged Adonis was about to further query Bobby when the boyishly handsome young man exhaled loudly and said, "Is Hank ready in there? I'd really like to get this over with."

Recognizing the not-so-subtle hint, Warren quickly nodded. Although his concern over his friend's state was at the forefront of his mind, the blond playboy knew there were other pressing matters that required his attention. He made a mental note to address the issue at a later time. "Come on in," Warren said, pushing the door open for Bobby to walk through.

The younger man walked alongside his friend quietly. Bobby's body tensed, preparing him for the dreaded ordeal ahead. He stared at the stainless steel that encased the walls of the Med-Lab. This room, which had innocuously seen him through minor injuries, were about to bear witness to the ultimate humiliation. Panicking inwardly, he was scrambling to come up with a plan to circumvent this fate.

He was greeted with a weary smile by Hank who stood in front of a long, stainless steel utility table. The mansion's resident scientist looked in desperate need of a nap or at least an espresso. His red-and-brown plaid shirt and chinos worn underneath his white lab coat were rumpled slightly. He was a carrying a number of pens on his person—they were sticking out of the pockets of his coat, placed behind both of his ears, and one was wedged between his sharp, white teeth. Shuffling through a stack of charts and files that were strewn across the table, Hank's usual cheery and easy-going demeanour was noticeably subdued.

On the other side of the table was Scott. The grim-faced leader was holding a clipboard, scribbling furiously. Unlike Hank, Scott opted to don his black-and-gold, leather uniform rather than his street clothes. A more cynical person would have surmised that the wardrobe choice was fuelled by his desire to better conceal his slovenly appearance rather than portray an air of authority. When he noticed Bobby approaching, his stubble-ridden jaw clenched tightly. The ruby quartz in his visor glowed as he scowled.

At that moment, Bobby felt his trepidation exponentially climb. He was certain that had there been no witnesses present, Scott would have considered discharging an optic blast in his direction. Bearing this mind, Bobby moved closer to Hank. "Is there any way we can do this sans Cyclops and company?" he asked in a low voice.

Hank removed the pens from his mouth, twirling them between his fur-covered fingers nervously. He quickly glanced over at Scott. "I've tried raising the issue," his friend replied, dropping the volume to a whisper when he saw that their team mate was staring at them intently. "I'm afraid reason did not prevail. I'm not even allowed to close the curtain completely."

Frowning, Scott stopped writing. "Is there a problem?"

Despite his rising anxiety, Bobby willed himself to remain collected. "Yes, there is. I don't see why these exams can't be done in private."

"What do you have to hide?" the other man countered. "So far, you've been the only person who's expressed a problem with this process."

"I'm not hiding anything," Bobby argued, grey eyes steely. His irritation was exacerbated when Alex emerged from the back of the room, carrying a set of motion gauges and thermometers. Facing off with the eldest Summers was bad enough, but the addition of his smug-faced rival was simply unbearable. "I just feel as the one of the original five, my standing should count for something."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Scott was finding the younger man's sense of entitlement nothing short of amazing. After what the school had been through, Bobby's selfish concerns about something trivial as a physical was unfathomable at this point.

Meanwhile, the Long Island native was struggling to focus. He was even shocked by what he was implying. Despite feeling self-conscious as Hank and Warren exchanged puzzled looks, he was determined to stay the course. Scott already made up his mind that Bobby was a calloused, spiteful person for what he had done to Jubilee. Where was the harm in allowing him to believe that narcissism was also part of that picture?

"I shouldn't have to put myself on display so that you can confirm my identity," Bobby told him sharply. He narrowed his eyes at Scott and Alex. "There's no reason why Hank can't perform the exam on his own."

Alex smirked as he handed Warren the thermometers. Like his brother, he was no fan of Bobby Drake at the moment. He was still seething after learning of Jubilee's encounter with him on the day of Jean's funeral. While Scott seemed to be consumed by his anger, the younger Summers brother was relishing in the other man's discomfort. "Grow up, Bobby," he sneered. "This isn't the high school showers. Just get it over with so the rest of us can focus on urgent tasks. Contrary to what you might believe, our schedules don't revolve around your examination."

Bobby contemplated freezing Alex's lips together. Instead, he replied icily, "I didn't think it was any more possible for you to be a douchebag. I guess being a vegetable all those months enhanced your abilities."

"That's enough!" Scott barked, his face turning a mottled shade of pink. Bobby's continued attempts at stalling had already worn out his patience. "Why are you being so obstinate about this?"

Bobby, who was feeling cornered at this very moment, found himself reaching the breaking point as well. "Because I don't want you here, goddammit!" he snapped, pounding his fist against the table.

All of a sudden, the piece of furniture was sheathed in ice.

Stunned silence fell over everyone inside the room. Hank's furry brows shot upwards when he noticed all of his papers were trapped underneath the thick block of ice. Scott jumped from the table, dropping his clipboard to the floor. Warren and Alex stared at the table simply allowed their curious gazes to rest on Bobby, who was grimacing and peering down at his clenched fist.

Scott was the first to speak. Calmly, he said, "Bobby, you're going to let Hank examine you. Right now."

When Hank saw Bobby's indignation transform into abject fear, he decided to step in. "Scott, be reasonable," he pleaded, "Bobby's been through a lot in these past few weeks and—"

"Don't you even think about trying to coddle him," Scott warned reproachfully. Nodding in Bobby's direction, he continued speaking. "He's going to submit to the physical now. No more excuses from either one of you. Is that clear?"

The larger, feline-like man sucked in his breath in response to this dressing down. Although he tolerated Scott's irrational behaviour and moodiness following Jean's death, Hank had enough. His team mate was not the one who had exclusive rights to acting out. Shaking his head at Scott, the Ivy league-trained biochemist replied, "Understood although I wish you luck getting the rest of these examinations completed. Given that you're so keen to direct things, I'm sure you'll have no problem taking over."

Scott's jaw dropped as he watched Hank shrug off his lab coat. "Wait a minute," he protested, completely floored by this development. Where this was coming was beyond his understanding at the moment.

Watching the scene unfold, Bobby sensed his culpability in this argument and felt his guilt nearly drown him. It was bad enough what he had done to both Jubilee and Lorna. But driving a wedge between these men who considered themselves not only team mates but also good friends as well was unacceptable, especially when the school and the teams were relying on a united front in these challenging times. He knew what had to be done.

"It's okay, Hank," he finally said to his best friend with a rueful smile. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "It's time to face the music."

The other man shook his head as Bobby began to slip off his leather jacket. "Are you sure?" he inquired, a worried frown furrowing his blue brow.

The boyishly handsome young man nodded reassuringly. "Yeah," he answered, unbuttoning his black Hawaiian shirt with playing cards printed all over. "I'm at the point where I can't hide it anymore. It's just a matter of time when everyone else is going to know."

Scott listened to the cryptic exchange closely, watching his team mate proceed to undress. He mulled over the pair's reluctance over the physical. The degree of their protestation was something he had never seen before. What could they be possibly hiding that compelled both men to be so evasive and difficult?

His internal querying immediately ceased as soon as Bobby opened his shirt.

Rather than flesh, the young man's entire torso was covered in ice. His ribcage and internal organs were entirely visible. One could even see his heart pumping and the blood travelling through various arteries and veins. Barely visible above his sternum was a small scar, resembling an old entry wound. The extent of the icy barrier was revealed when he completely removed his shirt. Where skin should have enclosed his shoulders and upper arms was more ice.

Warren instantly recognized the origin of the injury site. Still reeling in disbelief over the discovery of his friend's condition, he managed to ask, "Black Tom?"

Wordlessly, Bobby nodded.

The winged Adonis placed a hand over his mouth. He wondered how this escaped anyone's attention. From what he was able to recall, Bobby received some medical attention while in Genosha, including an exam performed by Amelia. Standard protocol for a mission-related injury also dictated that he should have been seen by the medical staff in Westchester upon arriving. Given the level of professionalism exhibited by Hank and at the time, Annie, it would have been unimaginable for both to miss something as obvious as this. Stealing a glance at Hank, Warren began to reconsider his initial theory of an oversight having been committed.

Based on the information exchanged, Scott was now piecing together the timeline. That would have placed the incident over six months ago. Then he turned to Hank. "You knew about this?" he asked incredulously. "How long?"

Hank shifted from foot to foot, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses. He was a notoriously horrible liar to begin with. Most people knew that duplicity was not something the Ivy league-trained scientist was keen on to begin with. Underneath the searing gaze of his team mate, it was getting increasingly difficult to feign ignorance. "Well…"

The hedging tone and trailing off spoke volumes. Scott glared at Bobby and Hank. "You two are unbelievable," he fumed. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Bobby retrieved his shirt and pulled it back on. "I was thinking I could have taken care of this on my own," he responded defensively, his hands shaking with anger as he buttoned back up.

"And it's clear that plan has worked out so well for you," the team leader pointed out sarcastically. He then returned his attention to a sheepish Hank McCoy. "I'm really disappointed in you, Hank. You should have placed your duty and loyalty to the team and this school over your friendship with Bobby."

It was Hank's turn to frown. "He came to me under the auspices of a patient seeking consultation," he told Scott matter-of-factly. "I have a code of ethics that I'm bound to, Scott. They supersede my obligations to this institution."

Annoyed that his team mate was using his professional ethics as a shield, Scott was determined not to allow Hank off the hook so easily. "That's no excuse," he spat out. "You may have kept Bobby's trust but you violated everyone else's in doing so."

"Don't talk to Hank like that," Bobby cut in, furious with Scott's treatment of his best friend. "I asked him to keep this between us. If you're looking to tear someone a new one in this situation, then it's me. It's no secret you've been dying for another chance."

His team mate snorted. "No need to play the martyr now," he informed Bobby, "I wouldn't dream of leaving you out."

Just then, the most unlikely defender piped up. Placing a hand on his older brother's shoulder, Alex said, "Bobby had every right to keep this private. It's his body. When he talked to Hank, there's an expectation of confidentiality between doctor and patient."

Surprised, Bobby and Hank exchanged looks.

"It stops being a confidential matter when his condition affects the rest of us," Scott told his brother brusquely, shrugging off Alex's supportive hand. Then his voice became increasingly louder as he continued with his diatribe. "By maintaining their silence, these two put everyone else at risk. They could have compromised field assignments or even the security of this school. It is disingenuous at best; totally reckless at its worst."

Warren, who had been trying to put the secrecy of Bobby's injury into some context, shook his blond head reprovingly. "Don't be overdramatic, Scott."

"How would you propose I act?" Scott demanded, raising his brows at the blond CEO of Worthington Industries. "Within the last two weeks, we've had two major security breaches. If we don't have some sort of transparency among ourselves, it's very likely that we'll see a repeat of these events. And I'm telling you right now, I will be damned before I'll ever let that happen."

"But Bobby's condition in no way constitutes any threats to our security," Warren insisted, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Should he have said something to us sooner? Am I upset that he concealed what happened to him for all this time? Answers to both: yes. However, disclosure is ultimately his decision to make—not yours."

Scott's scowl deepened when he was forced to face the logic fuelling Warren's arguments. And yet, he was not ready to concede defeat. "His condition could have compromised a mission or protecting the students and this school," he remarked gravely. "That's something I can't forget."

"Then I would have intervened," Hank said quietly, pushing his glasses over his forehead. "And after all these years, you know Bobby would be the first to speak up. His dedication to the team and the school are beyond reproach. For the record, I can honestly tell you the secondary mutation is limited to appearance only. His control and development have not been impacted."

Bobby watched Scott's nostrils flare. It was a nonverbal cue he was familiar with over the years. Scott only did it in order to express his extreme displeasure over some issue. The man otherwise known as Cyclops was slowly accepting the validity of the opposing arguments even though his inclination was to reject them. Furthermore, he was not about to allow his antagonistic feelings towards Bobby interfere with his ability to lead. He was far too disciplined for that.

The quiet stillness that had blanketed the Med-Lab was broken when Scott turned to Bobby and said, "I trust Hank's assessment but in no way does that negate your responsibilities to the rest of us."

Bobby nodded curtly, feeling as if he were being harangued by his father for taking out the car when he was fourteen. "I know that."

"Then you'll also know that from now on, you're going to have to work to earn back everyone's confidence." The ruby quartz of Scott's visor flashed, punctuating his declaration. "Given what you've done, I don't trust you any farther than I can throw you."


	67. Chapter 67 This Train Don't Stop There

Back with another chapter. Sorry about the delay but things have been nutty as of late.

I'm in the market for a new beta. If you are interested, please message me.

Thanks again for your reviews and for following this saga. I really appreciate the feedback.

A

**Chapter Sixty-Seven: This Train Don't Stop There**

Alex Summers never considered himself to be a man who was easily caught off guard. Life for the blond geophysicist had never been normal. Serving as a member of both X-Factor and the X-Men, he had been privy to what most people considered unimaginable. His years since the onset of his abilities saw him being kidnapped by a power-hungry mutant, hunted down by technologically advanced robots, held hostage by an intelligent ecosystem, subduing a teenager composed of psionic energy, forced to serve in the Genoshan army, cast into an alternate reality, and fighting for his life while in a coma. In light of these experiences, Alex became accustomed to expect the unexpected. It was a perspective that allowed him to maintain a calm head when confronted with bizarre circumstances, proving especially useful when lives were on the line.

There were some around the mansion who attributed his calm demeanour to genetics. After all, his brother enjoyed a reputation for an inability or discomfort (depending on one's perspective) with emotional expression. It was not entirely surprising that Alex experienced similar struggles, especially in his relationships. Before their most recent break-up, Lorna had accused him of being divorced from his feelings when things began to get serious. Similarly, when things ended with Annie, Alex found himself fending off charges from Jean-Paul about being indifferent to her loss.

For the younger Summers brother, keeping one's feelings concealed to the world was a means of safety. Placing his emotions on display was often equated to vulnerability—something he learned was a detriment as a young child. Growing up, grief and trauma characterized the dynamics in his adoptive home. At times, he found himself quite confused and fearful of his foster parents. Their mood swings and the bizarre behaviours (notably, their insistence in treating him as their dead son) that accompanied them often left Alex without any sense of certainty. He came away from the experience with the impression that affective expression was a dangerous thing and could potentially hurt other people.

However, this bright, spring day found the blond geophysicist's normal defences eradicated in the wake of his complete disbelief. The degree of shock was such that he was rendered speechless as he sat on the edge of the dock near Breakstone Lake. He could do nothing but peer out at the rippling waters that lapped below, mulling over the information provided to him only moments ago.

The morning had started innocuously enough. Alex awoke before his alarm, which seemed to be a regular occurrence these days. Sleep was a flighty acquaintance since Jean's death. Preoccupation over Scott's condition and operations around the mansion weighed upon him heavily, setting his mind alight with activity. He had been about to make his way to his private bath when he heard a loud buzzing sound from the direction of his bedside table. Curious, Alex had ambled over to his solid mahogany sleigh bed and retrieved his Blackberry from the nearby oak tripod table. The younger Summers brother had wondered who could be texting him at this early hour. As far as he knew, Scott was still passed out in the emergency living quarters from another night with Glenfiddich. His former fiancée was effectively ruled out as well. Following the wedding debacle, Lorna publicly announced she had deleted him from her address book. Given that Annie had yet to contact him since her sudden departure, the blond geophysicist eliminated her from the list of suspects.

When Alex saw who the message was from, concern washed over him. Mulling over the content, he had become even more aware of the urgency to act. With almost lightning speed, he took a quick shower before pulling on a navy-and-white striped hooded sweatshirt over a denim shirt, cargo pants, and brown hiking boots. Alex then quietly raced down the spiral staircase and out of the mansion.

Although the morning was one of the most mild and picturesque in quite some time, he remained focused on his journey. All he could think about was the text he had received. The words used were simple, conveying a request. Given how drained he felt, there was some temptation to procrastinate. But when they were considered within the context of recent events, Alex felt obliged to comply.

_Please meet me at the dock by the lake. I really need to talk to you. _

With brisk strides, the mutant otherwise known as Havok had marched down the winding, gravel path leading to Breakstone Lake. The second sentence of the message floated inside his mind. It was not that he resented this cryptic summoning this early in the day. Rather, Alex was left with a sense of trepidation. Such language indicated a need to be concerned, to prepare oneself for the worst of situations.

Compounding his anxiety was the identity of the author. The individual in question rarely communicated with him in this manner. Moreover, the gravity in the tone conveyed had been, until recently, antithetical to the person's carefree and relaxed reputation. A few months ago, the idea that this party would have reached out to him as a confidante would have been unthinkable in some circles. But so much had changed during that time, including the dynamics of their relationship.

His aqua eyes had swept the horizon, searching. While doing so, Alex had nearly taken a tumble down the gently sloping hill. Cursing, he knew he had favoured speed over balance. Fortunately, the younger Summers brother had managed to regain his footing. He continued on with the trek.

Venturing closer to the bottom of the hill, where the dock was situated, Alex had almost been blinded by the brilliant spring sun. It had been so long since he could recall being bathed in its warm rays. Following Jean's death, he and other around the mansion were convinced that Westchester would be forever shrouded under dreary skies. For a moment, Alex had considered the possibility of better things to come. However, his optimism had fled once his gaze noticed a solitary figure sitting at the edge of the dock.

Jubilee.

Her long, dark hair tumbled down her back in a cascade of ebony and midnight blue highlights. The young firecracker had been seated with her back facing him, presumably peering out at the sun-dappled waters of the lake. Much to Alex's surprise, she did not turn around as the wooden planks creaked softly under his weight. Instead, Jubilee had remained motionless even when he seated himself next to her.

Alex remembered the initial greeting she gave him. It had come in the form of a smile—one that failed to reach her old-soul blue eyes. Almost instantly he had been struck by the expression, as if he were commiserating with her sadness as well. This was not a surprise given how much their shared experience in the past several weeks. Their grief over Jean and the stress in regards to Scott's deteriorating condition had united them in a way that was once been inconceivable. In Jubilee, Alex had found someone who empathized with his perspective and feelings of helplessness when it came to his brother's drinking, affective lability, and traumatized psyche. More importantly, he was able to share with her his concerns without any fear of judgment or reprimand. For the younger Summers brother, their newfound friendship was primarily clouded by the tragic circumstances that brought them together.

But as he studied her lovely but despondent face, Alex could discern there was something else troubling her. It went beyond losing Jean and watching Scott slip away. No, this heartbreak was more intimate in nature. Observing the dullness in Jubilee's usually sparkling eyes, he was immediately reminded of what precipitated her distress. The blond geophysicist had fought the urge to shake his head and curse Bobby Drake's name.

Cursory small talk had been dispensed with immediately. The air between them was tense as they touched upon superficial topics, such as the weather and how peaceful the property was at this time of day. Alex remembered wishing to directly address why she asked him to come here but exercising some restraint in doing so. Jubilee had appeared so fragile at that moment. Part of him was afraid of making some sort of verbal faux pas that could exacerbate her existing angst.

Much to his relief, Jubilee took it upon herself to broach the subject. She had been direct and succinct. It seemed as if she had wanted to ensure there was no ambiguity in what she was telling him. Moreover, it was evident that the young firecracker had taken some thought into her decision. Alex was hard pressed to recall another time since Jean's death and her breakup with Bobby when Jubilee was so calm and collected.

Beyond her newfound composure, he found himself slowly becoming dumbstruck as the underlying reasons for their tête-at-tête emerged. Alex had listened intently to her. His mind dissected each sentence, trying to comprehend the rationale behind the argument they were building. Countering against his need to seek reason was the growing sense of disbelief that was seizing him. The physiological reaction to her disclosure had been immediate—his stomach lurched inside and his palms were soaked with sweat. He could actually feel his face contort itself into a grimace.

When Jubilee had finished speaking, only the sound of water lapping against the wooden support binding the platform and the birds merrily chirping among the swaying trees surrounding the lake were audible. Her sapphire eyes stared into his tanned face. She seemed to be searching for something beyond his astonishment. Did she want approval or condemnation? Alex could not be sure. The news was still leaving him reeling, unable to articulate anything in response. As he placed a hand over his mouth, he could only wonder if this entire encounter was some sort of dream. When Jubilee's trademark perfume of bubble gum and cinnamon tickled his nose, he forced himself to accept the reality of the situation.

After what seemed like eons, he was the first to break the silence. "You don't have to do this," the younger Summers brother told her, a slight breeze rumpling his golden hair.

Jubilee, wearing a black-and-white, shimmery tweed jacket with three-quarter inch sleeves over a pink T-shirt, slim-fit khakis, and black New Balance sneakers, drew her knees to her chest. "What do you suggest then?" she asked in a low voice.

"I don't know," he admitted, exasperated with his inability to come up with an opposing solution. There was never a time when he wished he could devise an alternative plan than right now. Normally, this would not be a problem in the context of field operations. However, this was different. For Alex, there seemed to be much more at stake.

She raised a sable brow at him. "That's not compelling," she observed, tucking a lock of hair behind a delicate ear.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly, shaking his blond head. "What about considering other options?"

This time, it was Jubilee's turn to be rueful. She could hear how upset he was. The fact that she was responsible for causing him more grief nearly made her sick. In the wake of such loss and devastation, Alex had proven himself to be a dependable source of support. The only bright spot to have materialized from everything that happened was their friendship. Now, she was repaying him by delivering news that completely rendered him mute. Despite this, the young firecracker was determined to not to waver.

"I can't do that," she finally said, looking equally pained as she began to wring her small hands in her lap.

Alex's aqua eyes roved over her delicate features. Clearly, a great deal of thought factored into her decision. There was no sign of ambivalence on her part. Despondent as she was, Jubilee was resolute. Mentally, he scrambled to compose a counterargument without subjecting her to further anguish. Given recent events, she certainly had more than her fair share.

He took a deep breath, choosing to pursue the issue further. It would be at this point, Scott or even Logan would choose to lecture or utilize other means to dissuade. But the dynamics between Alex and Jubilee were vastly different. There was no pseudo father-daughter or mentor relationship to build upon. As a result, caution would need to be exercised.

"I just don't understand why not," he told her, his forehead wrinkling in a thoughtful frown. "I don't get why it has to come to _this _, Jubilee."

Jubilee was taken aback by the candour infused in this moment. Although her friendship with Alex was a recent development, she was aware of his reputation for rarely allowing other people to see him vulnerable. During Lorna's bachelorette party, the bride-to-be complained of Alex's lack of passion and emotional depth. This confused and hurt version seemed to fly in the face of such assertions.

Ever mindful of his state, Jubilee also decided to adopt a careful approach. "Because," she began quietly, "I'm unhappy."

Alex winced when he heard the distraught tone that nearly seeped to the surface. "I know," he replied, wishing for the millionth time to reverse her condition.

She shook her head earnestly, dark hair rippling down her slim shoulders. "No, you don't know, Alex," she insisted quietly, blinking rapidly to trap saline in her eyes. While she was able to keep her tears at bay, a torrent of words spilled out of her mouth, undermining the composure she displayed earlier. "You don't know how everyday how is painful beyond imagination. I hate feeling empty and lost…and ashamed. It's like no matter how hard I try and what I do…nothing helps. And now, I'm tired…of all of it."

"And doing _this _…that's going to change things?"

"I don't know. Maybe it will; maybe it won't. But I have to think that it's better than how things stand now."

"Jubilee, there has to be another way."

"Alex, I just told you—"

"You've got to understand that what you're about to do is likely to upset a lot of people who care about you."

"You don't think I'm not aware of that? It's something I've had to wrestle with when I was trying to make this decision. The thought of hurting anyone else kills me. But at the same time, I can't stand living like this any longer."

"Listen, I completely get that you've been through a lot. Really, I do. However, I'm not sure you're going to get the solace you want if you go through with this."

"Fair point and again, I'm not confident about that, either. I just need to try something different."

"And that's fine and good, but does it have to be this…drastic? That's the part I'm struggling to wrap my head around."

"I don't need for you to have a thorough understanding of what I'm going to do," Jubilee said, swinging her legs back and forth nervously. "I just need to know that you're okay with it."

Alex felt a pang of sympathy when he saw her wide eyes peering over at him. He wanted desperately to assuage her. However, the idea of lying to her seemed insulting. Shaking his head, he told her quietly, "I'm sorry but I'm not."

Stung, she trapped her lower lip underneath her white teeth. The young firecracker had not expected him to respond this way. When she envisioned confiding in Alex, Jubilee thought he might express some reservations but that ultimately, he would be able to understand her point of view. Unlike Scott and Logan, the younger Summers brother had been an available shoulder to lean on throughout. He was not only sympathetic with her struggles as Scott's caretaker but he was also aware of the difficulties with Bobby. In the wake of her failed confrontations, it was Alex who consoled Jubilee. He was what she yearned to have from either Logan or Scott—a patient, nonjudgmental listener who solely focused on the value of being present for her. With his answer echoing inside her mind, she wondered if she had been wrong about revealing her decision to him.

Collecting her thoughts, Jubilee hunched her shoulders defensively. "You're mad," she remarked in a low voice.

"Not at you," Alex quickly pointed out, his tone gentle. His aqua eyes stared deeply into her face. "I'm not mad at you."

The tension that seized her body seconds earlier began to fade. In its place was a sense of confusion that left her ebony brows furrowing together. "Then what?" she asked.

His gaze moved from her to the waters of Breakstone Lake. He squinted slightly as the sunlight danced along the surface, glittering brilliantly. "I suppose I'm mad at other people and other things," he admitted, grimacing.

Jubilee's crystalline eyes became as round as saucers. "Like what?"

Under her wide-eyed gaze, Alex took a deep breath before providing his response. "I'm mad at Scott for letting you down during this time. I'm mad at Logan for not being around. I'm mad as hell at Bobby for hurting you. But I guess most of all, I'm mad at the situation because it's driven you to this decision and there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

Now it was Jubilee's turn to be shocked. She could only stare at him, mulling over the message and the poignancy woven into the words. The degree of closeness intimated was somewhat surprising. Up until Alex made his confession, she had assumed their bond was based on their shared misery. To hear him express it was something beyond that was touching. At the same time, there was a strangely comical element as well. The man whom Bobby professed as being a rival was now a confidant. _The universe works in weird ways, _ she mused inwardly, managing a small smile.

Meanwhile, Alex was struggling with a question that ate away at him since Jubilee made her disclosure. After much internal debate, he forged ahead. "I need to know something," he told her gravely, his aqua eyes gazing deeply into her face. "Why did you tell me? Why not talk to Paige or one of your other friends?"

The corners of Jubilee's small, red mouth dropped slightly. Before sending him the text, she knew she would need to provide further explanation given the intricacies of her plans. She took a deep breath. "Because I also need a favour from you," she confessed. "You were the only person I could think of who would be willing to help."

Located on the ground floor of the mansion, the staff mailroom was usually an area that saw some light traffic on most days with noise restricted to low volume. Typically, most limited their time there to retrieving whatever sundried items were placed in their mailboxes before proceeding with the rest of the day. Occasionally, some would stop to have a brief chat while sorting desired pieces from junk mail. In general, however, this particular area saw very little in activity.

That is, until today.

Following the adjournment of classes, members of the teaching staff filed inside the mahogany panelled room. For most, it was the first opportunity for a break. In the case of Paige and Kurt, having spent most of the morning and afternoon leading a field trip around the estate for the younger students, the company of other adults was a welcomed change. Ororo, who had taken on additional mentoring duties, was looking forward to a delivery of moleskin bound journals for her students. Hank was also eager for an inspection of his mail. He was expecting a replacement for his iPod case. In contrast, Scott and Warren were warily bracing themselves for the retrieval of various bills. The two were set to meet with the Professor, Emma, and Bobby about settling the books for the month.

Paige found herself quite preoccupied as she approached her mailbox. Her thoughts centred on her best friend and roommate, whose whereabouts remained unknown to the younger Guthrie for much of that day (she had awoke to discover the nearby cot empty). Despite Jubilee's reassurances that all was fine, there was no denying her despondency in the wake of her recent encounter with Bobby. Paige could see the despair in her friend's eyes and heard the muffled sobbing at night to know otherwise. While she was not privy to the details of what transpired between the two, the blonde metamorph was certain something about that incident changed Jubilee. The optimism and the willingness to fight for him disappeared. In place of the usually cheery and energetic Jubilee was a dull and sombre soul. With her attempts to broach the topic repeatedly rebuffed, all Paige could do was hug the young firecracker until breathing was impossible.

She was half-heartedly listening to Kurt's proposal of organizing a _Pirates of the Caribbean _ marathon for the students when her fingers retrieved a small, pale pink envelope from inside the wooden cubbyhole. There was no return address or any other indication the letter had been mailed externally. Handwritten on the front was her name, in familiar, looping cursive. A lump suddenly formed inside the younger Guthrie's throat. With shaking hands, she immediately tore open the envelope.

_Dear Hayseed,_

_As you're reading this, I'll be far from Westchester. I'm sorry you had to find out through a letter. I just couldn't bring myself to say goodbye in person. There would be too much bawling. I don't think I'd have enough tissues for the both of us. _

_Ever since our days at the academy, we've seen the good, the bad, and the just plain weird. But I guess most importantly, we were there for each other during a time in our lives that defined who we are. Through it all, you've been my friend. That's one of the most amazing things I'll keep close to my heart. _

_I also want you to know that you are one of the few people who made me who I am. I know seeing past the constant gum chewing, rollerblading, and sarcastic mouth was hard but you managed. Thank you for that. _

_Finally, promise me you're not going to sob like a baby over this. It's not like we're not going to see each other again. I just need to be on my own to figure things out. Maybe I can come back and be the Jubilee you remember._

_Until we meet again, J _

By the time she finished reading, the younger Guthrie's vision became blurred by tears. Sorrow drowned out any questions she might have had about Jubilee's disappearance. She frantically shoved her hand into the pocket of her chinos, searching for a tissue. Wiping the saline from her cheeks, Paige was glad she was wearing her New York Yankees baseball cap. With the brim shielding the upper half of her face, the blonde metamorph was hoping not to attract attention. Based on the distance between here and the stairs, there was a good chance she could conceal her feelings until retreating to the room they had shared.

Her heart twisting and aching, Paige was about to make a dash to the corridor when she noticed Ororo clutching the same pale pink stationery paper and envelope. The weather goddess placed a hand over her mouth, shaking her head vehemently. Then she peered over at Paige. Their eyes locked briefly before the younger woman ventured over to her side. Wordlessly, Ororo passed Paige the letter. Jubilee's loopy cursive penned similar sentiments but also asked the weather goddess to _"take care of him"_.

The two women were about to exchange comments about their shared correspondence when they heard Hank inhale sharply. Standing on the other side of the room, his feline features arranged themselves into a troubled expression. He, too, was holding a piece of pale pink paper. The mansion's resident science expert appeared to be in such a state of disbelief that he needed to prop himself against wall for support. Nodding mutely, Hank slipped off his black-rimmed glasses to rub his eyes wearily.

Warren, who had been sorting the bills collected from his mailbox nearby, paused when he heard Hank exhale shakily. Concerned, the blond Adonis made his way to his old friend's side. Before he could query as to the cause of the other man's distress, Hank wordlessly thrust a sheet of pale pink paper towards him. Moments later, the winged playboy joined the others in their disbelief.

But it was Scott's reaction that drew the collective attention of the room. The bereaved widower stood next to Kurt, clutching a pale pink envelope. A tense silence hung in the air as he slowly tore it open. Unfolding the single sheet of paper, his jaw was clenched tightly. The pained expression that seemed to be permanently etched across his chiselled features these days seemed to intensify as he proceeded to read the words littered across the page. With seconds passing, his skin began to turn a mottled shade of red. Based on the twitching of his lips, Scott appeared to be struggling to contain a scream.

As the only uninformed party in the room, Kurt was quickly alarmed upon witnessing Scott's visceral reaction. He was about to inquire what troubled his friend but quickly forced his mouth closed. Out of the corner of his eye, the German native noticed that the others were also holding pink stationery. The wheels inside his mind furiously turned when he finally recognized the handwriting on the envelopes. Reading the varying levels of lugubriousness emanating from each person, Kurt pieced together the puzzle. Dwarfing his shock was his sympathy, particularly for Scott who seemed to be the most affected by the news.

Before the former priest-in-training could provide any words of consolation, Scott turned to Paige. "Where is she?" he demanded, his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.

The younger Guthrie's head snapped up, her pale eyes widening upon detecting the brusque tone in his voice. Prior to this moment, her interactions with Scott had been minimal. Like others around the mansion, she learned to steer clear from him given his highly unstable emotional state. Being on the receiving end of one of his tirades was something Paige had very little interest in. Unfortunately, it seemed her ability to avoid Cyclops's ire was quickly fading. The searing glare focused upon her now was testament to that.

"I-I don't know," she finally stammered, feeling her lower lip quiver. Normally, the blonde metamorph would have been quite resilient when confronted in such a manner. Conflict resolution and negotiation were typically her strengths. However, the shock of Jubilee's departure and the existing stress relating to the functioning of the school left her with little inner reserves to cope.

Focused on his own internal turmoil, Scott continued with the interrogation. "You don't know? Didn't she say anything to you? Hell, you two have been rooming together again. I can't believe she never confided in you as to what she was planning."

"Well, she didn't," the younger Guthrie insisted as Ororo wrapped a comforting arm around her shaking shoulders. She was struggling to maintain her veneer of composure despite the myriad of feelings threatening to consume her at that moment. The last thing she wanted was to break down in front of an increasingly hostile Scott Summers. "I'm just as shocked as you are."

Meanwhile, the mutant known as Cyclops was in no mood to concede. "That's pretty convenient for you then," he remarked sarcastically before adding, "So much for being her best friend."

Paige felt as if she had been struck in the stomach by this cold assessment. Then she bit her lower lip. It was all she could do without bursting into tears.

Warren frowned when he heard the derisive tone in the other man's voice. "Don't talk to her like that," he cut in, edging towards Scott. The blond Adonis was struggling to maintain his patience with the team leader. Although he remained committed to supporting Scott, Warren was not about to let the grieving widower take out his frustrations on someone else.

Scott shot Warren a withering look before turning his ire on the next available target. He pursed his lips at a wary Hank, who was still clutching the single piece of pink paper. "Any insights you'd like to share? Or are you going to hide behind doctor-patient confidentiality again?"

Hank's furry brows knitted together as his jaw dropped in response. As much as he wanted to be indignant, the Ivy league-trained scientist was aware of his recent missteps in Scott's eyes. There was a part of him that understood how his actions could have been construed as a breach of trust. Yet, Hank refused to second-guess his decision to keep the secret. It spoke to what was fundamental about his professional identity and his commitment to his good friend.

He quickly regained enough composure to address the charges. "I know nothing about our firecracker's whereabouts," he informed Scott quietly. "If I did, I would do my utmost to convince her to return."

Scott shook his head reprovingly. "Sorry, Hank, but your assurances mean very little to me these days."

Wounded, Hank shrank back slightly. "That's not fair, Scott," he said quietly.

"Don't you begin to dictate to me what's fair and what's not," the other man spat out, shrugging off Kurt's placating hand from his shoulder. "I'm not the one who decided personal loyalties trump everyone else's best interests."

Hank's furry brows shot upwards, stunned by the veiled reference. Other than the individuals in the examining room that day, the Professor, and Emma, no one else knew of Bobby's condition. The perplexed countenances of Ororo, Paige, and Kurt served as further confirmation. He quickly glanced over at Warren, who appeared equally surprised with this near disclosure.

"This isn't the time or place to have this discussion," Warren told Scott in a low voice, his frown deepening. His teammate seemed more disinhibited than usual, prompting the winged playboy to suspect something other than grief and shock were responsible. It was then he noticed the outline of a flask from the pocket of Scott's brown, leather bomber jacket.

His words fell on deaf ears as Scott persisted in taking Hank to task. "How am I supposed to depend on you when you feel the need to conceal important information from me?" he demanded, staring at the piece of pink paper in the feline-like scientist's hand.

Hank followed his teammate's gaze, nervously adjusting his black-rimmed glasses. He immediately knew where things were proceeding, which made his stomach turn into a series of knots. Clutching the letter, he replied, "I honestly don't know anything. You need to believe me. After all these years, Scott…"

"And you destroyed my trust with one major infraction."

"I'm sorry you feel that way but I won't seek atonement for what I did."

"To think you were asking me to have faith in you only seconds ago..."

"With respect to Jubilee's whereabouts, yes. Again, I am completely taken aback."

"In light of what has happened, your sentiments ring hollow."

Hank exhaled loudly. As much as he wanted to give his teammate the benefit of his compassion and understanding, the Ivy league-trained scientist was feeling very slighted by the continued attacks upon his character. "Scott, I'm not sure what else I have to do or say to convince you otherwise."

Scott held out his hand. "Let me see your letter then."

This drew an onslaught of wide-eyed, disbelieving stares from everyone except for Hank. To his credit, the larger, feline-like man retained his calm composure. Given the increasingly irrational treatment he was currently receiving, Hank had expected this demand to be coming.

He took a long, hard look at Scott's outstretched hand before warily peering at his anguished countenance. "No," he replied softly.

This time, it was Scott's turn to be surprised. Clearly, he had not his request to be rebuffed so easily. From his perspective, what he had asked for was perfectly reasonable—documented verification for Hank's argument. What could possibly compel the other man to say no? Swallowing hard, he asked, "Why not?"

"It's personal," Hank informed him, folding the letter and slipping it into the inside pocket of his navy, linen sports coat. "However, I can tell you there's nothing about her whereabouts, when she will return, or whether she will contact us in the meantime."

The other man's mouth formed a bitter line. "I'll believe you once I read the letter," he snapped.

Much to Scott's ever growing frustration, Hank would not yield. "I'm sorry but I can't let you do that," he said evenly. "Short of what I told you, there is nothing pertinent to you or the school."

"And I would like confirmation of that," Scott insisted hotly, his voice rising. "Give me the letter, Hank."

Ororo spoke up in defence of her friend. "Cyclops, be reasonable," she pleaded quietly, masking her own sense of disappointment with him. For the weather goddess, witnessing Scott's deterioration was just as heart-breaking as losing Jean. "If Beast says there is nothing of relevance, then you should believe him."

The widower snorted. "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew the extent of the breach," he retorted. "I'm not even confident I can base personnel decisions given what he's done. How am I supposed to send Rogue an additional body if I can't trust Hank to do his damn job?"

"That's enough, Scott," Warren chided, narrowing his blue eyes into razor thin slits as he stepped in between the two men. "Hank has always been above reproach—professionally and personally. There should be no question about his integrity."

"Then he should have no problem sharing the letter," Scott countered angrily, glaring at his two teammates. "Unless he has something to hide…again."

In contrast to the boundless tolerance exhibited by his good friend, Warren was nearing his breaking point. Granted, Scott had lost a great deal since that tragic night—his wife, his home, his identity as a husband and family man, and his sense of purpose. But allowing him a free pass during the ensuing weeks was proving not only to be counterproductive but very damaging as well. The fact that he was now turning on one of his oldest friends and colleagues seemed to illustrate these difficulties.

"Listen," the blond Adonis began indignantly, "I know you've been through a lot recently…and maybe you're looking for someone or something to blame for what's happened. But that doesn't give you the right to punish people here—especially those who have shown nothing but loyalty and devotion to you and this school. After everything we've been through, Scott, I'd like to think you would have a higher opinion of all of us."

He glanced over at his good friend, who gave him a grateful nod in response. "And, if you really need some further evidence that he's telling the truth, I also read the letter. Jubilee didn't say where she's going or how long she'll be away. It's probably the same information contained in the one addressed to you."

Scott was about to respond when the sound of the front door slamming shut echoed throughout the mahogany panelled walls. The floorboards creaked softly with the ever approaching footfalls. Anticipation initially seized the mailroom only to be replaced by disappointment when the identity of the individual was revealed.

Alex was making his way to one of the hyperlifts to schedule some time in the Danger Room. The last several hours had been eventful for the younger Summers brother, leaving him preoccupied with a plethora of thoughts and emotions surrounding recent events. Given the circumstances, distraction seemed to be the only viable option. The terms of agreement Alex entered into hours earlier allowed nothing else.

The blond geophysicist began walking past the mailroom when the distressed faces of his brother and several of their teammates caught his eye. In the case of Scott and Warren, grief seemed to coalesce with anger. What ultimately compelled Alex to pause in his steps were the pink envelopes some were holding in their hands. They were the same ones Jubilee asked him to deposit before dropping her off at the airport.

With all eyes settling upon him, Alex scrambled to mask his complicity. "What's going on?" he finally asked.

Upstairs, a grim-faced Bobby filed past two of the Stepford Cuckoos in order to make his way towards his room. The boyishly handsome young man had just finished making his rounds for the afternoon. Needless to say, the experience of monitoring students on top of his existing teaching duties left him less than thrilled. The students were already anxious and on edge in light of recent events. Having to account for their whereabouts outside of classes seemed to increase their collective sense of tension. As a result, Bobby found himself on the receiving end of several eye rolls and sarcastic comments. By the time room checks were concluded, part of him began to wonder if this task had been assigned to him as some form of punishment.

The Professor's telepathic message spoke volumes. His tone was curt and almost scolding in a way. Bobby was immediately reminded of his younger days at the school, when he was subjected to routine lectures for various acts of mischief. As the years passed, these reprimands were less frequent and their relationship was characterized by an understanding of sorts. Although Bobby was not as close to Xavier as Jean had been, he had wanted to believe that their rapport had evolved into something along those lines. This was evident in the increased level of responsibilities given to him over time with respect to both field missions and teaching.

Yet, Bobby was left with the feeling that their relationship had regressed somewhat. Part of him considered attributing the stern request to the stresses associated with the invasion of the school, Jean's death, and Mystique's infiltration. To his credit, Xavier managed to maintain the operation of the school while instilling a sense of calm among his teachers and students. But for those who knew him well, like Bobby, the accumulated toll of these events was beginning to wear away at the telepath.

Upon further reflection, Bobby began to suspect other dynamics at play. With the Professor's voice echoing inside his mind, the boyishly handsome young man was able to discern something beyond the admonishment. There were subtle hints of disappointment and sadness present—as if Xavier had learned some terrible truth about Bobby.

As his mind drew the only logical conclusion, he placed a hand over his chest and grimaced.

A day had passed since Bobby's admission in the Med-Lab. The decision to reveal his condition had been borne out of desperation for both himself and Hank. Initially, his apprehension over the impending examination prevented him from speaking up. However, witnessing his best friend being harangued filled Bobby with a myriad of emotions—guilt, indignation, and self-loathing. The resulting combination had been enough for him to overcome his anxieties to face Scott head on.

The onslaught of reprimands had been expected. For the most part, the widower had brought up genuinely valid points about why Bobby and Hank had been wrong. The reasons for concealing the information, while very salient to Bobby, were ultimately selfish. Given the recent events that had befallen the school, any secret could be construed as a potential threat to security. Jean's death, the traumatized psyche of the students and staff, and Mystique's presence provided evidence in favour of this argument. However, this message seemed to be lost given how disproportionate nature of Scott's anger. Although Bobby was prepared for a negative reaction from the likes of Scott Summers, he found himself inwardly flinching. Over the course of their relationship, Bobby found it difficult to recall another time when he saw Scott so enraged. The other man's response went beyond the indignation of being deceived for so many months. There was such vitriol and rage underlying Scott's words. It was as if he had poured the intensity of his emotions from Jean's death, the assault upon the school, and Jubilee's pain into the tirade.

Painful as it was to be chided so thoroughly, Bobby said nothing in his defence. Scott was simply articulating Bobby's own perception of himself. Hell, his teammate's assessment was quite forgiving when compared to the ruminations that plagued Bobby's mind. Hearing someone else echo these sentiments reinforced his self-loathing, confirming his poor opinion of himself and everything he had done since the injury.

The fact that Hank and Warren spoke up for him did not surprise Bobby either. Their friendship over the years had withstood greater challenges, instilling an unbreakable loyalty among the trio. Their unwavering support was the only bright spot in his existence as of late. This did not mean that both men completely agreed with Bobby's actions. There were several times when Warren expressed his disapproval, stating that he wished Bobby had been forthcoming after the Genosha mission. Even after the confrontation, the blond Adonis questioned Bobby's decision to conceal the truth. Hank, too, was stalwart when rising to Bobby's defence in spite of the complicated position he had been forced into.

No, what completely threw Bobby for a loop was the emergence of the most unlikely of allies. Arguing on his behalf was a man Bobby once considered a bitter rival in almost every way possible. At one point, the acrimony between them was enough to drive Bobby away from Westchester for a time. There was also the issue of his loyalties, particularly to Scott. In the weeks that followed Jean's death, the individual had been a source of support for the bereaved leader, providing counsel and acting as a proxy at times.

By all accounts, Alex Summers should have been last person to advocate for Bobby. And yet, within the walls of the Med-Lab, the blond geophysicist was clear in his opposition to his older brother's diatribe. Bobby remembered being dumbstruck by what happened. Prior to that moment, Alex had been unequivocal in his contempt towards him. The thinly veiled insults, glaring looks, and occasional shoves were obvious indicators. Short of a lobotomy, Bobby was unsure what was responsible for this about face.

Scott, who had been equally stunned by Alex's actions, stormed out of the examining room after hurling one last scornful statement. Rueful but unapologetic, the younger Summers brother stared after him. A thick blanket of tension drifted over the remaining men, rendering them mute for several minutes. Bobby recalled entertaining thoughts of approaching Alex to convey words of gratitude despite his lingering ambivalence about the other man. However, this plan quickly collapsed when he noticed Alex scowling at him, his blue-green eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits. Then he addressed Hank and Warren, announcing his intention to smooth things over with his brother before exiting the double doors. It was then that Bobby realized that the extent of Alex's dissent was limited to pointing out the irrational aspects of his brother's arguments. Outside of that, nothing had changed.

With the truth of his condition finally revealed, Bobby knew there would be repercussions. Based on Scott's reaction, the likelihood of being removed from an active team roster was a definite possibility. He wondered if Emma or the Professor would relieve him of his teaching duties. Perhaps his secondary mutation would be deemed enough of a threat that he would be asked to leave the mansion.

Troubled as he should have been all of these possibilities, Bobby had found himself focusing on an entirely different matter altogether. His memory of being rebuked by the Summers brothers faded as he began contemplating the serious nature of this particular issue. It was one that had weighed heavily upon him for some time, stirring complex and intense feelings. As Bobby continued to reel from the aftermath of his admission, his thoughts turned to the one person who would be equally impacted.

Jubilee.

Staring at the stainless steel, double doors, Bobby wondered if Scott or Alex would inform her of what transpired. Both were quite protective of her, especially Scott who seemed quite incensed about what she was going through. Given their collectively poor assessment of Bobby Drake, it would not have been out of the realm of possibility that the two might say something to Jubilee. Such a move would have petty, interfering, and indicative of extremely poor judgment, which certainly would characterize Scott's behaviour these days. The fact that he was the one who divulged the break-up was not lost on Bobby. After all, Scott was the one who continued to have reservations about the relationship. With his misgivings about Bobby validated, what could possibly stop him from sharing this piece of information with Jubilee. Although Scott purported himself to be her protector, Bobby suspected the other man would derive great pleasure in his denigration.

Then there was Alex. Similar to his older brother, the young man known as Havok was not thrilled with Bobby. In the days following Jean's death, it was Alex who had taken up the mantle of stable confidant. As such, he would have certainly been privy to her innermost thoughts and feelings. Taken together with the input readily supplied by Scott, the blond geophysicist would be hard-pressed to identify any redeeming qualities in Bobby Drake. Logic dictated that the younger Summers brother would contribute in disparaging him. However, Alex stunned everyone when he opposed his older brother with respect to Bobby and Hank's collusion. He was the one who pointed out the sanctity of confidentiality between doctor and patient. It was this act of reason that led Bobby to conclude that Alex would not discuss the matter with Jubilee. Furthermore, it seemed equally likely that his former rival would prevent Scott from doing the same.

For Bobby, there was little comfort to be drawn. There was still the issue of Jubilee. The question for him was whether or not it was appropriate to tell her. Thanks to Bobby's efforts, they were no longer a couple. He remembered dealing the final blow moments before entering the Med-Lab. Bile rose in his throat as he insisted on driving the wedge between them, severing all that they shared together. Tried as he did to forget, the sound of her sweet voice imploring him to reconsider continued to reverberate inside his head. When she made those heartfelt declarations of love for him, Bobby's resolve nearly faltered. Then, much to his chagrin, it returned in full force, delivering the blow that sent her fleeing from him.

He had not seen Jubilee since that horrible moment. Shame, disgust, and guilt restrained him. But there was something else as well. Bobby needed to believe that everything he had done to her—to them—had been for some altruistic purpose. His actions, hurtful and cruel as they seemed, were ultimately meant to save her. Reaching out to her would be tempting his determination to see things through. Bobby feared being around her again would cause him to abandon his position, leading to his selfish desire to be with her once again.

Still, there was a part of him that yearned to confide in her. With his condition now known to other parties, Bobby felt as if he owed her an explanation. However, the nature of this task was beyond daunting. Attempts at formulating a cogent argument for what he had done were undermined by images of her beautiful, despondent face. Despite repeated attempts to compose himself, Bobby was at a loss. Nothing he was able to come up could even begin to excuse what he had done.

With sensibility abandoning him, the boyishly handsome young man was left with the less rational statements that hung precipitously from his tongue. He wanted to tell her that she was the strongest woman he had ever known. He wanted to tell her that he hated himself for failing her. He wanted to tell her that she was the antidote to all the darkness that poisons the world. He wanted to tell her that she had so much give, so much to teach him and their children. He wanted to tell her that he could spend two lifetimes with her and it would still not be enough.

However, Bobby restrained himself from bursting through the doors of the Med-Lab. First and foremost, there was no guarantee that she would even entertain the idea of hearing him out. As noted earlier, their recent encounter had been heart-wrenching experience for both of them. Yet, for Jubilee, it was an opportunity to draw upon her strength. As Bobby stared into those hypnotic sapphire depths, he could see her determination and pride emerging. Before she took her leave, the young firecracker appeared to have resolved herself never to allow Bobby Drake another chance to hurt her again.

Then there was the issue of his condition. According to the latest round of tests Hank conducted, there was no viable explanation for the accelerated growth of the icy patch. His friend likened it to an aggressive tumour. The cells surrounding the wound Black Tom inflicted had rapidly divided, growing uncontrollably. Even more troubling for the mansion's science officer was the fact that despite his best efforts, there was no way to regulate the growth. Bobby remembered a doleful Hank prior to the scheduled examination. He was attempting to explain the painstaking process of exploring all available options. At times, it seemed the blue, feline-like biochemist was equally devastated as his patient.

Faced with this reality, Bobby was resolute in his conviction. There was no turning back now. He simply loved her too much to consider anything else.

With his fingers over the doorknob, Bobby was about to embrace the solitude of his room when one of the girls called out to him. "Mr Drake, you should probably stay in your room. It's not safe to go downstairs."

There was a chirpy, smug quality to the girl's voice that made him nearly made him cringe. It was similar to Emma's haughty tone, which elicited an identical reaction. However, Bobby found himself quickly annoyed that he was allowing a student get under his skin. After all, he was an authority figure to her and as such, would not be subjected to whatever mind game she wanted to play. There was also the fact that he was expected to meet with Scott, Emma, Warren, and the Professor to go over expenses for this month. It was a gathering Bobby had been dreading since last night.

Calmly, he turned around and tried to clear away his residual irritation from his consciousness. Bobby suspected that like Emma, these girls would have relished such a response. "And why would you say that?" he asked in the most even tone he could muster. Given how frayed his nerves had been during the past few months, this was quite an accomplishment.

The two exchanged glassy-eyed looks before staring at him. Their blank expressions served to emphasize the ambiguity of the declaration made moments earlier. Clasping their hands over the skirts of their green-and-white, sleeveless gingham dresses, the sisters tilted their platinum-blonde heads to the side before responding in unison.

"You won't be received well." Their monotone voices echoed eerily against the mahogany-panelled walls.

Confusion melded with annoyance in the wake of the Cuckoos' devotion to obscurity. Bobby knew he could have put an end to all of this by retreating into his room. Unfortunately, pride and curiosity conspired to gain the upper hand, forcing him to remain where he stood. "And what makes you say that?" he inquired, determined to sound impassive.

"There's a great deal of disorder emanating from there," one of the girls informed him as she narrowed her glassy eyes in concentration.

Her sister stepped forward and piped up, "Such confusion, rage, and sadness. Very much like when Ms Grey died but different."

"Yes, different," the other Cuckoo agreed, nodding approvingly in light of her sister's assessment.

Concerned, Bobby frowned. "What do you mean different?" he demanded, losing his façade of indifference. As one of the girls' instructors, Bobby was quite cognizant of the level of development with respect to their abilities. There were times when they rivalled Emma, especially when they worked as a unit. Given the gravity of their conclusions, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread overcome him.

In unison, the Cuckoos replied, "It is more intense…in response to a recent event."

"What would that be?" Bobby was bracing himself for news of another tragedy. Inwardly, he groaned,_ Haven't we been through enough already?_

"It involves you, Mr Drake. That is why we advise you _not _ to go downstairs." The sisters' collective voice was solemn as they stared blankly at him.

Panic surged through his entire body following yet another ambiguous series of statements. At that moment, Bobby could only suspect the worst. He was reeling as he continued to run through the possibilities in his mind, where each was more devastating than the last. In search of absolute certainty, Bobby finally managed to ask, "What's going on?"

Guilelessly, the sisters shook their heads. "We cannot say."

"But you know?"

"We know that each person feels something towards you right now…"

"But why? What did I do?"

"Please, Mr Drake. Do stay here until things settle down."

When it became obvious he was making very little progress on this front, Bobby decided to take matters into his own hands. He marched past the two girls, grey eyes narrowing into razor-thin slits. Then he proceeded to descend the spiral staircase.

The Stepford Cuckoos were left to stare after their instructor. They shook their blond heads in dismay. After seconds of silence, the sisters turned to one another and spoke.

"We warned him, didn't we, Celeste?"

"Indeed we did, Irma."

Bobby did not remember the journey downstairs. His feet seemed to be operating independently of his bewildered mind. When he reached the bottom, there was little recollection of the last few minutes of his conversation with the Stepford Cuckoos. What prevailed in his consciousness was the sense that something was very wrong. The more he mulled about the possibilities, the more his sense of trepidation grew.

It was not as if he had no reason to believe something horrible had happened. Within the span of the past several weeks, he had lost a dear friend, coped with a traumatized teammate and student population, discovered a sworn enemy had infiltrated his home, and broke his girlfriend's heart for what seemed like the millionth time. Taken together, Bobby felt justified in his expectations.

There had been various situations that had been evoked by the enigmatic words from the sisters. Frightening as some of them were, only one caused him to experience apprehension never known to him before. Bobby found himself racing down the long corridor of the main floor. Desperation coalesced with fear as he sought anyone who would have any information to the one person whose welfare mattered to him the most.

Jubilee.

His mind cruelly replayed the moments of their last conversation. Never had he seen her so lost and forlorn. To think something happened to her with his callousness as her final impression of him was more than Bobby could bear. He needed to confirm she was okay. That was all that mattered to him at this point.

Much to his frustration, both the living room and rec room were devoid of the presence of staff. Frantically, Bobby conducted a search of the kitchen only to be greeted by Cook and her assistants. He was tempted to make inquiries of them but noticed they were in the throes of preparing dinner for that evening. Dejected, Bobby retreated from the aromatic smells wafting about the kitchen.

It was then he passed by the mail room. To his surprise, there was a gathering of his peers outside of their respective cubbyholes. Most were clutching pink stationery. As Bobby ventured closer toward the entrance, he noticed the expressions of those present. For Paige, Ororo, Hank, Warren, and Kurt, they seemed adrift in a sea of shock and sorrow. Meanwhile, the Summers brothers appeared to be lost in their own world of simmering rage. Compared to a shaking and red-faced Scott, Alex was the picture of composure.

Stunned by the picture that met his eyes, Bobby was rendered mute. His initial queries as to what prompted such diverse reactions were swallowed in the tension that suddenly fell over him. He found himself making a quiet entrance, his presence largely disregarded by those already in the room. They were absorbed by the force of their own emotions. The boyishly handsome young man crept towards his own mailbox, wondering if he, too, would receive a pink envelope.

Reaching inside, there was no letter waiting inside his mailbox. Instead, he found two items—the necklace and ring given to Jubilee during happier times. Holding the pieces in his hand, he felt part of himself cast off into darkness. There was only one conclusion to be drawn.

_She's gone._

"You!" Scott screamed as soon as he saw him. Furious, he lunged towards the younger man but was immediately restrained by Alex and Kurt. "You did this! You made her leave!"

Meanwhile, Warren and Hank jumped in front of Bobby, acting as another layer of defence for their friend.

Still reeling from the news, Bobby was at a loss for words. In addition to Scott's fierce scowl, he could feel the betrayed and haunted looks directed towards him from Paige and Ororo. All of this served as a bitter confirmation.

_She's gone._

Despite being physically confined to the other side of the room, Scott was prepared to vent his frustrations through another route. "You," he began in a withering voice, "are the worst thing to happen to Jubilee in a very long time—and that's saying a lot. She would have been much better off if she never gave you the time of the day. Unfortunately, she did. And what did she get in return? Someone who got his kicks from crushing her spirit, who thinks it's no big deal to destroy her view of the world. Now, thanks to you, she's gone to who knows where with no indication as to when she'll come back. Are you happy now?"

Hank exchanged a look with Warren and then shook his head emphatically. Obviously, their compatriot was allowing the compounding stresses get the better of him. "Scott, I know you've been through a great deal recently but you don't need to—"

The blue furred biochemist was swiftly cut off by his teammate. "Stay out of this, Hank," Scott snapped. "He knows damn well he's responsible. To imply otherwise is insulting."

Warren's golden brows furrowed together as he frowned deeply. "Scott, that's enough," he admonished, watching Hank rub his forehead wearily. Like his friend, the blond Adonis was beginning to tire of being involved in the same argument with the bereaved widower. "Putting this all on Bobby is unfair."

"You think I'm being unfair?" Scott pursed his lips derisively. At the moment, he could not decide what irked him more—Bobby's culpability in Jubilee's departure or the blind allegiance of Hank and Warren. Concluding a draw, he pressed on. "What's unfair is your friend driving away Jubilee from her home. Think what you will of me, but neither of you can deny he's despicable." Then he glowered past his two teammates to focus directly on Bobby. "I don't even know how you live with yourself."

Bobby winced but said nothing. Again, Scott Summers was hitting the proverbial nail on the head. Humiliated as Bobby felt, it was his sense of remorse that kept him silent. _He's right, _ the boyishly handsome young man mused gloomily. _I am what's wrong here. Somewhere in Hell, there's a place for me._

"Did you hear what I said?" the other man barked angrily, clearly perturbed that nothing he had articulated evoked any response. "This is your fault, Bobby. She left because of you. You did this."

Alex, who had been holding his brother back, turned around to face him. His tanned face was drawn into a sombre expression. Part of what Scott was saying resonated with him. Although Jubilee made no direct statement as to why she chose to leave, Alex could only surmise it was partly attributable to what happened with Bobby. The inference instilled the younger Summers brother with similar feelings of anger and outrage. For a moment, he inwardly echoed the sentiments being expressed.

Yet, Alex was not comfortable with the idea of scapegoating Bobby completely. To cast blame upon a single party would have been short-sighted and irresponsible. There were so many other dynamics at play, involving different individuals who had some role in her decision to leave.

Finally, he spoke up. "No, Scott, we all did this," Alex corrected his brother, aqua eyes solemn. "She's gone because _we _ let her down. Blaming Bobby may be easy but it's in no way accurate."

Stunned, Scott fought to keep his jaw from dropping. He would have thought his brother would have supported his argument. Alex harboured similar ill feelings towards Bobby, stemming from their previous history as well as his friendship with Jubilee. While less vociferous in his hostility, it was still obvious the younger Summers felt very little sympathy for his former rival these days.

However, much to Scott's astonishment and ensuing chagrin, his brother had taken the unlikely position as Bobby Drake's defender. On three separate occasions, Alex opposed Scott in one way or another. He was the one who blatantly disagreed on a myriad of issues pertaining to Bobby—attacking his character, his integrity, his decision to conceal his mutation. The younger Summers' behaviour seemed to contradict his extreme dislike for the other man. Even more perplexing was the fact that there seemed to be no rational explanation as to why this was happening. All Scott knew was that the man who should have been his stalwart ally in this matter had joined the chorus of those willing to overlook Bobby Drake's culpability.

The very thought left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. These days, Scott was finding little he could depend on. Following the loss of his wife, the world became a more complicated and in some ways, dangerous place. It was as if his very existence had turned on him. People he had come to know as trusted friends and confidants were now critical of him for reasons he found worthy of dismissal. Every decision and every statement was subjected to some form of challenge. Rather than acknowledge or incorporate feedback, Scott interpreted the input as a questioning of his authority. Each day, he felt more and more like an outsider.

Granted, this particular issue was in no way as serious as the operation of the school, strategic planning of various field missions, or the on-going investigation of Jean's death. Yet, it was still important Scott. Jubilee represented the last bastion from a life he had taken for granted. Now, she was gone. With her exit, she had taken memories of happier times when the world made sense and was less painful. Although Scott was unable to pinpoint those responsible for Jean's death, he was quite certain whom to hold accountable for his latest loss. Unfortunately, Scott found himself in the minority. His attempts to elucidate Bobby's culpability in the situation had been received tepidly at best.

Then he thought of the only other recourse available to him. Specifically, it was Rogue's recent communication requesting additional personnel for her mission in Madripoor. The Southern Belle had been very deliberate in her justification. Her existing team did not have the specialized knowledge and training required for a particular aspect of the assignment. As far as she was concerned, there was only one person who not only had the professional background to address this deficiency but also the security clearance needed for this sensitive case.

Usually, Scott would advise Rogue to employ a consultant with affiliations with other team members. At the present time, resources were stretched thin. Those in Westchester were immersed in teaching duties, the investigation into the attack on the mansion and Jean's death, and/or the interrogation of Mystique. It was not unheard of for some to put in twelve hour-days while performing their duties. Given this, Scott would be hard-pressed to release anyone from these obligations.

As the bereaved widower focused his attention on Bobby again, his contempt for the other man rose to what seemed to be an all-time zenith. In light of Jubilee's absence, he knew it would be nearly impossible for them to forge any kind of working relationship. The very idea of collaborating with Bobby Drake was enough to make Scott's blood boil.

But then he found a solution.


	68. Chapter Sixty Eight: Building a Mystery

Back with the latest instalment. Sorry for the delay but life (work, travel, etc) has been nuts. I will try to make an effort to update more regularly.

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. I really do appreciate the feedback and love hearing from you.

As usual, the characters are Marvel's. I'm just messing with them.

**Chapter Sixty Eight: Building a Mystery **

_What the hell am I doing? _ Sam Guthrie wondered, blond brows knitting together as his features arranged themselves in perplexed expression. _I must hate myself deep down…or have some kind of brain damage._

This humid, overcast afternoon found the Southern gentleman tightly gripping the steering wheel of a silver Fisker Karma. He was attempting to navigate the rental car through bedlam that was Madripoor traffic. The wide avenues and small streets had been commandeered by honking vehicles spewing exhaust. With unpredictable swerving, sudden lunges, and weaving manoeuvres, every square metre of tarmac was fought for, tooth and nail. Traffic rules were widely ignored. Indicators were often shunned in favour of sudden and unexpected manoeuvres. Whistle-blowing crossing guards wearing ill-fitting uniforms manned the intersections. Their shrill whistles prevented the handful of pedestrians from crossing into oncoming traffic while attempting to keep the increasingly gridlocked roads open. Overall, it seemed like it was every driver for him or herself. Sam soon learned that cool aggression and elusive speed, along with a friendly smile, prevented things from getting ugly.

Taxed as his patience was with the rush hour conditions, there was a more pressing issue occupying the eldest Guthrie's mind. It made his current position, sandwiched in between two BMWs, tolerable by comparison. Somehow, against his better judgment, the former coal miner had been convinced to do the unthinkable. Of all the possible scenarios anticipated for this mission, there was no amount of preparation for what he was asked to do. Reflecting upon the series of events leading to his current predicament, the Kentucky native continued to ponder as to why he was in such a position.

Finally, he came to a conclusion.

_Because, _ Sam chided himself, grimacing. _I'm a damn fool._

The day had started innocuously enough. Rogue had convened a meeting to sort out the logistics for the tactical component of the assignment. After conferring with Logan and Xi'an, the Southern Belle made the decision to focus the operation on Tyger's presidential residence. In light of the growing unrest across the city, all agreed that action was needed soon. Recent days saw demonstrations spread beyond Low Town. There were reports of police obstructing demonstrators and using tear gas on hundreds of young protesters near the borders of the more prosperous High Town. Civil disobedience transformed into random acts of violence, such as ransacking buildings, burning tires, setting fire to buses and cars. Riot gear was now being used to disperse protestors as a means to gain control over an increasingly chaotic situation. Meanwhile, military personnel had been deployed to areas surrounding the capital city in order to prevent further expansion of the demonstrations. The window of opportunity to locate Tyger was growing smaller with each passing day.

There was also concern about the potential for the mission to be exposed at any time. Prior to the team's arrival in Madripoor, Scott and the Professor determined that no one in the government could be trusted to maintain any level of operational security. The level of obfuscation and the general sentiment of mistrust conveyed by officials during the initial inquiries justified this decision. As a result, ensuring low visibility became a priority. Entry into the country had been done under the guise of tourists rather than acting in any official capacity.

Based on the information obtained from the recent briefing, the team quickly worked to devise a plan. Logan, who often advocated for a direct approach to these sorts of assignments, was resigned to the fact that a cover was required to obtain access to the presidential apartment. Although there was a wealth of data available to the team, there were still so many unknown variables. The level of this uncertainty made the Wolverine uneasy, especially when it concerned Tyger's security detail. He found himself fixated upon one particular member, the young man only identified as 'D'. There was something eerily familiar about the heavily muscled young man who wore his thick, black hair in a Mohawk. Tried as Logan did to rack his brain in an effort to recall the connection, he was at a loss. The only thing he could be certain of was his sense of unease every time he thought about 'D'. It was an unusual experience during a mission—one that left his instincts on edge.

Compounding matters was the location of the presidential residence. Although the building itself was heavily protected (due in part to the surrounding outer walls topped with barbed wire and two security gates manned by guards carrying automatic weapons), it was situated in between a residential area and government offices. A commando-style raid, while straightforward, would have introduced the likelihood of collateral damage. Due to the clandestine nature of the assignment, contacting local law enforcement to evacuate residents and workers would have been out of the question. Further reconnaissance of the neighbourhood placed estimates of up to a hundred people would be injured or worse, killed. Given the on-going tensions between the human and mutant population in the country, it was a situation the team was eager to avoid.

Further argument for maintaining covert tactics stemmed from the psionic shield Xi'an was able to provide. Amplified by the portable Cerebro uplink, the psychic barrier ensured that the team's activities had some level of concealment. This particular aspect was important in light of Xi'an's belief there was an unknown telepath involved. Despite her best efforts, she continued to encounter some sort of block when scanning for Tyger. Whoever was responsible, he or she was powerful enough to thwart Xi'an's numerous attempts. Adopting a more direct approach would ultimately provoke the individual into lashing out, possibly overwhelming Xi'an and consequently, the team.

It was Roberto who suggested using the government's economic situation as a means to secure a meeting with Tyger. Following approval from Westchester to consult with Bobby, a thorough analysis of the financial documents provided by the mysterious source was performed. Roberto was able to gleam the official sources of Madripoor's woes. Government spending was primarily financed by printing money, leading to hyperinflation. State enterprises were strongly subsidized with taxes and tariffs being quite high. Direct foreign investment had all but evaporated. Unfortunately, it was the residents of Low Town bearing the brunt of these conditions. There were reports of persistent shortages of hard currency, fiat currency, fuel, medicine, and food. Meanwhile, Bobby's cursory examination over email revealed some irregularities in the bookkeeping. He confirmed Roberto's initial suspicions about the discrepancies. However, until he was able to delve through the secondary ledger, Bobby was only able to report that while Tyger herself appeared to be heavily in debt, there was a recently flurry of deposits made into a Swiss bank account.

Determined to set the plan into motion, Rogue directed the young CEO of Da Costa International to establish contact with the elusive leader. The premise was to discuss possible investment opportunities in Madripoor. Although the initial objective was direct contact with Tyger, most agreed that this would be unlikely. Following hours of lobbying with various intermediaries, Roberto managed to obtain an audience with Tyger's close aide, Claudine Renko, at the presidential apartment. Madripoor's president, as it was explained to Roberto, would only speak with him directly once there was a more definitive investment package to present. His subsequent inquiries to gauge the situation were met with an ultimatum—he was to accept the conditions of the meeting with no further questions or pursue other opportunities elsewhere.

The continued level of obfuscation regarding access to Tyger forced the team to make some strategic adjustments. Despite Xi'an's difficulties, Logan was convinced his former associate was somewhere in the compound. As far as he was concerned, finding and extracting her were the only means to obtain unfettered access. After some deliberation, the team agreed that Roberto's conference with Ms Renko would serve as a diversion. The true focus of the operation would concentrate on securing Tyger. Once she was in custody, detailed debriefing and interrogation was to take place at a safe house outside of the city.

On some level, the team was feeling rather accomplished. After what seemed like endless months of intelligence gathering, the purpose of the mission was soon in sight. However, their collective sense of triumph was short-lived. It was replaced by a sense of urgency when Roberto was later informed that his appointment was scheduled for the end of the week. No exceptions.

With the date quickly approaching, Rogue arranged for Bobby to be on the first flight out of New York. Not only did she want him to perform a more detailed analysis of the books, the Southern Belle needed her friend to assist Roberto with developing a cover for speaking with Ms Renko. Bobby's expertise with the accounts allowed for confidence when hammering out the details. His insight would identify key areas of potential need and interest. This would, in turn, provide some semblance of legitimacy to the meeting.

For the swarthy Brazilian, Bobby Drake's presence was important for a more tangible reason. Since arriving in Madripoor, the weather conditions had not been favourable to the mutant known as Sunspot. Throughout the day and into the evening, the skies were consistently overcast. As a result, Roberto was unable to use his abilities. The durability and superhuman strength associated with his "powered up" form were removed from him. Although he was not fragile in his normal state, Roberto was conscious of the implications for the team and the assignment. Without his powers, he was now a liability of sorts. With Bobby at his side, there was some guarantee of protection during his meeting with Tyger should anything untoward arise.

In the days that followed, there was a frenzy of activity. With Roberto, Bobby, and Xi'an focusing on their respective responsibilities, Rogue was quick to dole out the remaining assignments. There were two groups involved with infiltrating the compound for the extraction. The first was comprised of Dani and Amara. The former New Mutants were tasked with preparing for the second team's advancement. While Dani made use of her projective illusions on the guards posted outside of the building, Amara was charged with disabling the electronic surveillance and alarm systems. Once these impediments were dealt with, they would then shift their attention to operating the getaway vehicle.

The second team consisted of Rogue, Logan, Remy, and Sam. As the individuals responsible for extracting Tyger, they were relying on Amara sabotaging the security system and Roberto and Bobby's ruse to divert attention from their presence. Although each was more than capable of handling various obstacles, engaging in defensive tactics was perceived as a last resort. Any confrontation with forces loyal to Tyger was to be avoided at all costs. In addition to the political turmoil consuming the country at the moment, the fact that the team was acting unofficially was another matter of concern. If their plan was ultimately unsuccessful and ended with their apprehension, the political implications back home would be disastrous. Not only were there tensions between the mutant population in the US and the government but also between Madripoor and the States as well. The on-going dispute primarily involved allegations of the tiny country harbouring known fugitives, including mutant terrorists.

Given the complexity of the issues involved, the quartet worked furiously to plan for an efficient and stealthy infiltration of the compound. Logan's history with Tyger proved to be a valuable resource. The stony-eyed warrior was able to shed some light on her behaviour and predilections (e.g., whether she would be carrying any weapons on her person). He was hoping to instil some predictability into a situation filled with unknowns. Sensing that Rogue was on edge, Logan was keen to ease her mind. The success of the mission was dependent on her leadership.

Since Roberto's meeting was to take place inside Tyger's apartment, concealing their movements became key. Remy took it upon himself to determine optimal points of entry. Based on the group's capabilities, he managed to locate an indiscreet and direct route. Unfortunately, this option originated from the rubbish bins outside of the building (much to the team's chagrin). The only redeeming aspect of this path was that it led to the kitchen, which was immediately next to Tyger's bedroom. To offset the odious journey, Rogue proposed that she and Sam fly up the chute while carrying Remy and Logan. At first, the indignity associated with this plan irritated the laconic Canadian. However, he soon realized the merits when considering the combination of tropical weather and the stench of trash.

Although Sam, too, had familiarity with the layout of the building, he conceded to playing a supporting role in the planning. Not that the Southern gentleman minded. His thoughts were elsewhere. Tried as he did to focus on the mission, Sam found himself consumed by a yearning to return home. Dreams that long haunted him transformed into sources of motivation. Azure eyes and the fragrance of bubble-gum and cinnamon now drove him to persevere. The intensity and vivid nature of these images conveyed promises of a future that was now possible. He was on the precipice of bliss.

In the days that followed Logan's disclosure, Sam felt a weight lifted from his weary shoulders. His friends immediately noticed the disappearance of the gloomy ambiance that loomed around him. The affable smiles and laid-back demeanour had returned, much to their collective delight and relief. There was a part of the Southern gentleman that wanted to confide in them what was responsible. After all, Roberto, Dani, Xi'an, and Amara were not only his friends and teammates but also an extension of his family. They had seen him through both the good and the bad. Leaving them in the dark was construed as some form of duplicity.

Yet, Sam refrained from acting upon this impulse. Aside from his obligations in Madripoor, there was still much to address. Namely, there was still the issue of working alongside Bobby Drake. Tension, borne out of guilt and indignation on behalf of Jubilee, ensnared Sam as the other man's arrival became more and more imminent. He racked his brain repeatedly, searching for means to maintain a working relationship in spite of what happened. There had to be a way to separate the personal from the task at hand.

After a great deal of consideration, Sam was at a loss.

The sense of dread was not out of fear that Bobby could betray him during a confrontation. Beneath the façade of jokes and subversive interactions with various authority figures (notably, Scott and Alex), Bobby remained a man of integrity. His commitment to his teammates was beyond reproach. Rather, it was the awkwardness inherent to the boyishly handsome young man's presence that was vexing. For Sam, Bobby embodied the negative emotions that threatened to consume for months on end—anxiety, desperation, envy, and loathing. His former rival had what was most precious in the world and he carelessly threw that happiness away. Sam, meanwhile, had been tormented for even coveting Bobby's existence.

Attempting to maintain indifference over the course of this assignment would be challenging. The tall, lean young man from Kentucky was torn between two competing urges—the one to avoid Bobby altogether and the one to confront and seek retribution for Jubilee. To tread the fine line separating the two alternatives seemed like a daunting task—one that filled the Southern gentleman with doubt.

As far as other options were concerned, recusing himself from the mission was not one of them. Sam's sense of decency and honour prevented the entertaining of such thoughts. He had made a commitment to Rogue and the others. His needs, pressing as they were, were deemed secondary to the pursuit of the team's objective. In the end, the former coal miner was determined to subjugate his anxieties. He resolved to spend the days prior to Bobby Drake's arrival to come to terms with the situation. By mentally preparing himself, Sam was hoping to lessen his discomfort. At least, that was how he justified the exercise.

Fate, unfortunately, dealt the Southern gentleman a different hand.

With the meeting between Roberto and Claudine Renko only 24 hours away, Rogue's team was still in the midst of organizing themselves to execute their plan. Xi'an had isolated herself in her room with the Cerebro uplink. Dani and Amara were carefully studying the standard operating protocols, including the guards' rotation schedule and schematics of the perimeter detection network. Roberto was putting together the finishing touches on his falsified presentation. Meanwhile, Logan and Remy were hammering out the details of the extraction with Rogue and Sam.

Just as Logan was warning his colleagues not to let their guard down, Sam noticed Rogue nervously peering down at her wristwatch. Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she frowned. Not wanting to attract attention, he quietly inquired what troubled her. In a hushed voice, she told him that Bobby's flight from New York was scheduled to arrive soon. Normally, she would have no qualms with him taking a cab from the airport or renting a car. But given the sensitive level of this assignment, the Southern Belle was keen to maintain a low profile.

Logan, who had been chewing on his cigar, paused in his lecture. Raising a stony brow at the both of them, it was obvious he was aware of their conversation. Unlike Rogue, Sam was able to discern something else in their teammate's expression. The gold flecks in his green eyes glittered. His teeth seemed to grind upon the Cohiba with fervent abandon. It was as if he were a lion biding his time before devouring a zebra.

For a brief moment, Sam felt a wave of sympathy for Bobby Drake.

Oblivious to the dynamics between the two men, Rogue began scanning the room. The Southern Belle was hoping to recruit someone to serve as a driver. When she realized each individual was otherwise occupied, her dejection increased.

Sensing Rogue's predicament, Logan was all too eager to put forth a solution. He reiterated his willingness to retrieve Bobby from the airport. Such a response would have been completely welcomed had it not been the tone used to convey it. His rumbling voice dripped with obvious malice. For those who heard him, it was difficult not to experience some level of confusion…and apprehension.

Alarmed, Rogue was contemplating a diplomatic way to decline the offer. Her history with the laconic Canadian taught her many things. Logan's enthusiasm for performing a particular task was often associated with a pursuit of some secondary gain. His ambivalent feelings towards Bobby, stemming from the latter's involvement with Jubilee, was another factor to consider. Taken together, Rogue could not help but believe something was afoot. Although she had very little time to ponder the details, the Southern Belle was certain that it was best to keep the two men separated for now.

Sam had observed his teammate as she attempted to resolve this internal conflict. He was quite aware of the issues she was mulling over. Dispatching the Wolverine would be jeopardizing Bobby's welfare. While such an assertion sounded dramatic and questioned Logan's self-control, the degree of hostility he had presented was undeniable. What was of concern was that the mission was dependent on every member being able to perform. Bobby was integral to the distraction component of the operation. Not only did he have to be physically intact but also mentally focused enough to engage in the deception.

At the same time, the Southern gentleman was the only person cognizant of Logan's intentions. It was easy for Sam to empathize. The gruff loner was merely responding on behalf of someone he cared deeply about. Knowing that she had been hurt was deemed as a personal attack. The opportunity to confront the offending party was too tempting. There was no intention of beseeching Bobby to realize the error of his way in an attempt at forced reconciliation. Rather, any interactions would be focused on retribution.

The similarities between this quandary and his internal division were remarkable. Resonating even more deeply for the eldest Guthrie was a constant theme. With respect to these situations, there was an inherent incompatibility between doing what was right and following one's own desires.

In the end, Sam knew there was a bigger picture to consider—one that went beyond personal grievances.

Reluctantly, he had been the one to provide a solution.

As the Kentucky native made his offer, he could feel his facial muscles arrange themselves into a grimace. Despite the obvious lack of enthusiasm, Sam reassured Rogue that he was well-versed regarding his part in the operation. His supportive role and the fact that he had already secured a rental car under an alias were major contributors in his argument. Within minutes, his proposal was accepted by a relieved Rogue. Shortly afterwards, the eldest Guthrie was dispatched to retrieve their teammate.

The Southern gentleman guided the silver Fisker Karma into the exit ramp, leading to the airport. He remembered shifting uncomfortably under Logan's glaring eyes before leaving. The Wolverine had been incredulous and furious upon being thwarted. Sam could tell that Logan had wanted to challenge him. However, he refrained from doing so. Angry as he was for not being able to confront Bobby right away, the gruff loner was keen to maintain confidentiality and discretion. Revealing Drake for his cruelty would have not only undermined team rapport, it would have been construed as inflicting further pain for Jubilee.

Although Logan was not telepathic, it was evident there was one question he wished to ask Sam. His stony eyes scrutinized the younger man's face. _After everything you know, why are you doing this?_

For Sam, there was only one conclusion.

_I'm a damn fool._

"How long are you intending to visit Madripoor, Mr…Roberts?"

Blinking, it took Bobby a moment to process he was standing in front of a customs agent. Another few seconds passed when he realized she had called him by his alias, Drake Roberts. Hearing that name again was so strange. The last time Bobby used it, a part of his world had been radically altered. He was responsible for someone being hurt. At that point in his life, Bobby had come to believe that he experienced the depths of anguish and guilt.

How wrong he was.

Unconsciously, Bobby placed a hand over his chest. The cold meeting his touch permeated through the cotton material of his navy Hawaiian shirt. Life seemed to be stripping him of everything inherent to his existence. There were the more tangible aspects, such as control over his body and his abilities. The icy patch that once occupied only his chest had now expanded, consuming his entire torso, his shoulders, and upper arms. It was only a matter of time before he was completely trapped in ice.

Outside of the mansion, Bobby was forced to hide his deteriorating condition. The experience was foreign to him as he never had to indulge such concerns. Feelings of paranoia and shame also descended upon him. Despite the Professor's commitment to tolerance and understanding, there was an unfamiliar sense of caution among students and faculty. Stryker's protest outside of the mansion during Jean's funeral encapsulated wider sentiments at the moment. Concealment became a part priority for those who could afford it.

Compounding the issue was the covert nature of his assignment. As far as the government of Madripoor was concerned, he was an ordinary human who worked as an accountant. Any indication of his true status had the potential to jeopardize the mission. The current government was wary of admitting mutants from other countries into Madripoor. Rumours of foreign parties who hoped to instigate further clashes with police in Low Town were rife. Struggled as Bobby did with wearing his mask of 'normality', he recognized the importance of maintaining the guise. There was too much at stake now. Rogue's team had invested a great deal of time and effort to confront Tyger.

In addition to the changes in his physical appearance, Bobby was also finding it more and more necessary to monitor himself with each passing day. Moments where he allowed his emotions to overwhelm him translated into lapses of control. The mastery once developed under Xavier's tutelage seemed all but gone now. Mindful effort was required to prevent any further random manifestations of his powers. It was a regression that frustrated him to no end.

To address these difficulties, Bobby recognized the need to separate himself from his feelings. Emphasizing the cerebral over the emotional was important in his case. The process proved to be challenging, resulting in numerous setbacks along the way. In light of his recent trials and tribulations, it would have been understandable. Even the strongest of psyches would have been affected by similar experiences. However, Bobby surmised there was a part of him that resisted this task. To fully engage would have meant abandoning his remaining connection to humanity. It was an exchange that filled Bobby with unfathomable wariness and dread.

Equally distressing was the less material, including his peers' newfound distrust of him. The divide that separated him from the secondary family at Xavier's exacerbated Bobby's loneliness. His relationships with Scott, the Professor, Hank, Warren, Kurt, and Lorna had been collateral damage. Reflecting upon these fractured connections, Bobby realized that he never intended to engage in such destructive means of relating. At times, he felt as if he were a passive actor in these interactions. His pain and rage had simply taken over. Moments where he contemplated disclosing his inner turmoil were undermined by his resignation. As far as Bobby was concerned, this alienation was simply punishment he rightly deserved.

Superseding all of these was what proved to be Bobby's ultimate sacrifice. The terror of his transformation and the painful isolation from everyone he knew were trivial in comparison. A vital part of him was missing, leaving an excruciating wound that would never heal. Feelings of despair and remorse submerged Bobby's soul into an endless abyss as he thought about sapphire eyes, skin that felt like silk, and a mouth that tasted like bubble-gum and cinnamon. Never again would he be able to experience the emotional highs associated with such memories.

_She's gone. _

Bobby had come to believe breaking up with Jubilee constituted the worst moment of his life. Inflicting pain upon the one person he swore to love and protect filled him with a sense of self-loathing he had never known before. The degree of his anguish increased exponentially as he observed her devastation. Her tear-filled eyes and tortured whispers of atonement and fidelity continued to haunt him. Restraining his instinct to comfort her nearly drove Bobby to the brink.

Yet, in the days that followed, Jubilee continued to fight for him. The same determination that saw her through the tragedies of her young life was driving her to salvage their relationship. It was difficult for Bobby not to be affected. Her persistence, despite his deplorable behaviour, was a testament to her unconditional love for him. Although he had been determined to let her go, Bobby found himself clinging to this piece of information. It was the only thing he could afford.

However, everything seemed to change upon Jubilee's departure.

Unlike Scott and the others, Bobby did not receive a letter of explanation. Instead, he found gifts given during happier times: the necklace as a memento of his burgeoning feelings and his grandmother's ring which symbolized a deeper commitment. As he retrieved these items from his mailbox, Bobby remembered experiencing a sense of shock and deep loss. At that moment, he realized _this _ was the worst day of his life. The gesture spoke volumes—more so than any written message. With this, Jubilee had implicitly conveyed one final statement to him.

She had given up.

There was a resounding sense of permanence associated with this realization. Prior to Jubilee leaving, there had been a chance for reconciliation. Although Bobby strove to remain committed to the cause, he did experience wavering from time to time. During his weaker moments, considerable deliberation was given to recanting which gave way to fantasies. Such reveries afforded Bobby the opportunity to imagine a different life with Jubilee, where the ice consuming his body bound them together rather than act as an obstacle.

Now, there was no turning back—for either one of them.

Immediately, a lump formed in Bobby's throat. He recalled standing in the mailroom as the news of Jubilee's departure sank in. Scott's blistering words echoed inside his mind as Ororo and Paige stared at him with accusatory eyes. While his friends and Alex Summers jumped to his defence, Bobby could not help but think of himself as undeserving. Their empathy and loyalty were misguided. Had they truly understood his culpability, it was certain their protestations would have been muted. Did they not recognize that he, Bobby Drake, was a monster? After all, how could anyone with any decency put Jubilee through such hell?

In the end, no amount of chastising from outside parties could compare with his own level of admonishing. Scott's tirade was benign compared to the scorn-filled ruminations brewing inside Bobby. His conscience was unrelenting in its self-directed rage. This internal voice reminded him that he alone was responsible for Jubilee leaving. It chided him for pushing away Jubilee, throwing away any semblance of a future with her.

_Now, you've done it. She's gone who knows where… all in the name of doing the honourable thing. Thanks to you, she has her heart broken and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. You'll have to make do with being left behind, thinking about what could have been. Congratulations, jackass. _

Such taunting thoughts were never far removed from his consciousness. Even during the overnight flight to Madripoor, he found himself mired in his own persecution. The initial pain elicited soon gave way to resignation. There was an undeniable truth in the mocking. Bobby was not arrogant or delusional enough to discount that. He earned every scornful word.

What did hurt was the prospect of encountering reminders of their relationship in Westchester. Even the most innocuous of things would be likely to prompt thoughts of her. Bobby did not want to forget what they had together. At the same time, replaying moments of that life was almost too much to bear. With Jubilee, he had been a different person. Bobby became the man he never fathomed he could be—mature, thoughtful, and genuine. In her absence, he had been reduced to a shell of that former self.

When Bobby was informed of his marching orders by Scott, there was a sense of relief that washed over him. While the other man viewed this as a form of banishment, Bobby saw it as his chance to escape. He could occupy his mind with the intricacies of Rogue's mission rather than with the melancholy he had orchestrated. On the other side of the world, he hoped there would be less to remind him of his sacrifice. Bobby was not naïve to believe that his heartache would completely leave him. But, perhaps with time, he would become accustomed to this new way of being.

On the day he was to fly out, Bobby had a short briefing with Scott and the Professor in the War Room. The three of them sorted out the remaining logistics of his cover and the updated intelligence from Rogue. Roberto had sent over electronic copies of the ledgers via a secure server, allowing Bobby some time to analyse before his arrival. During the meeting, the Professor made it clear the open-ended nature of the assignment. Although the team was close to confronting Tyger, he believed the mission was far from over. There was still a great deal of ambiguity remaining with regard to the situation. Resulting courses of action was dependent on the information Tyger herself would provide following a thorough interrogation.

In light of Bobby's current circumstances (notably, his convalescing father and his own condition), Xavier had been concerned whether these terms would be acceptable. Bobby, realising his mentor was not delving into his psyche at that moment, viewed the information as an offer of reprieve. Although he loathed the idea of leaving Maddy as sole caretaker, recent communication between Bobby and his mother indicated that Bill's health was improving. According to Maddy, Bill was able to dress and feed himself without assistance.

Since his outburst several weeks ago, the elder Drake was more engaged in his rehabilitation. No longer did he confine himself to his bed. The Drake patriarch was now spending his free time putting together puzzles with his wife and assisting in light housework. In short, there was a light at the end of the harrowing tunnel.

Bobby had relayed this information in his response to the Professor. As for the status of his mutation, the young man assured his mentor that his condition would not interfere with the assignment. His commitment to this latest endeavour would be unwavering.

Throughout the briefing, Scott had remained curt and Stoic. One might have ventured to characterize him as acting professional. Any evidence of his hostility towards Bobby had been carefully masked. This was a stark contrast to his presentation in recent days, where there was little hesitation in his expression of contempt for his teammate. With Xavier next to him, the emotionally battered widower had been calm and collected.

However, this changed once the meeting concluded. Bobby was about to follow the Professor out of the room when Scott blocked the door. His face had contorted into a scowl, the colour of his skin turning a mottled pink. With Xavier absent, Scott had seized upon one last opportunity to vent his rage. In a strangely low voice, he had told the younger man the Madripoor assignment was a welcomed opportunity to send away a despised outcast. Scott had also reiterated his disgust for Bobby, insisting there was no possibility for atonement at this point. The acrimonious soliloquy concluded with the older Summers brother expressing his confusion as to why Bobby insisted on leaving a trail of destruction in Westchester.

As far as Bobby was concerned, there was only one possible answer.

_I'm a damn fool._

"Mr Roberts? Mr Roberts?"

His grey eyes travelled to the agent's quizzical face, prompting him to recover quickly. "Sorry," he apologized with a sheepish smile. "The effects of the red-eye on the brain…"

The frizzy-haired woman nodded, lowering her thick lashes slightly. After a morning shift filled with cantankerous and rumpled passengers, this was certainly a nice change of pace. His smile was the first she had seen in quite some time. The fact that he was wearing a black leather racer jacket in this heat struck her as strange. However, the eccentricity of his wardrobe was overshadowed by his handsome features. For a moment, she felt herself go weak at the knees.

"It's okay," she managed to reply, nearly cringing when she heard her voice crack slightly. She cleared her throat in an effort to regain her composure before repeating her question. "How long are you intending to visit the country, Mr Roberts?"

Bobby had been oblivious to his effect on her. Fatigue, cramped seating in coach class (probably another one of Scott's reprisals), and preoccupation with the turmoil of his personal life left him feeling less than focused. At this moment, he wanted to clear customs while maintaining his cover. Based on his communications with the team, anyone outside of the team was not to be trusted. While this translated into limitations on small talk, Bobby knew he needed to tread a fine line now. Madripoor's customs agents were notorious for being difficult.

"One week," he told her, fiddling with the oiled-leather strap of his canvas travel bag. His response was based on the cover story provided during the briefing with Scott and the Professor. Given the unknown duration of the assignment, there was a plan in place for Kitty to manipulate Madripoor's immigration and customs database. However, if Scott had any input, the answer would have involved a permanent stay.

Despite still feeling flustered, the agent continued quizzing him. "What is the purpose of your visit?"

"I'm here on business," Bobby replied, trying to sound nonchalant. Then he bitterly added to himself, _There's also the part where I've been exiled but let's not get into that._

From there, the interrogation went on. Bobby, who was hoping to wrap things up quickly, fantasized about seeking refuge in his hotel room. Much to his chagrin, the agent began injecting small talk into their conversation. Inquiries about his plans for free time were peppered in with questions about his occupation and his employer (for the purposes of the mission, he identified Da Costa International). She smiled at him, chewing her lower lip as she slowly scribbled on his immigration card.

"Is this your first time in Madripoor?"

"Yes, the city and the country."

"I hope you'll have a chance to see more of the city beyond your hotel. Madripoor is very nice this time of year."

"I'm sure it is but I'm afraid that will depend on how work treats me."

"I will keep my fingers crossed for you then… Other than Mr Da Costa, do you have any other contacts here in Madripoor?"

"No, just my ogre of a boss."

"That's unfortunate."

Just as Bobby was about to lose faith, the agent concluded her assessment. The sound of the stamp making contact with his passport was one of the sweetest sounds that ever reached his ears. His smile broadened as he retrieved the navy, leather-bound booklet from her. "Thank you."

The agent smiled shyly at him, her cheeks turning a faint crimson. "You're welcome." Her spirits sank when she realized they were parting now. She did not want to see him go so soon. Unfortunately, the dozen people waiting in line behind forced her to shift priorities. From the impatient expressions most were wearing, entertaining the charming Drake Roberts was no longer an option.

Meanwhile, Bobby was eager to begin his journey. Plastering a grin across his face, he gave a brief nod to the agent. Then he made his way towards baggage claim.

As he waited by the carousel, Bobby tried focusing himself on the task at hand. He surreptitiously retrieved his communicator from his jacket pocket. The blinking red light indicated a new message. Quickly, he opened it and scanned its contents.

_Hope you made it in OK. Meet your ride at the arrivals gate. _

_Talk soon, Rogue_

Bobby stuffed the device back into his pocket. The message was polite but devoid of the usual warmth expected from the Southern Belle. For a moment, Bobby wondered if she was aware of the events that transpired back home. Like Ororo and Paige, Rogue was close to Jubilee. Although she had not expressed any reservations about his relationship with the young firecracker, Rogue would have been upset by the latest developments. However, mulling over the issue further, Bobby decided that his paranoia was attempting to get the best of him. He was certain the terse tone could be attributed to preoccupation with the mission rather than aspects of his personal life.

Bobby had been so consumed by musings that he nearly missed retrieving his suitcase. Fortunately, he was able to grab it from the conveyor belt before it made another rotation. Pulling out the retractable leash, Bobby wheeled the suitcase towards the arrivals corridor.

His brows furrowed as he wondered who had been drafted to pick him up. It would have been helpful to know who to look for in the sea of faces at the gate. Unfortunately, Rogue did not divulge any information in her message. Bobby frowned, trying to recall the team roster for the mission. There was of course, Rogue…Roberto, Remy, Dani, and Amara. Then there was Xi'an, Sam Guthrie, and…

Suddenly, Bobby felt his heart stop when he identified the remaining member.

He briefly considered turning on his heel and retreating towards the relative safety of the baggage claim area. Hell, the customs and immigration line would have been preferable compared to what possibly awaited him. All Bobby could think about were a pair of adamantium claws and a rumbling growl that would render the bravest of men to tears.

There was no doubt in Bobby's mind that Logan knew what happened. The gruff loner was Jubilee's closest confidant. As her self-appointed father figure, he was fiercely protective of his firecracker. Any transgression against her was likely to be construed as deeply personal. His history of exacting justice in her name was well-documented. Although the pain Bobby inflicted was different, Logan probably would not distinguish this infraction from previous ones committed by the likes of Sabretooth and Bastion. To him, the end result was the same: his little girl was hurt.

Trepidation coursed throughout every fibre of Bobby's being as he considered Logan's absence from the mansion. In contrast to Scott, Logan did not have the opportunity to confront Bobby immediately. He had been relegated to bide his time on the other side of the world. Bobby imagined that the initial anger would be harnessed towards plotting retribution. As a man of few words, it was unlikely that Logan would resort to ranting and raving like Scott. More instrumental means were possible raised given his extensive knowledge of tactical planning.

While Rogue did not name Logan as the designated driver, the probability was quite high he had been given the task. The Southern Belle tended to view the wizened warrior as her second-in-charge, relying on his expertise and support. There was also the fact that Logan had spent several years in Madripoor. As such, he would have been well-acquainted with navigating through the congestion.

Sensing intimidation and/or some form of physical assault were in the cards, Bobby racked his brain to figure out a way to defuse the situation. The idea of being confined to a car with an irate Wolverine for a significant amount of time struck him as wholly unpleasant. Various scenarios involving a fast-paced pursuit through an abandoned car park flashed before Bobby's eyes.

Swallowing hard, Bobby tried to think matters through. Despite his well-known feral rages, Logan was a man who could be reasoned with. The Professor, Jean, and Ororo had managed to draw out the rational from primal. Unfortunately, Bobby was at a loss as to how to reach that side. The combination of fear, preoccupation over Jubilee, and lack of sleep clouded his brain. Any cogent and eloquent arguments were beyond his grasp.

He peered down at his watch. Rogue and her team were expecting him soon. Time was needed to prepare him for the meeting with Tyger's emissary and to go over the logistics of the extraction. With each passing second, Bobby knew he could stall no longer.

_Time to face the music, _ he told himself grimly, squaring his shoulders as he made his way towards the arrivals gathering area. Bobby was bracing himself for the worst. He tightened his grip around the suitcase handle, his knuckles turning white.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks.

Standing at the meeting point was none other than Sam Guthrie.

Bobby gritted his teeth. There was a part of him that wished Rogue had sent Logan instead. Although the likelihood of violence would almost be certain with the laconic and presumably angry Canadian, it was deemed a more appealing fate than what awaited him now.

The Southern gentleman frowned slightly when he first saw Bobby Drake. It was an expression borne out of confusion at that moment. The near tropical weather dictated people's wardrobe choices. Sam himself was dressed in a red-and-white plaid shirt with a pair of khaki shorts and brown flip-flops. Meanwhile, Bobby was determinedly covered up in a leather jacket, Hawaiian shirt, khakis, and loafers.

Sam quickly erased the quizzical furrow from his brow. However, he could still feel the tension seizing his body. As Bobby approached, the eldest Guthrie was unsure as to how deal with the inherent awkwardness. There was so much known and unknown their dynamic now. Given this, a certain amount of diplomacy was required to ensure the overall mission would not be affected.

Of course, this was easier said than done.

"Hey," he finally drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Bobby gave him a curt nod. "Hey," he replied, noticing the lack of a handshake in greeting. While he and Sam were not very close, there had been some affability between them from their Operation Zero Tolerance days. In light of recent events, Bobby seemed perfectly fine without the friendly gesture.

"Good flight?" Sam wanted to avoid small talk but found himself perpetuating the conversation. It was as if his tongue had a will of its own.

"Yeah, it was OK." The flatness in the other man's voice belied this answer.

The Southern gentleman's gaze fell upon the suitcase. "Ya need any help with that?"

Bobby shook his head, adjusting his grip on the handle. He resisted the urge to cringe in the wake of the other man's politeness. It was making hating him all the more difficult. "No, thanks. I've got it."

Sam pressed his lips together and pulled the keys for the rental from his pocket. Then he said, "Ah guess we'd better get goin'."

The trek from the terminal to the parking lot seemed to take eons. Much of the walk took place within a thick wall of silence. Part of this was driven by a need to maintain security. There was no telling who might be monitoring their activities. But as far as Bobby and Sam were concerned, the crux of the muted air stemmed from the growing unease between them. Neither knew how to engage beyond the elements of small talk at this point.

Upon reaching the silver Fisker Karma, Sam popped open the trunk. He helped Bobby load the suitcase and travel bag inside. Unlocking both doors, the former coal miner began to make his way to the driver's side.

Before Sam climbed in, Bobby said, "Listen, man…thanks for coming to get me."

The tall, lean young man was taken aback. This was somewhat unexpected. He thought Bobby would continue avoiding any semblance of conversation with him. Any communication would have opened the door for a deeper discussion of the issues occupying both their minds. Moreover, Sam had come to believe Bobby resented him for what happened with Jubilee. To hear him express gratitude was difficult for the eldest Guthrie to process.

Seconds passed as Sam struggled to respond accordingly. "It ain't a big deal," he said in a low voice, his long, lean frame halfway inside the car. However, these words did not reflect a genuine reply. Instead, he wanted to say, _I'm doing it because I love Jubilee, and I'll be damned before I let you hurt her again._

However, the words died inside his mouth.

Meanwhile, Bobby found himself rendered mute as well. He was equally surprised by his statement. The man standing across from him shared a passionate embrace with Jubilee. It was enough to evoke stirrings of jealousy and rage. Thoughts of trapping the tall, lean young man from Kentucky within an icy prison were briefly entertained.

However, Bobby's yearning for revenge faded the longer he stared at the tall, lean young man from Kentucky. As much as he wanted to express his contempt towards the Southern gentleman, the rational portion of his mind resisted the urge. Not only would it have been easy but completely wrong. He needed to accept the truth. There was only one person responsible for this hellish ordeal.

Wordlessly, the two men slipped inside the car and prepared for the journey ahead.


End file.
